Fixing It In Post Production
Last Resort
Duchess... Meet Duke
Strange Bedfellows
A Change of Genre
Emily Entertains
An Officer but No Gentleman
Civilized
One Day
Bad Boys Incorporated
Meeting My Adonis
The Ultimate
Erotic Short Story Collection 37
11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books For Women
*** As a Special Gift for buying this collection you are entitled to EIGHT GREAT FREE EROTICA BOOKS not related to this one and not available for purchase anywhere PLUS incredible deals on new books and collections! For information on where to get all this — instantly and without any cost whatsoever — please see the last page of this book, right after the 11th story ends ***
Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and is intended for those over the age of 18 only.
***
Fixing It In Post Production
by
Rebecca Milton
Because I over slept.
Because I was incredibly drunk the night before.
Because I was late, first day, new job and I hadn’t done laundry in ... I don’t know, something like six years?
Because... I don’t know. I have no idea why. The simple fact was, I didn’t put on panties that morning and when I walked into the room, I tripped, I fell and landed, legs spread, in front of God and all manner of man kind.
“Well, that’s the way to make a first day entrance,” he said, flipping my skirt down, covering my cootch and helping me up.
“I was going to stop for panties,” I said, “but coffee won out,” doing my best not to melt from the heat of my shame. Trying to appear casual, funny and give the impression that my vagina on display for a roomful of strangers was just another day in my wacky life.
“Did you get coffee?” he asked. I noticed then that, no, I had not gotten coffee. And coffee was something I desperately needed.
“Funnily enough, no,” I said and smiled my ‘oh well, more wackiness’ smile. He laughed. But he didn’t laugh at me. He just laughed. It was a good laugh. It took him by surprise and bubbled out of him in a warm kind of sweet burst. It took me aback and set me laughing as well. My shame seemed to be something that was on last week’s schedule and I was, in this moment, free and happy. Like I said, it was a good laugh.
As first days go, it wasn’t too bad. Aside from displaying my lady parts like an exhibit at MoMA, I think things went pretty well. I was a new segment producer for a middle market television news station. It was, believe it or don’t, a giant step up from my last job in the business. I was producing cooking segments for lumberjacks on a cable access station in Alaska — two years of thick cut bacon, thick wool underwear and up close encounters with moose, bears and giant hairy men.
When this job opened up and the station director offered me the position, I couldn’t get out of Alaska fast enough. Literally. I had two days to move, find a place to live and start the job. With that in mind, can you really blame a girl for not putting on panties? I don’t think so.
By mid day I had met all my team; my writers, camera guys and reporters. I had given them the “I’m not here to reinvent the wheel but, we all could use a shot in the arm so let’s make magic” speech and no one had puked or thrown rotten fruit at me. They all seemed bright eyed and willing. The men, of course, paid close attention to my every move — probably hoping that I would trip again and they’d get a free show before lunch. The T.V. in the break room didn’t have cable so, I was the closest they were getting to Showtime.
“We’re all going to Lane’s for lunch, do you want to come along?” Cassey Trent, my assistant, asked, peeking her head around the doorway. I looked up from my computer. “I’m sorry,” she said and slipped out of view. A second later she knocked on my open door and repeated her question. She then, unprompted, explained her behavior.
“I should have knocked,” she said in her verbal tumbling manner. “You’re busy and I just exploded in and disrupted you. I’m sorry.” She stood there, eyes wide, made cartoonishly larger by her thick frames. After a second of silence she apologized again.
“Um... Lane’s?” I said.
“Yes.” She perked up, “Lane’s is great, we go there all the time, by we I mean the other assistants and the crew, not so much the writers, which kinda sucks because I like a writer. I like writers. But they do sometimes and the camera guys never eat with us, they sit in the break room. Kind of a grumpy bunch. Not that I think that’s bad it’s just... Well. Yes. Lane’s.” She stood looking at me. I was a little overwhelmed.
“Oh, okay, well, what kind of food does Lane’s have?” I asked.
“Oh, great food. They have...” Then for three solid minutes, at a machine gun pace, Cassey listed what had to be the entire menu for Lane’s including sides, specials, beverages and “off menu” items that only the regulars knew about. It was mind blowing.
“Cassey,” I said, “do you have a photographic memory or do you just really like Lane’s?” She broke into a giggle, covering her mouth like a high school girl with braces.
“I have an eidetic memory, that’s the technical term for it. People say photographic but, that’s not right. See photographs fade but, my memory doesn’t. It just keeps going and going.” She paused then burst out; “Also, I really like Lane’s a lot.” She made me smile. An assistant with a photographic memory would probably be a good thing.
