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Finding Lola – Three Covid Stories

Covid Quarantine had a way of messing with our mental life.  It has been well documented that people reported having more intense dreams during the first lonely months of quarantine.  Since then, many people have experienced a strange time distortion when attempting to recall any sort of chronology.  Things basically fall into B.C. (“Before Covid”) and whatever it is that we’re living through now.  But placing events exactly on a timeline post-Covid is a bit wonky.

For us, Covid was a time when we made a lot of new friends virtually.  In order to help people through the forced “celibacy” of the quarantine (both single people and the people like us who are non-monogamous and so had to curtail their outside playtime) we started up our free books program where we sent a complimentary copy of Match, Cinder & Spark to friends, fans, and avid readers in exchange for their sending back to us a sexy photo of them with the book.  That was so much fun that we’ve continued it on a limited basis.  (Please request one via email if you’re interested.)

We heard from a lot of you out there in Lolaland and we continue to receive sexy missives from our beloved kinkster community.

This week we are going to feature three short stories sent to us by new and old friends.  Diving into Lola’s Letter Box, we are pleased to bring you a story about a single college student, a married couple, and sisters who learned a lot about each other in lockdown.

The first comes from Melissa, a college student who, like Grace, was stuck at home with her parents in the spring of 2020.  “At the time, it was the middle of my freshman year.  I’m a shy introvert, an voracious reader, a bookish nerd,” she says.

I also am a closeted nymphomaniac.  With limited tolerance for social interactions, I found that it was just easier to get off on my own.  In fact, that’s how I found your blog.  I was concerned about my internet porn binging and, by doing a search to find some way out of it, I came across Erica Garza’s book, Getting Off.  And not only did I come across it, I came to it and got off even more!  I couldn’t get off enough and so I did a deep dive (into my pussy and on the internet) until I found your post about ‘Her Porn Addiction’ and everything I read, except for Lo’s confidence and extroverted personality, sounded very familiar to me.

After that, she was hooked.  She became a regular reader of the blog for a while, but she was hungry for more.  Similar to Grace, she was afraid of ordering one of the books and having it arrive at her house, only for someone in her family to discover it and expose her.  So, she too found a way to get off during those isolating times though other means.  “I purchased all five volumes of Match, Cinder & Spark on audiobook and masturbated every night to the voice of Jupiter Grant reading the sexy stories while simultaneously scrolling through the photos of Lola on the blog.”

As we all remember so well, getting out during Covid Quarantine, even just to do shopping or go for a drive, was a big deal.  Melissa relayed that her favorite sexy thing to do was to up the stakes and take risks by getting in the car and playing the audiobook on the speakers while wearing a skirt with no panties and finger-fuck herself or dildo while driving.

Lying down in bed, masturbating naked was fine, but it didn’t have the interaction I craved.  I wanted to be around people.  Also, there’s a difference between hearing Jupiter Grant’s voice through the earbuds and hearing her through the car’s speakers.  Every chance I got, I borrowed my mom’s car and went for a drive.  Listening to the stories was like an education – I learned about some great books I should read and I learned about sex.  Win-win!  But as the months got warmer, I would drive around with the windows down.  One day I pulled up to a stoplight just as Lola was describing being mounted and pounded, used and abused, in the story ‘Pound.’  I was on the verge of cumming when I noticed the guy in the car next to me had his windows down as well and he heard everything that was making me so wet.  He gave me an intense, sidelong glance.  I just looked at him, blushed, and tried to shut off the radio, but I suddenly felt an orgasm violently taking over my body as I reached for the button.  No use.  The light turned green.  Neither of us moved.  I came.  He watched.  It was hot!

From Melissa’s miles and miles of masturbation, we now turn to our good friends Jane and Andrew.  You will recall these newlyweds discovered their kinks on their honeymoon when it was revealed that Jane gets off to erotic stories (like Match, Cinder & Spark) and Andrew likes to wear women’s panties and takes delight in his wife locking his chastity cage while she mercilessly masturbates in front of him as a form of titillating torture.

This week they sent us a photo tryptic of sorts showing how they have fun.  She hops in the tub, takes a long, relaxing bath, shaves her twat clean and smooth, and then cuddles up with a good book.  In this case it happens to be Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts.  When she is good and gushing, she invites in Andrew.  He knows by now that during her sexy-time he is to be locked and loaded.  She then reads aloud the passages that have her groin grinding.  If he is lucky, she might fondle and cup his genitalia, but he is not allowed any greater gratification than that.  Yet she is free to dive into her toy drawer and pull out all the necessary accessories for her maximal self-care.  She indulges freely in the pleasures of the flesh while denying him the release he desires.

Jane and Andrew reading Match, Cinder & Spark

As she was reading the stories, she asked Andrew, “What would you think if I took many male lovers and had them fuck me in front of you?”

“Like Lola does?”

“Precisely.”

“I don’t know if I’d be able to prevent ejaculating, even in my cage.”

“How would you like it if our entire marriage you were never allowed to fuck me – only watch – as I was banged by so many men on a regular basis?”
“You would make me the happiest husband on the planet!”

