Category Archives: Bestiality
Protected: A Few Tricks, A Little Treat – Andrew and Jane at it Again!
Finding Lola – Three Covid Stories
3
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
Smalltown Strumpet – Flaming Lips
Smalltown Strumpet – Part III: Flaming Lips
Continued From: The Doctor Will See You Now
The Flaming Lips
Lo was out of commission. There would be no sexy suntanning in the front yard, no strip club short-short shenanigans, no teasing the townies down Main Street. She spent much of her time submerged in the clawfoot tub or strutting bottomless around the house, airing out her nettle-enflamed pussy. She had to sit on pillows and masturbating was now out of the question. This put her in a very unpleasant mood.
Though I wished to attend to her, I needed to get out of the house, lest I bear the brunt of her frustration with her cunt.
I had been working on an article about bestiality portrayed in art and literature through the centuries and thought I’d mosey down to the local library to continue my studies.
Lo had taken a couple of Tylenol PM and was resting comfortably when I slipped out with my computer and backpack. I figured I had a couple of hours to myself.
The library was a very small brick building. There were two rooms and a small anteroom at the entrance that contained the check-out desk, a couple of computers, and a display table for new books.
I set up in a small corner of the library, sitting in a large, square, worn brown leather club chair that looked like it was at least as old as I am. It was remarkably comfortable and the arms were flat, so they were perfect for resting my books and computer around me conveniently.
I began by looking at a blog from Remittance Girl on “Defending the Indefensible: Bestiality in Erotica.” It was a great place to start my research. She had written the article in response to censorship of erotica authors by PayPal – an infringement of speech that this very author had suffered by that very company! They should call it PrudePal.
In her article she referenced one of my favorite authors, Neil Gaiman, and his defense of Chris Handley, among others who have been prosecuted for the material they read, write, draw, collect, sell, or possess.
This led me down a rabbit hole into a morass of law, liberty, and lurid content. Thank goodness my chair had its back against the wall because if any local busybody were to see the ‘scholarly studies’ I was researching, there’s no telling what would happen.
Actually, there is a telling what would happen and if you have a moment, I will inform you as to the tempest in a teapot that an oversight by me stirred up in that little hamlet.
I was deep into my investigation of Greek portrayals of bestiality and had about ten different books from the library surrounding my chair when I received a text from Lola. “Where are you, Daddy?”
I guess I won’t be able to start my deep dive into Hokusai and the Japanese tradition of erotic images. I packed up my stuff hastily, leaving behind the library books in their sprawling spread of towers on the armchair.
Perhaps another time I will get back to you with my developed thoughts on the matter.
I drove back to the house where we were staying, to find Lo fully naked and fully submerged in the tub. She looked up at me and said, “I’m wet, and not just because I’m taking a bath.”
“Feeling better?”
“Much,” she said. “But you left me, Daddy!” She pouted.
“I’m sorry Lo, but. . .”
“Shut up and get naked.”
“I’m not going for a swim. There’s only room for one in there.”
“Who said anything about that?” she asked as she put her mouth on the edge of the tub and opened wide. She looked up at me. “Insert your cock. I’ll be your cumdump.”
I did as instructed. She sucked. I fucked (her face). Water splashed around. She contorted in the tub, eventually getting to a position where her legs were going straight up the wall in a “V” formation, her head was tilted back over the opposite side of the tub, and she was squeezing her tits and pulling on her nipples as I fucked her face. With every thrust into her mouth and down her throat, my heavy ball sack was slapping up against her upside-down face, smacking her squarely in the eyes and on the bridge of her nose. She liked it.
Lo, cooling down her flaming lips
Somehow the plug came undone and the water drained out of the tub. Lo moved her hands from her tits to her pussy. She began smacking it hard and then even harder. She slapped her pussy like a mother spanking a very naughty child, with force and anger, until she finally squirted all over the wall of the bathroom. The naughty child crying from the pain, perhaps. Seeing that, I couldn’t control myself any longer and I came directly into Lo’s esophagus. She gagged and nearly puked in the tub from the odd position of the climax.
I was dreading another trip to the hospital!
She jumped out of the tub, coughing and sputtering like she had been tossed at sea. Cum was oozing out of her nostrils and she was struggling to catch her breath. When she finally did, she said something I didn’t quite catch.
“What?” I asked.
