24 Inches: A MFM Romantic Comedy

by Alexis Angel

  That was about a year ago. Each month its been more covers. And more money. Enough money that I don't have to worry about work now. Enough that I can afford the nice suits that I sometimes pose in. We're talking several million dollars in royalties.

  Yeah, the covers did that well.

  I mean, come on, you read them, right? Of course you did. If you want to cum, you're reading Naughty Angel Publishing. Books like 12 Inches, DILF, Dirty Daddy, Client 5, Scandalous, Mr. President—books that will make you fucking squirt by the end. Or leave you quivering and fucking horny so that when your significant other walks in the door you're jumping them like a crazed fucking hyena.

  Yeah, I know what's going on here. Don't you blush at me or even think of flipping the page and skimming over. I'm serious. Instead, imagine yourself in my giant fucking arms—my muscles rippling as I hold you and pull you close to me.

  Imagine putting your head against my cut pecs, drilled with diamond precision. Or running your hands and your tongue down my 8-pack abs. Not even 6-pack. 8. Eight. As in I'm so cut, you can tell the definition of two more ab muscles than other men.

  Imagine trailing your fingers down farther. Grasping my 12-inch cock. Squeezing it. It's so fucking thick—it's got the girth of a coke can, so you might need two hands. But think about how it grows and thickens and starts to come alive in your hands as you look into my soulful blue eyes. My rugged face and strong jawline. Think about how your heart will fucking race as my cock expands outwards and then points out at you, like a lewd jib on a sailing ship.

  That's right, baby girl, think about how you'd get me on my back and then look at my cock with worry. How the fuck are you gonna put something like that inside of you?

  And I'd fucking guide you. Slowly. Inch by inch. Till you're fucking filled up. Till you know you'll never be more filled up in your fucking life. And then when I start to fuck you, think about how you'll fucking forget everything. You'll lose track of everyone. You'll forget your fucking name.

  All you'll want is more.

  More cock. More Logan. More fucking. Till you collapse from the pleasure, or black the fuck out.

  Those are the only two options.

  I know because that's exactly what's happening to Trisha right now. I'm fucking her so fucking good.

  "Ungh, baby, I'm going to--" she doesn't get a chance to reply before an orgasm rips through her and I cover her mouth, not letting her breathe.

  She's trying to breathe but she can't. Her brain is being slightly asphyxiated and the orgasm is ripping through her and she literally starts to shake from the pleasure.

  Orgasms are amplified many fucking times over when you're not breathing. Each sensation is magnified about ten to a hundred times because your brain is all of a sudden hyper fucking aware that something is going on.

  "Unnngh," Trisha moans once I let my hand drop from her mouth. The orgasm has been amplified and is still rippling through her—rippling through her body.

  She's thrashing and I feel her pussy clenching down on my cock and I'm about to fucking cum too.

  "Cut!" comes the cry of the director.

  I grunt and cry out in frustration.

  "Don't cum, Logan," I hear Aidan say as he walks into the room. "Remember our bet. You lost the basketball game fair and square."

  I sigh savagely and pull out of Trisha who collapses in a twitching heap of flesh.

  Aidan is right. This Sunday at the gym we were playing basketball and had a three-point shot making contest. The bet was that if I won, Aidan had to wear a dress to work. And if he won, the next time we were filming and turning some of the Naughty Angel Publishing books into films, if there was sex involved, I wouldn't be able to cum.

  "That's a good shot today," the director comes up and tells us. I grab a towel to cover myself and my monstrous raging erection. It's still not satisfied, and it's throbbing inside the condom.

  "I think Ethan is going to be pleased with our progress," the director says to Aidan and I. He's talking about Ethan Kane, the world's largest pornography content creator. See, Ethan and Naughty Angel Publishing just recently signed a contract. We provide the stories and licensing, and Ethan provides the experience to make virtual reality porn using our stories. Another way for our readers to immerse themselves inside the worlds created by Abby Cleveland.

  I nod, going over to put my shirt on. Trisha is putting on a robe. She smiles at me shyly. I smile back, but try to keep it professional.

  I know she's probably coming over later on tonight. After the fucking I just gave her, it's a pretty sure fucking thing. She's going to want to have sex again. Then she's going to want to come over tomorrow. If I don't control it, she'll want to start calling herself my new girlfriend.

  I make a mental note to make a point to let her know that this relationship needs to have a definitive fucking end date.

  One thing that Logan Sanders does not do is relationships.

  I fuck. And forget.

  That's my motto. I'm honest and upfront about it. You wanna come on the rodeo and take a ride on me?

  I'll give you the time of your fucking life.

  But then the ride is over and it's time to let the other women standing in line have their turn.

  It's only fucking fair.

  That's what we're doing today, darlin'.

  It's time to go on the rodeo. It's time to get fucking nasty.

  So, you've heard all about me. All about what I'm working with. You know what you get when you pick up anything that says "Angel."

  It's your decision.

  Turn the page. And blow your mind.

  Or bow out now.

  No one is gonna fucking hate you if you don't like over the top shit. If you don't like hot men, cussing, dirty talk, sex, and cum. Lots and lots of fucking cum.