“Then learned Leo was wrong – not all happy marriages are alike.  Perhaps each happy marriage is happy in its own way.”

“I know ours is.”

For Your Entertainment

 

Our third story is from Nicci and her sister Malory.

[Abridged.  The unabridged version you can find here.]

Just before the lockdown went into effect, Nicci had traveled from her hometown of Charlotte to visit her sister Malory in Tampa.  Everything was going fine until the day the CDC announced that no one should be flying anywhere.  That nixed Nicci’s return flight.  As with everyone else, her job shut down and then went remote, as did Malory’s.  The two of them were cooped up in Malory’s small, one bedroom, one bathroom apartment with only Malory’s black lab, Lucky, for company.  This made for rather cramped living space.  As Nicci tells it, the couch was too small for either of them to sleep on, so they bunked up in the bed.  When either of them needed “self-care” time, one sister had to ask the other sister for some “personal space” to “take care of business.”  On more than one occasion, stuck in bed together at night, one or the other would begin fapping.  Two twenty-something women isolated from the rest of the world needed an escape from the ever more grim news inundating them each day.

But they weren’t the only ones in need of relief.  Lucky was a rescue dog and by the time Malory had adopted him, he was too old to be neutered.  He was “intact,” as they say.  And, as such, he too needed to get off – on the couch, on the floor, on Nicci’s or Malory’s leg.

According to Nicci, one evening the two of them joined in a Zoom happy-hour with some mutual friends.  Both of them had a couple of strong margaritas and after the happy-hour was over, they continued to drink and reminisce about high school days.  Malory brought up one of their girlfriends about whom it was rumored that she had regular sex with her dog.  Nicci denied the rumor as urban legend and they both shared a laugh about it.  That led to Nicci asking Malory if she had ever seen the movie Sleeping Dogs Lie.  “It’s a terrible romcom about a woman who. . .”

“No, don’t even!”

“I kid you not!”

“What kind of romcom is that?”

The two of them ended up watching it, or at least trying to.  Nicci was right, it was terrible.

Sleeping Dogs Lie

“If I hear another accordion, it will be too soon!” said Malory.

“I know!  That soundtrack was the worst.  Like they were some French film or something.  And it manages to be cringeworthy in every way and insult just about everyone.”

“Not to mention, the moral of the story – if you can call it that.  It’s best to lie – to your spouse, family, coworkers, and friends.”

They loved hatewatching it.  Nicci added, “And the entire premise of the film – that a lonely, single college woman would give a blowjob to her dog.”

“I know, right?  I mean, it’s so unbelievable.  If I was that lonely, I wouldn’t blow him, I’d have him fuck me.”

Suddenly Nicci stopped laughing and looked very seriously at her sister.  “What?  You wouldn’t, would you?”

Malory mysteriously said, “Who says I haven’t?”

“Come on!  Stop joking.  Really?”

“Ew!” screeched Malory, dramatically, “I take him out twice a day and clean up his shit after him.  Are you kidding me?  No.”

Sure enough, just as they were having this conversation, Lucky went at it again on the rug.

“Whew,” said Nikki, laughing nervously.  “You had me worried for a minute.”

Malory laughed and, looking at Lucky, said, “If I had been fucking him, I don’t think he’d be doing that like three times a day.”

“You should have named him Horny, not Lucky,” said Nicci.

“Who are we kidding?  We’re all fucking horny and none of us are going to get lucky anytime soon,” replied Malory.

That conversation and movie was enough to set the wheels in motion for both of them.  Who knows, maybe Lucky had this arrangement in mind all the while and that’s why he was constantly causing friction on the carpet.

Before long. . . .

When Nicci would go out to do the grocery shopping or Malory would go for a run in the afternoon or morning, whomever was at home was busy with. . . .

But when Malory went out for a jog one afternoon only to have the sky open up and drench her in a downpour so that she returned to the apartment early, she found her sister dripping wet as well, but not from the weather. . . .  Nicci looked up at Malory with a swirling combination of satisfaction, shame, and helplessness.

. . .

This cozy arrangement continued for about two or three months, until Nicci felt safe enough to return home.  When that fateful day came, she and her sister made an unspoken pact never to so much as mention this intense ménage à trois again.

Nicci wrote to us to say, “Though we never, ever talk about what happened between the three of us in those early months of the pandemic, since then I have found (and shared with Mal) your blog.  (You can guess what I was searching for.)  I didn’t tell her why I was sharing it with her, but I’m sure she figured it out.  Thank you for your honesty, candor, and sexiness!”

Sisters at the beach with Lucky

Victory Lap

As she made the ‘OK’ sign with her index finger and thumb, my hard cock filled the hole of that universal hand-gesture that indicates everything is alright.  And everything was better than alright.  She was lying under my arched, naked body, her left hand doing the bare minimum necessary to still qualify as a hand-job.  I was doing most of the work, thrusting in and out of her digital aperture.  She was lying naked on her back, her right hand doing more work on her clit than her left on my dick.  But, hey, it’s not a competition.  I was pleased.  She was pleasing – herself and me.