“That was awesome,” she repeated.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“This stinging sensation in my pussy lips really makes for an incredible orgasm.”
“You should sit in poison nettles more often.”
“I think I might be able to have sex now, Daddy.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but my pussy is still burning. Do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Grab a tray of ice cubes from the freezer and meet me in the bedroom.”
I did as she asked, wondering how I was going to get hard again in order to give her what she wanted.
I met her in the bedroom and she was lying on her back.
“Take an ice cube and trace it around my labia,” she said.
I gently applied the cold, slippery, dripping ice to her pussy lips. She loved it.
“Slip it in.”
I inserted it.
“Another,” she said.
I did the same thing a second time.
“Again,” she said.
And a third time.
This continued until there were more ice cubes in her pussy than in a tall glass of lemonade.
“Now fuck me.”
At this point, the eroticism of what I had been doing had me rigid. Timidly I inserted the tip of my penis just a bit into her ice-packed pussy.
It felt cold. Freezing, to be exact. But not unpleasant.
“Fuck me!”
She likes to go from zero to balls-deep in under a minute.
I slide my rod all the way into her snow cone. There was a curious mixing of hot and cold and wet, since all the ice cubes were melting pretty rapidly inside her.
We had hardly started to stir her dirty Shirley when she said, “Go get more ice.”
I pulled out, feeling a chill on my thermometer, and got another tray of ice.
I inserted my manhood to her ice bucket and as I fucked her, the friction creating heat and melting her internal coolant, she reached over and took fresh ice cubes and, one-by-one, slipped them into her slit over the shaft of my cock. The tightness, the alternating hot and cold, the slip-sliding of the cubes inside her pussy, was unlike anything I had ever felt.
“Should I put a few in my ass?” she whispered.
I couldn’t answer and before I knew it, she was spreading her ass cheeks with one hand and putting the cubes in with the other.
“Do you want my ass, Daddy?”
I did. I did, so bad.
I pulled out and slid my hot and cold compress into her smaller icebox and within mere seconds I melted her heart with the heat of my love.
I pulled out and all the white, watery liquid spilled out of both holes as she stood up to go to the bathroom. It quickly dribbled down her inner thighs to her feet and puddled on the hardwood floor, leaving a trail from the bedroom to the bathroom. I suddenly heard a loud rattle. Her remaining ice cubes slipped out and crackled on the tile floor.
“Whoops!” I heard her call.
When she returned, she got on her knees beside the bed and looked up at me.
“Did you like that Daddy?”
“Very much, Lo,” I said.
She licked my balls and continued up my cock and then took the tip of my flaccid shaft into her mouth. “Can I be your cock-warmer, Daddy?” she asked before taking the entire length of it in her mouth and resting her head gently on my inner thigh.
[To be continued. . .]
Lo’s cockwarmer
Protected: Lola Does NOLA
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
“Fuck Me Like a Pornstar”
Lola and H.H.
It’s midday. Lo’s in the bed, naked. “Come here, Daddy, and fuck me,” she says.
I get naked and slide into her. “You’re so wet,” I say.
“I just jilled it.” As I’m inside her with her legs spread, she says, “You know, all the blinds are open and all the neighbors can see us.”
“Do you want me to shut them?”
“No!” she says, “I was telling you so that you’d fuck me like a pornstar.”
“You are a pornstar. My pornstar.”
“Not just yours.”
“What did you jill it to?”
“Get behind me and I’ll tell you.”
She gets on all fours, facing the open windows, and I mount her from behind.
Lola in the Window
“That’s it,” she says. “I jilled it to the thought of yesterday at the beach.”
“Which part?”
“Watching the girls in their thongs.”
Before she can say anymore, the image of her masturbating in the car, her legs up on the dashboard, watching two girls wearing skimpy bikinis splashing about before her as Lo intently faps flashes before my mind. I pull out and fire a shot that lands squarely between her shoulder blades. A few more shots follow.
Bikini Girls
“I think you just set a new world’s record – and not in a good way,” she complains over her shoulder.
“Well next time, don’t talk.”
“I hardly had time to say a sentence. My story certainly hadn’t reached its climax before you did!”
“In my mind, it had.”
“You know the drill,” she says, expecting me to clean her up.
“I just drilled you.”
“To hell you did!”
I grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom and gently caress it over her back as she remains bent over, her tits hanging down, framed by the window. Lo says, “I expected more. Is that the best you could do?”
“If you predecease me, I am going to see to it that those words are your epitaph. ‘Lola Down says of life: I expected more. And for all those who come to visit her tomb, on it will be etched: Is that the best you could do?’”
“Don’t worry, ole man, just like in sex, in life I’ll last a lot longer than you.”
“Any neighbors watching?” I ask.
“I sure hope so.”
As she says that, she sees my cock exhibit a flicker of life.
“Got any more in you?”
“Stay just like that,” I say, returning to the bathroom to put the washcloth in the sink.
I get behind her again and sit on the edge of the bed, stroking my cock to the view, thinking about the neighbors watching her in the window. She must have read my mind because, as I was coaxing my cock into a repeat performance, she says, “I hope the neighbors are enjoying this.”
Cum-Covered
When I’m rigid enough for reentry, I resume the position.
She moans and says, “Noon is a good time for you, Daddio.”
“Yeah, the caffeine kicks in full-force right about now.”
“Well, you can kick in full-force. Slam me. Fuck me like a pornstar. I’ll put on a good show.”
I give her my all and she begins calling out, right out the open window, “Fuck, fuck! Yeah, fuck! Fuck me. Harder. Fuck me.”
I can hear the women who live upstairs walking. The hardwood floor amplifies their footsteps and they are walking right above us. No doubt they hear the soundtrack to Lo’s porno.
I can feel her cunt-clenching convulsions beginning. Her voice is at peak volume. Her pussy pushes me out as she begins to squirt on the floor and her fingers grab onto the windowsill as if she were on the outside, holding on for dear life. “FUUUUUCK!” she cries as she sprays the floor.
“Get back in me,” she instructs desperately.
I slide in.
“Fast. Hard. Deep.”
I do my best.
Repeat. I’m squeezed out, she squirts.
I sit on the bed and watch.
Desperate for her third (Lo loves to cum in threes), she lowers her dripping slip-n-slid down on my shaft.
Now she is in control of the penetration as she lifts and drops at her own pace and to her own desired depth. Quickly she goes from slow and gentle glides to rapid, repetitive sloppy slams like a pile driver dropping at 150 beats per minute until she hits just the right spot and the dam doors burst.
Pleased with winning the Triple Crown, she falls on the bed next to me, panting.
“I tried to stay in you,” I say, apologetically, “but I’m no match for your Kegel muscles.”
“You’d have to knot me to stay in me,” she says matter-of-factly.
I’m exhausted from the workout, but Lo says I have to get up and grab a mop to clean the floor while she changes the sheets.
“Can’t we just nap and clean up later?”
“No! I can’t sleep on soppy sheets.”
“You’re so sensitive. You’re like ‘The Princess and the Pee!’”
Girlfriends
[The Mount Bliss mini-series continues from Craving Attention.]
“What do you want?” demanded Lo, watching Suzanne pace as she ignored the pleas of her prey.
Finally Suzanne walked right up to Lo and looked at her eye-to-eye, took her hand, and said, “There’s only one thing I want. It’s the one thing I can’t have. The one thing you can give me. But, under the circumstances, I don’t even know if it’s possible.”
“What?” asked Lo, exasperated by the suspense.
“I want your friendship.”
“What?!” asked Lo in a completely different tone. She couldn’t have been more taken aback.
“I have no friends. I mean, yes, I have ‘friends,’ but no one who really knows me. No one I feel I can be completely honest with. No one who knows about me and Collin. No one who knows. . . .” She trailed off. Lo knew what she meant. “You and I, we have something in common. I don’t care what Collin does with you. He’s only causing more suffering for himself, the poor thing. I don’t care how attractive, sexy, slutty, or young you are. The truth is, I not only admire you in a lot of ways, I actually like you. Now that we’ve gotten all this out in the open, I just want to have one person that I can confide in. One person who won’t judge me. One person I can trust.”
Lo was confused, but Lo’s defining characteristic, besides her libido, is compassion.
“You know, Suzanne, trust doesn’t grow out of blackmail. It’s not something that can be forged by fear or created by coercion.”
“I know, I know,” said Suzanne taking Lo’s hands in hers. “I didn’t mean to threaten you. It’s just that. . . you and I are on equal footing. You and I are cut from the same cloth. I was trying to point that out, that’s all.”