“Well, that sound great, Cassey,” I told her, “but, I need to run a few errands on my lunch break, if you know what I mean.” She thought for a moment and then her eyes got wide and she nodded conspiratorially.
“Right, right, right,” she said. “I get you. Gonna get some p-a-n-t-i-e-s.” She spelled the word out in a hushed tone. “In case you trip again. Don’t want these guys getting another free shot at that well trimmed auburn woo-woo.”
“Well trimmed...” I started to say and she stopped me.
“Eidetic memory,” she said, tapping her head. “Just keeps going.” I nodded and rethought my luck at having her as an assistant. She gave me a little wave and then she was gone. I continued with the segment idea I was writing, then closed my computer and headed out. As I stepped through the door, he was stepping in and we collided.
“Dear God,” I said, rather sharply and loud and staggered backward. He reached out and put his arm around my waist, preventing, what he assumed, would be another act of me tumbling and exposing myself. “You scared me,” I said, recovering, but not backing out of his grasp.
“Sorry,” he said and let his arm slip off my waist. “Wasn’t my intention.”
“What was your intention?” I asked, trying to appear calm, which, it seemed impossible for me to be around him.
“I came by to mount you on your door,” he said. My knees gave way and I almost fell. He, again, reached out and steadied me.
“I... Um... Well, I’m not completely adverse to the idea but...” I stammered.
“Oh, good,” he said, “it would be awful if people didn’t know who you were.” He then held up the name plate that he was going to affix to the door of my office. “It was supposed to be there already but, I didn’t have time this morning.”
“Right, the... My name plate... of course. I knew what you
meant. I was just...” I stammered on and he just looked at me, his pale blue eyes smiling along with his lips. An undercurrent of laughter fueling the smile. Again, I didn’t feel he was laughing at me. He was simply amused by the world around him and me, at the moment. It made the rising embarrassment easier to handle. He nodded and put his tool bag down and started to center the name plate on my door.
“Listen, you obviously know my name, and a lot more about me than I would care for you to know, but, I don’t know yours.”
“I’m Gabriel,” he said and shook my hand. I got a little warm at his touch and felt myself blushing. I needed to get away quick.
“Nice to meet you, Gabriel. I have to go to panties now. Lunch now,” I said. “Going to lunch. So... All right... You... Good luck with the whole mounting thing,” I said because I didn’t think I had sounded stupid enough. I figured I would just leave no doubt. I nodded and then basically ran out the door.
On the street, I had no idea where I was going. I started wandering away from the building.
“Gabriel, like the angel” I whispered to myself.
“He is kind of like an angel,” Cassey was by my side, shocking me out of my revery, munching a foiled wrapped burrito and eavesdropping on my private musings. “He’s a sweetie. Everyone at the station just loves him.”
“Hello, Cassey,” I said, trying to calm myself. “Nice to have you creep up on me.”
“You going to lunch or are you going to buy some p-a-n-t-i-e-s?” Again she spelled it out.
“Why do you do that?” I asked her.
“What?”
“Why do you spell out the word panties?” I asked. “Why not just say the word?”
“I can’t,” she said and continued to munch her burrito. “You know where you’re going or can I give you some directions?” I accepted her help and she walked with me to a mall that was only a few blocks away. On the walk she told me about Gabriel. Apparently he had once been a reporter for the station. An anchor man. A good one.
It made sense to me. He was handsome, spoke well, was charming. I could see him being easy to watch and someone the audience would trust. Apparently, one evening during a broadcast, the station cut away to a serious car accident that had taken place down town. Gabriel was on air with the field reporter on the scene, talking about the accident. It was terrible, multiple fatalities and...
“Then he saw his fiancé,” Cassey was saying. “Well, the body of his fiancé. She was one of the nine people who were killed”
“Dear God, did he break down on air?”
“No, he kept the report going, finished the show and then walked out of the station. He didn’t come back for a month. We all figured out what had happened when the list of the victims came out. We knew her. She had been to the station a few times. Sweet woman.” Cassey was silent for a while as we walked into the mall.
“They seemed really happy,” she said just before we stepped into Victoria’s Secret. It struck me hard, they seemed really happy.
I picked up a few pairs of panties and slipped into a changing room to put one pair on. Cassey sat outside the door waiting. I pulled them on, a light blue pair and stood looking at them in the mirror. My skirt up.
“I like those,” Gabriel said. I looked up and he was there, behind me in the mirror. “Very pretty,” he continued. He came close and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my neck. Gently. I reached up and ran my right hand through his hair. He pulled me tight to his body and I could feel him, hard, pressing against my ass. It was glorious. He moved his hand down my belly, down, over the new blue panties and between my legs. His other hand moved in the opposite direction, up to my breasts. His hands were magic, moving gently over my breasts, my nipples near bursting.