“That’s it, you big, bad dog,” she said in a sultry tone, referencing the taboo topic of her acquired technique.

She knew exactly what that would do to me.  She plays me like a fiddle with her nimble fingers, though I’m sure she’d rather play a long, black clarinet that requires both hands to get the proper fingering and also the use of a wet mouth and tongue to blow all those Ds loud and with proper dynamics.

Within seconds my baton was conducting the final climactic notes of this symphony.

As I write these tortured metaphors, I can hear Lo laughing and saying, “Symphony!  P’shaw, more like a minuet.”

Be that as it may, she was covered in pearlesque droplets from chin to chest.

Holiday Glaze

I fell back onto the bed, relishing the sweet release she uncorked for me.

But she, rather than lounge in the lethargic bliss I was enjoying, hopped out of bed, put on her jeans and a tank-top, and said, “Do you want to come walk with me?”

Or, at least that’s what I understood her to say.  What she actually said was, “Do you want to cum-walk with me?”

“What?” I asked groggily.

“Cum-walk.”

“I don’t want to walk.”

“No, Daddio, a cum-walk.”

“What’s a cum-walk?” I asked, finally understanding what she was articulating.

“It’s like a walk of shame.  A stride of pride, a victory lap, the trek of triumph, the Something About Mary hommage,” she said with a French accent.

“Since when is that a thing?”

“Oh, old man, hurry up, get dressed, and I’ll tell you as you accompany my for a strumpet stride through the neighborhood.”

“Ok, ok,” I said, laughing, “You’re killing me with these colorful combinations of colloquialisms for cum.”

“Say that four times fast!”

“Where’d you learn all those?

“Eskimos have forty different words for snow and I. . .”

“Forget it.  I don’t want to hear what precipitated your poetic euphemisms.”

When I was dressed, we walked outside, arm-in-arm.  She was proud to have the origin of her adornments accompany her as she displayed her latest accomplishment.

She said hello in a flirtatious voice to the others who passed us by on the delightful spring morning.  Out of the corner of her eye, she tried to spy if they looked carefully enough to discern what was glinting in the sunlight on her cheek, chin, neck, and shoulder.

“So, when did this become a thing?” I asked again.

“It’s always been a thing.  I mean, remember the time at the nude beach when you came all over my face and tits?”

“Which time?”

“Oh, Daddio.  The beach with the geriatric gentlemen who genuflected at my altar.”

“Right.  Yeah, so?”

“Remember, after you rained your love down on me, we walked together, saying hi to the beachcombers.”

“Yeah, I remember, fondly.”

“And the time I met that very nice athlete in the park.”

“You mean the big black guy who came on you?”

“You have a good memory for an old man.”

“That’s why I write these things down – to keep your paramours straight.”

“Oh, straight is ok, but I prefer kinky paramours.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Anyhow, after he came on me and I walked up to you dripping with his jizz.  That also was a cum-walk.”

“I see.”

“Are you going to write about this one?”

“Of course I am, even if no one believes me.”

“They don’t believe you, Daddy?”

“Lo, you can understand that a lot of people find you unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

“Morning,” said a passerby.

“Hi,” Lo chirped back in a perky voice.  Her tits were perky too in her see-through white tank-top.

Lo’s braless top

“Getting a lot of looks,” I remarked to her.

“Yeah, but I made the wrong choice.”

“How’s that?”

“They’re all looking at my chest, not my face.”

“Ah yes, the age-old dilemma.  What’s the reaction you’re looking for?”

“I’d just like a tall, dark, and handsome man to give me a long stare that says, ‘I know what you just did, you slut.”

“I think you take too much pleasure in this.”

“Oh, Daddio!  The only thing more pleasurable is when it’s leaking out of my puss through my panties and shorts at the same time as it’s on my face.”

“Do you have a special name for that walk?”

“The Double-Stuff Strut, The Cream-Pie Promenade, The Spit-Roast Saunter.”

“I should have known.”

admiration

The Female Gaze

Lo at the Beach

It was a hot July day.  The entire week was heavy with humidity.  Lo, working from home, without any AC, had to, just had to, work in either only her panties and a bra or nothing at all.  It made for very interesting Zoom calls.

Finally the weekend was here and we were going to get out of the sticky stale air of the city and cool off at the beach.

As usual, we got a late start due to Lo cycling through all of her various bikini tops and bottoms to find just the perfect match.

I loaded up the cooler, full of ice, beer, and snacks into the car.

I packed away the folding chairs.

I took nearly as much time picking just the right reading material as Lo took choosing her outfit.

But we were on the road by ten.

The beach is about an hour’s drive from our apartment, but when we got there, the parking lot was already overflowing.  No more cars allowed.  The line was a half mile long to get in.

We pulled up on the side of the road and just looked at the scene before us.  Refreshing blue water on the horizon only a few hundred yards away.  A yellow strip of soft sand filled with weekenders like ourselves.  A narrow boardwalk.  Then the steamy blacktop creating a wavelike transparent curtain between us, waiting and baking in the near noonday sun, and the inviting scene.