  If you are ready to make the leap, then go find yourself a quiet fucking corner. Take those panties off. Get the fingers or the vibe ready.

  And hold on.

  Because I'm about to come. And so are you.

  Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.

  2

  Lana

  Jack Kerouac once said, “One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” That’s a pretty sentence, isn’t it? I’d just make one tiny change, which would be replacing ‘simple’ with ‘profitable’.

  Hey, don’t look at me like that.

  Life in the big city isn’t cheap, you know? Especially for a 25-year-old girl just out of college. Not that I should be complaining; I have a roof over my head, and a job that isn’t so bad.

  I guess I’m just ambitious.

  Oh, I’m rambling already, ain’t I? Sorry about that! Let me introduce myself.

  My name is Lana Hartley, and I’ve always dreamed of becoming a writer. There’s something magical about putting words on a page, carefully placing them one after the other and building something that just pulls people in.

  That’s why when I finished my degree I started hunting for a job in a publishing house. I mean, although it might be cool to be a starving author, I have a shoes habit that needs to be nursed.

  Fate would have it that I finished college at the same time the novel 12 Inches hit the shelves. You know that book, don’t you? Yeah, right, that’s a silly question—I mean, who doesn’t know 12 Inches, right? I still remember all the craze surrounding that book, the way crowds gathered in lines that stretched for blocks, waiting for the bookstores to open so that they could lay their hands on a copy.

  I usually don’t tell this to anyone, but I was one of these people waiting in line. And the moment I finished the book (which was just a few hours after buying it, I devoured the thing), I knew whom I wanted to be like. And that person was Abby Cleveland.

  Lucky for me, she rolled the profits from Twelve Inches into a publishing house, Naughty Angel Publishing. And do you know what a publishing house that has just started operations needs? It needs employees.

  I didn’t even bother with sending my resumé. No,
the moment I knew Naughty Angel was hiring, I drove through the city and knocked at Abby Cleveland’s door myself. Nothing beats showing you’re proactive.

  It worked.

  I became one of Abby’s personal assistants and a staff writer and, more than just meeting my idol, I took one more step in my path toward becoming an author. The way I see it, working at Naughty Angel might be exactly what I need in order to publish my first novel. And that’s why it’s after hours and I’m still at the office, clutching a manuscript to my chest and standing like a statue in front of Abby’s office.

  “Okay, here goes nothing,” I whisper to myself, and then rap my knuckles against the door.

  “Yeah?” I hear Abby’s voice from the inside and, feeling my heart punching against my chest, I open the door and step inside. “I thought you had already gone home, Lana,” Abby tells me, a look of surprise on her face as she raises her eyes from the documents on her desk.

  Beautiful and talented, she’s everything I aspire to be.

  Besides, she also knows how to write some wicked steamy sex—that helps. I can’t even tell you how many times I enjoyed myself reading her sex scenes, one hand on my iPad, the other on my … okay, that’s too much. After all, we’re just getting to know each other.

  “No … I stayed behind,” I start to say, feeling beads of sweat starting to take shape on my forehead. I don’t get nervous around her these days, but today’s a special day; after all, I’m going to try and pitch her my manuscript. And she’s Abby fucking Cleveland; I want to impress her! “I wanted to, uhm, show you something.”

  “What is it?” She sits up straight behind her desk, leans back, and offers me her smile. For someone as famous as she has become, she’s one of the most kind and down-to-earth people I know.

  “It’s a manuscript I’ve been working on,” I tell her, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. Sitting down on the chair facing her desk, I place the manuscript I was clutching to my chest down onto her desk.

  “A manuscript? That’s interesting!” She sounds excited, and that’s a good sign. But maybe she’s just being nice to me. She reaches for the pages and starts reading, her eyes moving slowly over my words. I sit in there, awkwardly waiting as she reads, and I can’t stop myself from saying something.

  “I’ve named it The Virgin Market. It’s a bit different from what Naughty Angel publishes: it’s a dark romance, but --”

  “Oh?” Abby raises her gaze, her eyes meeting mine. “A dark romance?” Oh-oh - I no longer hear excitement in her voice. Crap! “Honey, just like you said … we don’t publish dark romance. Right now the market isn’t buying books with darker storylines. If you had something in the style of Alexis Angel or Mona Cox, I’d be happy to take a look… But dark romance just isn’t marketable right now.”

  “Oh,” I say, doing my best not to sound defeated and failing miserably.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “No, it’s perfectly okay!” I say, trying to sound cheery even though I feel as if the moon fell on top of my head. I’ve poured my heart and soul into The Virgin Market and, apparently, I was investing in a genre that doesn’t sell.

  Great move, Lana, great move.

  To make matters worse, I really need the money. Living in New York is expensive as hell and, even though my salary isn’t that shabby, I’m struggling to get by. I’m living in a small studio, but I really can’t afford it; soon enough I’ll have to move somewhere else and find roommates. And that’s something I really don’t want to do. I mean, who wants to live with a bunch of strangers? Oh, if only Naughty Angel bought my manuscript, I’d be able to keep afloat for a few more months.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” Abby suddenly says, pushing the manuscript toward me and offering me a comforting smile. “Why don’t you finish your novel, and then we’ll wait four months… Maybe the market shifts!”

