Disclaimer: This a work of fiction. It did not/will not happen in real life and should not be mistaken as such.
Chapter Twenty-One: Superstar
Starring Taylor Swift
Codes: Cons, MF, Maledom, Masturbation, Oral, Roleplay
*****
2019
Cole put down the heavy box with a thud. He looked around at the bookshelves in Taylor's study and the empty shelves she'd made for him. Tearing the tape off, he began pulling out some of his favorite books. It was official. He was moving in. To be honest, it was a long time coming. He practically lived with Taylor already. They'd taken the plunge after a long conversation where Taylor pointed out he hadn't been home in over a month. So, he sold his apartment, boxed up all his stuff and now he was here, in her study, unloading boxes.
Taylor came in behind him, carrying another heavy box full of books, proving her toned arms were more than just for show. She dropped it on the desk and wrapped those same arms around him, kissing his neck.
"I'm glad you're here." She said.
"I'm always here." He responded playfully.
"You know what I mean."
He grinned and dropped the books on the desk, turning around to kiss her. Lips pressed together, tongues squirmed and wrestled as both pairs of hands felt up the other's body. Taylor fell backwards on top of the desk and Cole quickly scrambled onto top of her, in his haste knocking the large stack of books to the ground. They hit the ground with numerous thumps and thuds. Both looked up at the noise and laughed. Cole climbed off her and bent down to pick them up.
"You know...all these books. This room. This desk. It reminds me of the first time you ever bent me over one." Taylor said slyly, running a hand along the smooth dark wood.
Cole stood up, armful of books, thinking back on what she had said. "Mhmmm, you made a very hot co-ed. My sexy student."
Taylor moved forward, pressing herself against him and whispered, "Made? Past tense? Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you right now, professor?"
2010
I knocked on the door hoping this was the correct address. I was in the outskirts of Nashville at what looked to be a grandiose apartment building, a relic of a bygone age. It had that old feel, like Civil War Era old, but there were signs of modern fixings. I pulled by jacket tighter around me. Even in Nashville, the January air had a chill to it. After a minute of standing at the door, a familiar head of blonde curls opened the door and threw her arms around me.
"COLE!!" She yelled, squeezing me tight.
Letting go, she grabbed my hand and led me inside. It was every bit as grand as I'd imagined. Beautiful moldings, faded paint on the walls, and old timey light fixtures. There was a large staircase with illustrious wooden bannister leading upstairs. Taylor hurried up the steps and I followed, unable to stop myself from checking out her butt as she went. Stopping in front of a big oaken door at the top of the stairs, she opened it with a brass key. Inside the apartment matched the aesthetic of the rest of the building. I looked around at the hardwood floors, antique furnishings and oil paintings on the walls.
"What are we doing here Swift? I came all the way from campus for this old place?"
Taylor smiled, "Oh come on. Isn't it great? Can't you just feel the history here? People's lives. Their stories. Breath it all in."
I did have to admit there was something charming about the place. "But why am I here?" I asked, throwing my bag down and sitting on one of the couches. It felt a bit lumpy.
Taylor sat down next to me, looking a bit nervous and fiddling with the hem of her blouse. "I rent this place on occasion. For the weekend, week or even month at a time. I come here to write a lot. The new album is coming out this year and I find myself with a bit of writer's block"
"How can I help?" I asked, utterly sincere in my offering.
It did not go unnoticed by Taylor who bit her lower lip, staring demurely at me. "I need to get in a totally different mindset. After the success of Fearless, I don't want become some superstar. That's not relatable. It's not what people want to hear. I was hoping you could help me feel more like a college girl. You know, a co-ed."
"You wanna blow off studying for an exam by drinking an entire plastic bottle of cheap vodka, puking in the bushes outside of your dorm and passing out on the stairs, only to have your friends drag you back to your room? And then having those same friends tell you about the next day because you don't remember it?"
"That sounds awfully specific." She grinned, the smile lighting up her beautiful face.
I shrugged noncommittally. Moving closer to me, she put her hand on mine.
"You're not seeing anyone right now, are you?"
It clicked. I knew what she wanted. "Not at the moment."
***
I shifted uncomfortably in my tweed blazer. It was a little tight in the shoulders. I'd been hitting the gym pretty hard in the last couple of months, so I couldn't blame Taylor for not knowing my exact size. I adjusted my sweater vest and shifted the papers on my desk, excitement bubbling over. I was in the study of this apartment. It was a large room, bookshelves occupying the walls on all sides. Old books, new books, books in foreign languages. In the center of the room sat an ancient, ornate mahogany desk. The old wood still shone brightly, treated and lacquered with a care that only an expert craftsman of a bygone era could provide. Atop it were various props, papers, pens, folders, a book or two and a paperweight. My high back leather chair squeaked as I leaned back, interlacing my fingers. Across the desk were two smaller leather chairs, facing me. They were shiny and worn from use. Beneath my feet was a plush maroon rug. The musty smell of books and old paper filled my nostrils. It quite pleasant. There was a knock at the door.