As we waited there, perspiring, at a loss for what to do, two young women in bikinis and thongs showing a lot of cheek walked past us.

“Don’t look!” commanded Lo.

How was I to avoid the sight.  They were directly in front of where we were parked (illegally) and not going anywhere.

“Just don’t look,” she said.

The two women were at a watering stand where they washed the sand from their feet and sandals.  They splashed about cheerfully.  As I did my best to avoid looking at them, Lo reached down under her bikini bottom and began flicking the bean.

“Lo, what are you doing?”

Book Review

“You can’t look, but I can.”

“Look all you want, but. . .”

“What?  I’m not allowed to touch?  You can look at me if you must look somewhere.”

That I did.  I watched her watching the near naked nymphettes through the frame of the windshield.

Though Lo is significantly younger than I, she’s old enough to regard those two girls splashing around as mere “nymphettes,” as Vladimir would say.  Yet she’s also still young enough herself to make the thirty-something year old moms jealous.

I was sweating, even with all the windows down.  Lo, too, was perspiring.  I could see the beads of perspiration collecting between her breasts.  They grew into large dew drops and then collected together into a stream that ran down, under her bikini top, over her tum, and to the pool between her legs where her right hand was rapidly racing to the finish line.

“Hurry up, Lo, it’s hot,” I said.

“Shhhhhh,” she angrily responded.

I furtively looked up to see what the girls were doing.  They were still splashing in the water.  Minutes seemed like hours.

Lo’s hair was matting down with perspiration.  Her brow was dripping.  Her fingers still rapid-fire stroking.

I could see, as I looked at Lo in the passenger seat, two young men walking our way on the dirt path beside the road.

“Lo,” I said.

“I’m almost there.”

“Lo,” I repeated a little more urgently.

“I know, you’re hot, but just give me. . .”  She was fixated on the vignette of vaginas dancing in the cool water.

Lo playing

“Lo!”

Too late, the boys were at her window.

“Um, excuse me, but you can’t park here,” one of them said.  They were lifeguards and had the unfortunate job of patrolling the area.

As he gently spoke, Lo was startled and screamed, “WHAT?!”  Her hand was still down her bikini bottom, grasping her hooch rather than stroking it now.

“I’m sorry,” said the young man, almost putting his head in the window, “but we can’t let you park here.”

Lo looked up at him.  He was young, handsome, and fit.  His partner’s crotch in the Speedo bathing suit was right at the same level as Lo’s face and she had a full-frontal view of his bulge.

Her fantasy, or whatever was happening in her head, had to make an abrupt change of course from the two girls to the two boys.  If there were a soundtrack to our scenario, then you would hear the scratch of the needle as the music did a 180 from “Girl Crush” to Janet Jackson’s “All for You.”

Lo was simultaneously embarrassed and excited.  It was one of the few times she didn’t have any words for the occasion.  She just looked up, slack-jawed, panting in the heat.

Seeing the predicament unfold before me like a car wreck in slow motion, I took the initiative and leaned over and said, “She’s just getting off.”

“What?” asked the young man.

“I said, I’m just letting her off.  She’s hopping out now as I go park the car in town.  Right Lo?”

She looked at me.  She didn’t want to stop diddling, but she had no choice.  She pulled her hand out of her bikini bottom and smiled at the boys.  “Right,” she said.

“Don’t forget your phone, your towel, and your sunscreen,” I said as she got out of the car.

“Oh, that’s ok,” said one of the two fellas by the car, giving permission for something that was going to happen anyway.

Lo slowly got out of the car.  She opened up the rear passenger door to get the stuff and bent over to get it.  The bottom half of her body was outside the car, the top inside.  She looked at me and whispered, “I’m squirting!”

“Lucky boys,” I said.

She stood, frozen for a moment in the heat.  I could see her chest getting flush, as were her cheeks.  Probably her ass cheeks too.

She grabbed a few items and said, “Don’t be long.”

“Long and hard, Lo, I’ll be long and hard.  I’ll see you later Ms. Soggy Bottom”

She got out of the car and walked across the street.  I watched her, as did the boys.  I could see her bikini bottoms were soaked.  She got to the fountain where the girls had been and refreshed herself in it.  The girls had since walked away.

Forty-five minutes later, drenched in sweat, exhausted, I returned by foot to the beach after driving over a mile away to find a legal parking spot.

I found Lo on the beach, lying out.  “Hey Daddio,” she said to me, happy to see me, but with another request at the ready, “It’s pretty warm out here and I’m getting hungry.  Do you think we could get some lunch?”

I couldn’t believe it.  I thought I was going to pass out right there.

“Do you mind if I take a quick dip to cool off?” I asked, not about to wait for her reply.

I removed my shirt as she said, “If you must.”  She was only partly joking.

The water revived me, but it felt so good that I could have stayed in all day.

“I’ll wait here.  Call me when you get close,” she said as I began my walk to pick up the car.  “Don’t be long!”

“Long and soft, long and soft,” I thought, as I grumbled walking away.