  I look at her, a bit stunned, and then find myself smiling.

  “Yes! Thank you!” I say, picking up my manuscript and standing up. Four months is a long time, and I’m not so sure if the market will change … but at least there’s hope! “Thank you, Abby!”

  “Don’t thank me. At least not yet,” she smiles, but I’m too excited to register her words. Returning her smile, I turn on my heels and leave her office, a skip to my step. My initial pitch might've failed, but you heard what Abby said: in a few months she’ll reconsider.

  I guess I can still become a real writer, after all.

  3

  Naughty Angel Newsletter

  When I Buy A House, This Is The Kinda Men I Want In It!

  Is it just me, or does it seem like Naughty Angel Publishing has A LOT of books in the Rainforest.com Top 100 lists? Like … way more than Bad Boy Publishing. I wonder what Grady over at Bad Boy thinks about the fact that Aidan Stone and Abby Cleveland are spanking his ass? And not in a good sexual way either, but like in a humiliating defeat kinda way lol.

  So here’s the rundown if you didn’t know about Grady and Bad Boy Publishing. He’s the CEO of that company and he’s watched the company slide way down from where it used to be. I mean, I don’t wanna say it’s because I left, but I’m sure that Abby Angel starting Naughty Angel Publishing has had something to do with the changing fortunes of the steamy contemporary romance market.

  But you know, it’s not just Aidan and I. We have the most wonderful staff and authors that work with us. And we’re so proud of them. They’re all releasing books this year too! So we’re really SOOPER DUPER excited!

  Speaking of, they’ll all be at the MaxSex Reader Convention at the end of the month in Tampa. So you should totally come over and support your favorite Naughty Angels! The chief angel, Abby Angel, yours truly will be there as well as her handsome hunky 8-packed piece of man meat, Aidan Stone. We’ll be signing autographs and giving away copies of 12 Inches – the book that basically started this media empire.

  Bad Boy Publishing will be there too, so if you’re a fan of their work, go check them out as well. I’m not gonna hate on another set of authors – I think personally that the company is run pretty shady, but I don’t want any drama, ya know? I just wanna go about selling smut and making you ladies cum.

  If you haven’t yet, be sure to join Dirty Lil’ Angels on Facebook. We’re giving out a vibrator a week for people who answer the questions of the day that we pose. And these questions – whoa. It’s a good thing this is a closed group that your family and friends don’t see because if you’re not getting wet within minutes of joining the group, then you need to check your pulse because you’re prolly all passed out from all the arousal that went through your head LOL.

  That’s all for me for now, Angels. I’ll be sending NLs pretty frequently and this is my happiest time every day, when I can send out a NL and connect with fans. Have a look at our catalogs below if you want to pick up something to read, otherwise always remember, that I am totally here for you. My job is to bring happiness to my readers. That’s why I do everything that I do. Including writing books that feature me. ;)

  4

  Anders

  "C'mon darlin', sucking on that cock lollipop isn't nearly as tasty as sucking on this," Logan says, grinning and grabbing his crotch. "I can promise you that."

  There's phallic candy galore here—any flavor and any shape—even pussies, tits, and assholes—whatever you're in the mood for to be honest, and the two women with thick, purple, cock lollipops shoved into their mouths blush, and give Logan a quick wave.

  I roll my eyes. "Why do you always feel the need to make an ass out of yourself? Do you really think women fall for that?"

  "Judging by the fucking action I get, I'd say so. You should give it a try, Anders," he says, trying to get under my skin.

  "I'll pass."

  Attending the MaxSex Convention as a cover model used to be fun … before I was stuck babysitting Logan. I'm supposed to stand here, flex my abs, sign autographs, and meet with hundreds of fans, but instead, I'm standing here looking after a grade-A
goof ball.

  I've been in this industry long enough that nowadays the best part about these conventions is the people watching. I'm serious. From the dark dungeons where all the BDSM fans congregate—dominatrix and slave role play, whips, chains, flogging, and even the occasional bruise—to girls in lingerie swinging on sex swings, to obscene amounts of sex toys, and even the occasional flasher who thinks it's a good idea to flash his pathetic junk … until security finds him and throws him out.

  "How long has it been since you've been laid? A week? A month? Or… a year?" Logan says, while lifting his shirt and flexing for a woman.

  "What makes you think I don't get laid?" I say. "I've probably had more women … and more meaningful relationships than you'll ever experience in your lifetime."

  "There you go again," Logan smirks. "With your talk about 'meaningful relationships.' That's your fucking problem. Drop the relationships and you suddenly have 31 fucking flavors of pussy at your disposal. And who doesn't like that?"

  "You're a real shit show," I say. "You act like an overgrown teenager."

  "Jealous?"

  "You wish, man."

  Just then a woman approaches us. She walks past me, and directly up to Logan.

  "Can I … touch you?" she asks. "I've never seen abs like yours before. Not in real life, anyways."

  "Sure, darlin'," Logan says, lifting his shirt up higher. "Don't be shy. Trace those ridges. They're nice and hard for you."