The truth was that Lo sensed their underlying kinship the first time she met Suzanne. But now things had changed. Now she felt a pang of déjà vu, reminding her of her childhood friend with whom she had had a secret sex pact concerning their mutual experience of puppy love. The sensation filled her with mixed feelings.
“It’s always better to enlist an ally than anger an enemy,” Lo said to me when she recounted the conversation with Suzanne.
Lo accepted Suzanne’s strange offer of camaraderie and then, with a tepid hug and kiss, bade her good night.
Shadow of a Doubt
[The mini-series, “Mount Bliss,” continues from “Lola on All Fours” with this abridged account.]
We left the rest of the crew standing in disbelief of their own eyes and went up to the bedroom together.
Out of sight of the other four, Lo hugged me so hard that it seemed she would never let go. She began to cry.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she sniffled into my shirt.
Besides my other kinks and fetishes, I am particularly plagued with a terrible condition known as dacryphilia – the sexual arousal that results from seeing someone cry.
Lo’s tears, her shame, her sexual deviancy, her exhibitionism, her terrible teasing of me all day, nay, all week, and her repeating the refrain of “Daddy” all caused my already hard cock to swell to a stiffness I hadn’t felt in ages.
“Daddy, I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I’m so bad. Daddy, do you even still love me?” she asked, extremely repentant. That’s when she felt my love for her manifest in definitive form.
She dropped to her knees on the floor and held onto my rigid member with one hand and felt my soft sack with the other. She was worshipping it. “Your balls are so big. So full.” If crying turns me on, nothing turns on Lo like a male who is in desperate need of relief.
Tears were still running down her cheeks as she took me in her mouth. She looked up at me, “It’s been so long,” she said. I could feel the teardrops fall on my thigh.
Did she mean so long since she and I had been together or so long since she gave someone a blowjob? I didn’t know.
“Have me, Daddy,” she said, getting on all fours on the bed.
Her puss was still leaking and looked puffy, pink, gleaming and glistening like two perfect slices of tuna sashimi. I know that sounds weird, but I tell it like I saw it.
“What are you waiting for Daddy. Don’t you want to fill me up?” Doggie style, she awaited my mount.
“I feel like I’m in Shadow’s shadow,” I said.
“Don’t think about it that way, Daddy.”
“How should I think about it?”
“Don’t think. Fuck.”
“Don’t think. Fuck,” I thought to myself. Fuck. Fuck her. Fuck her cunt. Fuck her filled foaming warm wet sloppy soaked queefing cum-drenched c*****-infused cunt. And that’s just what I began doing as she audibly moaned with a sound that reminded me of the final, satisfying chord of a symphony. All that tension from the screech of the violins, the percussive pressure of rhythm, the rising anticipation of the bass as it ascends step-by-step up the scales, finally resolved in one beautiful resolution that was Lo’s guttural moan of pleasure. Mount Bliss.
I knew, however, that the tone of gratification was prelude to the new composition that she and I were in the process of creating together. I pulled back and saw in the darkness . . . thick cum drip from the labia just before I pushed back in, deep and far.
Lo collapsed onto the bed, lunging forward from her doggie style position to being sprawled out on her tum, her legs spread, and reaching back with both hands to grab her ass cheeks and squeeze them as I continued to enter and exit her from behind.
“Yes, Daddy. Yes,” she said.
[For unabridged version, send us an email.]
Lola on All Fours
[The mini-series, “Mount Bliss,” continues from “Southern Comfort” with this abridged account.]
CRASH!!! Clankity, clank clank.
We all turned around and saw Lola standing, one hand to her mouth, surprise on her face, her bare feet standing in a puddle of booze and a silver shaker spinning on the ground. Even the dogs froze in their frisky flirtations with Suzanne.
“Whoops!” said Lo. “I’ll clean it up. I’m so sorry. I feel like such a fool!”
I went over to her and followed her into the kitchen where she grabbed some rubber gloves and cleaning stuff. I was grateful for the excuse to get out of the crosshairs of Collin and Suzanne.
Lo returned to the living room and went over by the entranceway where she spilled, and she got on all fours to clean up in her little black nighty that she had been wearing.
. . .
Everyone was already watching as Lo cleaned up. Now they were gawking. . . .
Lola’s Satin Nighty
[For the full story, email us.]