Thirty minutes later, I picked her up and we went to our favorite restaurant on the water.  It has a roof deck bar.

Once we were seated and had ordered drinks, I asked Lo how her time on the beach (without me) was.

“It was ok.  A lot of voyeurs.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“It’s different with me.”

“How exactly?”

“The female gaze.”

“The female gaze is no different from the male gaze, especially if the female who is gazing at other females is simultaneously fapping off in public to the sight.  If I were to do that, I would have been arrested!”

“No, you’d be dead first because I would have killed you.”

“Yet you get away with it.”

“Exactly.  Now you’re catching on.  The female gaze, it’s just different from the male gaze.”

“Only because society treats it differently.”

“Well, there must be a reason for that.”

“There is.  It’s called patriarchy.  The laws are made, enforced, and interpreted by men.  And men are perverts who find the thought of a woman flicking her bean fascinating and the thought of a man stroking his cock criminal.”

“There you have it.”

“So you’re buying into the patriarchy?”

“No.  Never.  I’m contributing to its eventual demise by exposing its internal contradictions.”

“You’re exposing something,” I said just as our waiter brought out our cool, tall drinks.

“Anyhow,” said Lo after a long sip, “the voyeurs were laser focused on me.”

“I bet you had to beat them off with a stick!”

“I like that idea,” she said, daydreaming, “but no.  They all maintained a proper social distance.”

“Did you see the two guys who interrupted you?”

“No, I didn’t.  Maybe they saw me, but I didn’t notice them.”

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

“What, Daddy?” she asked with a faux innocence.

“Getting caught.”

“No, I was right on the edge!”

“I know.  And getting caught put you over the edge.”

“Well, I have the opposite problem from a lot of men.”

“How so?”

“I hear that men who masturbate too much. . .”

“What’s too much?” I interrupted her.  “This should be good coming from you.”

“Well, very frequently, let’s say.  Those men find it increasingly more difficult to climax.  But with me, the more I do it, the easier I cum.  It’s becoming a problem.”

“How so?”

“Remember the time in the gym?”

I did.  She had had an accidental squirting orgasm while working out.  “Has that happened again?”

“Not exactly, but it doesn’t take much.  It’s like I’m becoming incontinent.  Just walking down the street could result in a downpour.  A hairpin trigger.  And I’m not sure how to prevent it.  What do you think?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“No, Depends, the adult diaper.  That’s what I think.”

“Oh, Daddy.  Don’t be silly.”

“I’m the silly one?  Maybe you should stop your self-pleasure.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“Then I have no solution for you.  Carry a bottle of water everywhere you go just in case.  You can always say you spilled.”

Our lunch was brought out and I continued the conversation, “Do you think you could make yourself accidentally squirt right now?”

“What about ‘accidental’ don’t you understand?  It’s involuntary.  If I try to do it, it’s not an accident.  But, just so you know, if I wanted to, I certainly could cum and squirt right now.  And I’m not talking some Meg Ryan fake orgasm.  I’m talking gushing waterfalls from between my legs onto the wood floor beneath my chair.”

“Do it,” I dared her.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I don’t want to.  I have agency, you know.”

“I thought that accidental squirting orgasms removed your agency.”

“Only in that one respect.”

“Well, I give you all due respect.”

“As you should.”

We ate our lunch and then, having properly patronized the restaurant and taking the receipt as proof, I chose to leave the car in the parking lot as Lo and I returned to the adjacent beach.  I carried all the chairs, towels, and drinks.  She walked like a goddess before me.

As we were walking to a secluded section of the strand, we happened across one of the lifeguards walking in front of us.  He was, like most lifeguards, in very good shape.  His bathing suit was nonchalantly drooping down, revealing a bit of his untanned rear.

“Mmmmmm,” Lo purred, audibly enough for me to hear her.

“Go after him, if that’s what you want,” I said.

“Oh Daddy,” she cried, putting her arm around me and squeezing my ass, “you’re the only one who gets my engine revving.”

“Really?  I couldn’t get you to turn over this morning.”

“Well, my engine doesn’t start before eight.”

“Half the day is gone by then.”

We continued walking toward the cool shore and we passed four young women, two of whom were, as Lo loves to say, ‘stick-skinny-blondes.’  She has always and continues to believe, mistakenly, that I would run with abandon after an upside-down straw broom in a bikini, thinking it was a ‘stick-skinny-blonde’ woman.

“You must be enjoying the three B’s,” she said to me.

“Three B’s?”

“Blondes, Boobs, and Butts.”

“I appreciate the scenery,” I said, purposefully looking out at the horizon and not at the women.  “I give thanks for beauty in all its manifold forms.”

“If you want them, have them.  Be my guest.  Go for it.”

“You propose to me one day and dispose of me the next.”

“Propose to you?!”

“Yes, you’re constantly asking me to marry you.”

“No.  I’m asking why you won’t marry me.”

“I’ve told you so many times already, if we never marry, there’s a zero percent chance of our getting divorced.”

“The only isle you’ll walk down with me is the chips and snacks isle of the supermarket.”