His other hand moved back and forth over my panties. I was getting warm, wet. He was so gentle. I reached back and found his hard cock. I unzipped his pants and it sprung free, filling my hand. He purred in my ear and moved his lower hand up and under the waist band of my panties. I squeezed his cock and he slipped a finger inside me. I felt a shock of desire and thought my head would explode.
“Yes, Gabriel,” I sighed and started to turn, to face him, to kiss him when ...
“Um... You okay in there?” Cassey broke the spell. I came back to reality, alone in the dressing room, my hand between my legs and Gabriel nowhere to be seen.
Walking back tot he station, Cassey finished the story of Gabriel. He returned to the station two months after he buried his fiancé but, he couldn’t go back on the air. He was too nervous, to scared. He was much the same as he was before he left but, somehow seemed a little lacking of life. The station owner, Martin Dreets, really loved Gabriel and said he could take his time, do what ever he needed to do to heal and get back on the air. Gabriel said he felt best when he was at the station. It was familiar, comforting to him. Being home, alone, was too difficult and he didn’t want to work anywhere else.
So, Gabriel started working as the station handy man. He was good at it and he buried himself in the work. After a while, only the new people seemed to notice him. The regulars, the old timers just saw him as a shadow of who he once was and paid little attention to him any more. Gabriel seemed to be OK with that.
“That was two years before I got here,” she told me, “and I have been here five years now.”
“That’s a long time,” I said. “Do you think he’ll ever go back on the air?”
“Not sure, I hope so. I’ve watched some of his tapes and, frankly, he’s pretty dreamy.” She covered her mouth and giggled again. There was something oddly appealing about this story to me. An emotionally wounded man putting his life back together. Slowly. Maybe he needed some help. Maybe I could change his life. Maybe I could save him.
“Oh, no,” Cassey said. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I asked.
“Don’t try to save him,” she said, somehow sneaking into my thoughts and ferreting out my intentions.
“Save him?” I said, “the thought never entered my mind,” barely convincing myself and certainly not convincing her.
“Uh-huh,” she said with a been there, seen that burst into flames tone. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to be saved.”
“Well, good, because I have too much on my plate to spend time trying to save some emotionally damaged handy man.” I spoke this in my strongest, most convincing tone, which I punctuated by slamming into the ladder that said handy man was up on, changing a light bulb in the hall. I fell back onto my ass, my skirt giving a repeat performance of my morning entrance. Cassey gasped, Gabriel calmly descended the ladder, folded it up and walked by me.
“That seems to be your signature move,” he said and vanished around the corner. I gathered my wits and felt the growing welt on my forehead.
“I see you went with the blue,” Cassey said as she helped me to my feet.
“Do you think he heard me?” I asked her.
“Absolutely.”
“Do you think he knew I was talking about him?”
“Absolutely.”
“I just made a complete ass of myself, didn’t I?” I asked, hoping for some comfort. Cassey paused.
“Absolutely,” she said again.
I sagged.
“One good thing though, I happen to know that blue is his favorite color. Eidetic,” she said, tapping her head. She smiled and walked off presumably to bring cheer to someone else.
***
The next few weeks I truly settled in at work. I had produced three segments that were well received, I got a very positive call from Mr. Deets and I managed to wear panties every day and not fall on my ass once. Things were going well. Except with Gabriel. I saw him only twice in two weeks and both times he kept his eyes down and only mumbled greetings. At the end of the third week I saw him as I was closing up my office. I had worked late and didn’t expect to see anyone else in the building. I stepped out my office door and almost walked right into him.
“Sorry, excuse me,
” he said and kept walking.
“Gabriel,” I called to him before I knew why. He stopped and turned to me.
“Yes?” he said and waited.
“Oh... I... I don’t think I ever thanked you for mounting me.”
He just stared. Feeling completely exposed I pointed to the name plate on my door. “You know... For... For mounting me,” I said again.
He nodded. “Anything else?” he asked.
I shook my head no and he walked away. I felt like a complete and total ass. I leaned my back against my door and sank to the floor. Obviously he had heard me. Obviously I had upset him. I dropped my bags, put my face in my hands and sighed.
“I’m not, you know.”
I snapped my head up. Gabriel was at the end of the hall. He was leaning on the wall around the corner. I could see his head. He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at the floor in front of himself. I didn’t know what to say. I desperately wanted to talk to him. I didn’t want to scare him away. The silence was killing me.
The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 37 - 11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books For Women Page 1