“Oh, don’t say that.  You know damn well that if I got down on one knee right here and proposed to you, you’d say no.”

“That’s true, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to try.”

I dropped everything I was carrying and got down on one knee in the sand and took her hand in mine.  “Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because, you’re not even looking in my eyes, you’re looking at my crotch.”

“That’s the part that I wish to enter into. . . holy matrimony.”

“Well, the clam shack is closed.”

I stood up again and we spread our towels and set up our chairs right on the spot that I proposed to her.  How romantic!  Finally, I was able to relax just a little bit.

She was still sore about the gaggle of girls we had passed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I just feel so fat compared to them,” she said, grabbing her tummy roll and squeezing it.  “I feel like a Jell-O Jiggler.”

Lo Roll

“Lo, please.”

I reached over and grabbed her tum.

“What are you doing?”

“Touching my favorite part of you.”

“My least favorite part.”

“Agree to agree with me.”

We at least let the matter drop.

Once we were comfortable, Lo took out her phone, I took out my book.  She was lying on her tum, her feet dangling in the air, as she scrolled through whatever it was that had her attention.  A few moments later she turned to me and said, “Do you mind if Kaylee and her new boyfriend join us?”

“What?”

“Kaylee, remember Kaylee?”

Oh yes, I remembered Kaylee alright.  Lo had had a fling with her and her previous boyfriend.  I just didn’t understand how or why they would be joining us.

“She’s here!  On this beach,” Lo added.

“How do you know?”

“She just posted a pic of herself here and I reached out to her.”

“Oh, so you had already invited them to join us before asking me?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said in her conciliatory little girl voice.  “I thought you’d enjoy seeing her in what she’s wearing.”

“And what is she wearing?” I asked.

“Not much,” she said, showing me the image on her phone.

Kaylee was only in a very skimpy blue bikini.

“Well, I guess they can swing by,” I conceded reluctantly.  “But they need to be six feet away.  COVID Times, you know.”

“I know.”

As we waited for them to arrive, I taunted Lo with, “So, will Kaylee also come under your ‘female gaze’?”

“I don’t know if she’ll cum, but I might,” she retorted.

“Funny.”

“You know,” she said, schooling me, “the ‘female gaze’ isn’t simply when a woman oogles a man or a woman as an object the way men oogle women as objects.”

“Oh no?  What is it professor?”

“It’s a term of art to describe the point of view of a woman that gets at the interior life, thoughts, feelings, emotions of the woman.”

“That’s what the male gaze is too,” I said.  “However, it just so happens that men are simply one-dimensional, shallow, and single-mindedly focused on sex.”

“Does that include you?”

“Oh no.”

“No?”

“No, I am multi-dimensionally, deeply, and many-mindedly focused on sex.”

“That is true.  But how can you be ‘many-mindedly’?”

“It’s an expression, like, when one says, ‘I’m of two minds about such-and-such.’  I am of many-minds about sex.  All of them for it.”

“If only you had as many cocks for sex as you have minds for sex, I might be satisfied with only you.”

“I would look like some sort of Hindu god with that many cocks!”

“And I could be your consort.”

Kaylee and her new boyfriend, Keith, arrived.  You might remember both Kaylee and Keith from “The Love Elite,” the culminating story of the “Lust in the Dunes” series.  Well, since then, Kaylee broke up with Corey and started up with Keith.  Lo had been with all three of them, as you no doubt recall.

The two of them set up a pandemically prudent distance away from us, but not too far that we couldn’t talk.  They brought with them a cooler of beers that they willingly shared with us.

We caught up with each other, for it had been a long time since we had last seen them in person.

After about an hour of chit-chat, Lo and Kaylee were lying out.  Lo was reading a book and Kaylee said she didn’t have anything to read.  Lo reached into her bag and, to my great surprise, she pulled out the prototype of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE! that she had been reading and lent it to her.

“What’s this?” asked Kaylee.

“I know you liked 50 Shades,” said Lo.  “This is way better.  Let me know what you think of it when you’re done.”

A couple of hours passed as the sun descended in the sky, decreasing in intensity, mellowing to a warm, gentle ruddy hue.  We had swam and laughed, but now Lo said she had to pee.  Due to COVID, she was hesitant to use a public restroom.  And besides, the facilities were way down on the other end of the beach.

There was always the restaurant we had lunched in, but that wasn’t too close and the urge had snuck up on her.

“Go in the ocean,” coaxed Kaylee.

Lo shook her head ‘no.’

I knew what was in her mind.  She always likes to be sensational and provoke a reaction.  She’s secretly competitive and likes the partners of her friends to know that she is the most slutty, dirty, and depraved so that they secretly (or not-so-secretly) fantasize about her while with her friends.

“Does anyone mind if I, uh, you know, here?”

“Pee?” asked Kaylee with a laugh.

“Yeah.”

“In the sand?”

“Yeah.”

“You want us to go away?”

“Nah.  You can watch if you want.”

“Do it!” she said.

Lo sat on the edge of her folding chair, spread her legs wide, pulled her skimpy bikini bottoms slightly askew, exposing her silky-smooth pussy, and she let the stream pour into the fine golden sand.

A few seconds into her stream, I could detect that something was amiss.  I saw her fingers clench the edge of the chair, her legs begin to tremble, her breasts begin to heave.  And then, there it was, a seamless transition from micturition to hysterical paroxysm, complete with an uncontrollable emanation of fluid.  Unlike the first flow, this one was powerful and had an ascending trajectory.

Lo’s short shorts

Lo just bore down and said, “Fuck!” as she experienced the waves of unanticipated pleasure ripple through her flesh.

She was literally gushing with contradictory feelings: embarrassment, excitement, shame, pride, disgrace, abandon, power.  The complete loss of control of her bodily functions made her feel infantile, yet her almost superhuman ability to achieve an orgasm that spouts with greater force, volume, distance, and longevity than any man’s ejaculation filled her with a sense of superiority to both men and women.  All of her emotions occurred simultaneously and were expressed through her facial contortions, as though she were being deliciously tortured.

“Holy shit!” cried out Keith, for he had never seen anything like that in person before.

He got up and measured the distance from Lo to the end of the wet trail she left in the sand and calculated it to be about six feet.

“What just happened?” he asked.

“I’ve been having spontaneous squirting orgasms lately.  I don’t know why or what’s going on,” said Lo, blushing as red as the setting sun.  “I probably should see a doctor.”  Her pussy was still dripping like a leaky faucet.

“Or stop masturbating so much,” I added, almost under my breath, but not quite.

“Feel better?” asked Kaylee.

“No, that’s the thing.  It just makes me more horny for an intentional orgasm.”

There was an uncomfortable silence while we all contemplated what might happen next.  Then suddenly there was a strong, cool wind from the south that blew everything all over the place and kicked sand up in our faces.  We scrambled to collect our stuff and then we said a hasty goodbye as it looked like rain.

Back in the car, I looked at Lo.

“What?” she asked.

“You know what.”

“It was out of my control.”

“Not that.”

“Then what?”

“You gave her the book.”

“So?”

“So?!  I’ve written about her.  She’s in it!”

“Not in that volume.”

“Don’t you think that she can find the blog and quickly see that it’s you. . . and me?”

“So what?  I’m done with having to apologize for who I am.”

“If you’re fine with it, then so am I,” I said.

We were on the road for a bit.  The rain was thrashing against the windshield.  We sat, exhausted from a full day in the hot sun.  Silently we listened to the rhythm of the wipers and the crackle of the raindrops.  It was relaxing.

“What are you thinking about, Little Miss Puddle Pants?” I asked.

“Stop it.”

“Well?”

“I was thinking about the female gaze again.”

“Oh, reminiscing about the girls you jilled to?”

“No,” she said defensively.  “I was thinking how I like to be the object of the male gaze.”

“No kidding.”

“But that the way you write me, the way I am in the books, is much more of the female gaze.”

“How so?” I asked, glad to be talking of my writing.

“Well, yes, you portray me as a sex-starved, dirty, nasty, little nympho slut.”

“I. . .” I tried to protest.

“Don’t interrupt.  But, you also get me from the inside.  You see into me and portray how I see things.”

“A lot of people see into you,” I said, making a bad pun.  It took her a moment to get it.

“Not like that!  I’m serious.  You don’t write about me as one-dimensional.  You might depict one side of me more than the others.”

“And which side would that be?” I again quipped.

“But you portray me as who I am, who I really am.  And if Kaylee doesn’t appreciate that, then too bad for her.”

“And what happens when I, inevitably, write about today and she sees it on the blog?”

“Well, you wouldn’t write anything untrue about her, would you?”

“No.”

“So, she has nothing to get upset about.”

“Fair.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Will you fuck me when we get home?” she asked as she began to doze off in the car.

“You’ll be asleep when we get home, dear.”

“Fuck me anyway.  You must be in so much pain after all that today,” she said as she reached down between my legs.  “I’d blow you now, but I think I need a nap.”

[If you liked this beach story, you’ll love the stories in our books: Sexy Shorts, Shorter Shorts, and our forthcoming Slut Life]

Must Read! Must Hear! Must See!

Hello to all of our friends in the blogosphere! We miss you! We see you!

Of course we’re disappointed that Eroticon was called off due to COVID this year. (Not that we could make it.) But we are grateful for the interwebs where we can connect with all of you in a socially safe, yet sexy way.

This is a little news update and the hard-sell for all the new and old stuff that you can get written by HH and featuring your truly, Lo your classy nympho.

You might notice a little bit longer between blog posts for us. That’s because HH has begun a new, long-form piece. Not exactly a novel (because not exactly fiction), but maybe a memoir of sorts. It will be called Rogue’s Gallery. He sees it as a film eventually and has made these creative promo posters for it.

 

 

 

 

 

In addition to this, our favorite narrator, the inimitable and premier erotica voice of Match, Cinder & Spark, Ms. Jupiter Grant, just completed the narration to Volume III: Writing Under Cover. It is out and for sale now on Audible and also Amazon.

You can hear my favorite excerpt from it here:

Though the audiobook lacks the stunning art that the hard-copy book has to offer, Jupiter Grant more than makes up for it with her seductive voice.

In addition to that, HH and I are working on the production of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume VI: Slut Life. It’s a collection of stories that take place at the beach, on the water, or during the fun, slutty, summertime.  It was supposed to be out by now, but we ran into some production hangups. It should be available in early September. Keep an eye out.

Fast, Wet, & Slippery

Since the story of what happened that week was leaked to me piece-by-piece through various curt emails and similarly brief phone calls, punctuated by alluring photos with suggestive texts, I’ll just tell you the story that I heard when Lo and I were finally reunited together at Collins lakeside cabin.

Fun Bum

Tuesday night Lily, Lo, and Collin returned to the farm-to-table restaurant to have the meal that they had helped harvest earlier that day.  Lo was dusty and disheveled due to all the work, but the restaurant’s dress code was quite lax.  They had what Lo described as one of the most scrumptious meals of her life.  It was just the three of them at a small, candle-lit table.  Collin regaled them with stories.

Back at the cottage, Lo and Lily went to bed early again, exhausted from all the day’s activities.  Lo repeated her solo performance of the night before, telling Lily as she rubbed one out how hot she finds Lily’s Uncle Collin.  She went through a little fantasy of spending time with him in a hotel room somewhere away from her Aunt Suzanne.

The next day was a crystal clear blue sky reflected in the still mirror-like water of the lake.  Collin, pleased and almost proud of the weather as if it was his handywork, said they’d spend the day on the boat.  Lo and Lily got into their bikinis and, after breakfast, they got into the speedboat and departed, without Suzanne again.  She and the dogs, Shadow and Bandit, were on the dock as the boat pulled away.  She wished them a fun time and returned to the house as the trio sped off, sending ripples across the lake’s surface.

When they got to the middle of the lake, Collin stopped the boat and turned to the girls, asking, “Want to have some fun?”

Lily’s eyes lit up as she grabbed the tubes and threw them behind the boat, careful to avoid the motor.  Lo was confused, but Lily literally showed her the ropes.  The two of them got on top of the inner tubes and held on to the rope, tethered to the boat.

“Don’t go too fast!” called Lily to Collin.  Then she showed Lola the hand-signals for: faster, slower, stop.

Collin gave the thumbs-up sign.  Lily turned to Lo and asked, “Ready?”

Not sure what was going to happen, Lo gave a frightened nod.

Lily gave the thumbs-up sign back to Collin and away they went.

The tubes bounced off the waves made by the boat as they scudded across the surface of the lake, slowly at first, but with gradually increasing speed.  Lo held on tightly and was having a fun, if terrifying, time.

They danced across the nearly vacant lake, making large figure eights and tight circles.  But then Lo felt something that made her apprehensive.  She could feel the bottoms of her bikini sliding off with the resistance of the waves splashing over her.  She put up her hand on her head to indicate stop, but Collin didn’t see until it was too late.  About fifty yards back were her yellow bikini bottoms floating on the water.  She was lucky they floated.  Actually, she would have been find either way I guess.

When they realized what had happened, Lily and Collin had a good laugh.  Lo let go of the rope and swam, her naked bum bouncing in the water, as she retrieved her bottoms.

She put them on in the water and tied the strings tightly.

They continued the tubing adventure until, when Collin stopped the boat again, Lo lifted up her head to listen to what he was saying.  She couldn’t hear him over the sputter of the engine, so he did pantomime.  Then she realized that he was telling her that her top had fallen down.  The waves had pushed her bikini top down below her tits.  They laughed again at her public exposure.

When the trio returned to the cottage and docked the boat, the girls decided to lie out and sunbathe.

Collin joked that since Lo’s bikini was so averse to staying on her body, she should just tan in the buff.  Lo took him at his word and asked, “Is that ok?”

“Sure,” he said with a wide grin.

Both Lo and Lily removed their bikinis and lay out in the noontime sun while Collin and Suzanne waited on them hand and foot.

At one point, when Collin and Suzanne were inside, Lo turned to Lily next to her and asked, “Don’t you feel a little awkward nude in front of your uncle?”

Lily looked at Lo, smiled mysteriously, and simply said, “Nah.  It’s no different than being naked in front of my dad.”

Lo went back to sipping her G&T wondering what that meant.

The rest of that day was spent lounging around the house, swimming, playing badminton, horseshoes, and cornhole, all in the nude outside while Suzanne and Collin, dressed, looked on like two proud parents.  A few boats slowed down as they passed about a hundred yards from the shore, enamored of the view, no doubt.  That night they all stayed in and watched a movie.  Of course Collin chose, Blue is the Warmest Color, which neither Lo nor I had seen, despite all the adulation and criticism it received.

By the time they watched it, Lo and Lily had showered and were dressed, but that didn’t stop Lo from stroking her pussy surreptitiously under a blanket during that eight minute long steamy sex scene.  She wondered, of course, what Collin or Collin and Suzanne were scheming by putting that particular movie on for “the girls” to watch.

I’m cumming for you