Feedie for a Night

A.I. Lola

“Daddy,” said Lo one morning as I was tying my tie and just about ready to leave for work.

“Yes?”

“Am I free this Friday?”

“Lo, you are always free.  Free and easy.”

“I mean, do we have any plans?”

“Not that I know of.  Why?”

“I have an admirer.”

“You have many admirers, Lo, and I’m your biggest admirer.”

“Depends on your metric for size,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“You know that I’ve had bigger, right?”

“I wasn’t speaking of my anatomy,” I said.  “I have to go.”

“But Daddy,” she pouted, “I didn’t tell you about Friday yet.”

“Out with it.”

“So bossy.  I like it.  Rrrrrrrrrr.”  She rolled her ‘R’ with her tongue to make a revving sound.

“What is Friday?”

“Well, it seems that your story, ‘A Linguistically Mysterious Voyage into the Unknown’ got the attention of one of my fans.”

“Probably many fans.”

“And this particular fan wants to take me out.”

“On a date?”

“Yes, on a date.”

“Did you vet him first?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Well, he’s not exactly my type.”

“Lo, everyone who is into you is your type.”

“That’s just what I mean.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure he can get into me.”

“I’m sorry, you lost me.”

“He is morbidly obese and, to make matters worse, he has a tiny penis.”

“You really performed quite the thorough vetting process.”

“Proper research is a must.”

“But you still want to go out with him?”

“He read that story and he said that he has a fetish for feedies.”

“Oh, he’s a chubby chaser.”

“He read about you calling me fat.”

“Is that ‘phat’ with a ‘p-h’ or ‘fat’ with an ‘f’?”

“I don’t know.  You wrote it.”

“Just checking.”

“Anyhow, he said he would simply like to get dinner and a movie.”

“He wants to see you eat?”

“Apparently.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“You know me.”

“Biblically.  But I’m afraid I don’t know what that means in this context.”

“I’m a ‘trysexual.’  I’ll try anything at least once.”

“So you are willing to indulge this guy’s fetish for feeding you?”

“It’s rare I meet a kink I don’t like.”

“Well, suit yourself then.  Just be safe.”

“OK.  Love you!”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Pet the cat.”

“We don’t have a cat.”

“You know what I mean.  Pet.  The.  Cat,” she said as she patted her pussy with her right hand.

“And then what?”

“Feed the kitty.”

“Feed the kitty?”

She grabbed the double-ended dildo out from her nightstand drawer.

Lo and her Toys

“Oh,” I said, comprehending.  “No work today?”

“I have a Zoom meeting in fifteen minutes?”
“Do you have enough time before the meeting to both pet the cat and feed the kitty?”

“Who said I have to get all that done before the meeting?”
“You’re certainly not going to do it during the meeting?”

“Oh, Daddy!  You have such stodgy standards.”

“Well, just don’t become the next female Jeffry Toobin.”

As I was putting on my shoes, I saw her put on a white, business-attire blouse over her bare breasts.  Her breasts could be seen swinging from side-to-side as she moved.  She grabbed her suction-cup dildo and affixed it to the work chair she had in her special home work station, and she slid her naked bottom down onto the dildo while setting up her computer for the Zoom meeting.

“Have a good day at work,” she said over her shoulder.

“Enjoy your meeting,” I replied, closing the door behind me.

Lo looked forward to Friday with much anticipation.  Her chub-chaser admirer, whom we shall call Mr. Biggs, was quite the control freak.  With each passing day he gave Lo ever greater detailed instructions for how she should dress and prepare for their meeting.

All week long, Lola was popping out to the shops to buy this skirt, that top, these heels, those panties, etc.  Each day when she received a different instruction, description of an item, or photo of specific piece, she’d tell or show me, then she’d go on her scavenger hunt to find said object, bring it home, and try it on for me.  I can’t say that I found any of this objectionable, except that she was taking orders from another man.

Each night she would fantasize about her date while riding me.  She’d articulate out loud her vivid imagining of how it would go.  I’ll elide over these various fantasies since frequently I wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer than, “Then we’d sit down to dinner. . .” before I’d explode inside her and she would have to resort to her Hitachi and her silent imagination to bring herself to a not so silent orgasm.

Finally the Friday date night arrived and Lola put on exactly what Mr. Biggs had ordered – black, patent leather strappy heels, nylon stockings, a short black leather skirt, a white, transparent top, no bra, and a short black leather jacket.  She spent a good amount of time blowing out her silky, shiny black hair, doing her makeup and making sure her manicure and pedicure were perfect.  I was somewhat suspicious of all this preparation.  I mean, she was doing this date as a sort of whimsical frolic – to be another man’s feedie for a night.  But Lo took her role seriously and, no matter the paramour, she aimed to impress.  Was she trying to impress her date, those in the restaurant, or to make me jealous?  She was probably going for all three and I had no doubt she’d succeed.

Lola’s Date Night Outfit, A.I.

Mr. Biggs also aimed to impress.  He spared no expense on his date.  He chose one of the finest restaurants in town – one which had a commanding view of the city’s skyline.  A perk of remaining anonymous as a writer is that when Lo goes on these dates, I am able to keep tabs on her by sitting at the bar without concern that her part-time lover will suspect anything since there is no way I could be recognized as the man on whom Lo is cheating.

I went up the elevator up to the restaurant on the 29th floor first and I walked into the full, but oddly quiet, even staid establishment and took a seat at the bar.  This was an expensive, fancy restaurant where people spoke quietly and politely.  Most of the patrons were over fifty, dressed formally, and not one of them looked like they were having a good time.  It seemed more of a duty or a chore to go through the motions of eating dinner than having a fun night out with one’s partner, or paramour, however the case may be.

I was situated on a stool at the corner of the bar, the better to see wherever my Lo and her date were seated.  I looked around the room and didn’t see Mr. Biggs, whom I would have recognized from his photos that Lo insisted he send prior to agreeing to the date.  He was at least 300 pounds and there was no way he would have simply blended in with the crowd if he was already in the restaurant.  I became worried however, because none of the tables for two were empty or had the little “reserved” card on them.  Where would they sit?  Would I be able to see them?  I saw the elevator doors open and Lola walk up to the hostess, telling her the name for the reservation.

The hostess walked Lola over to a four-top and seated her, saying the rest of her party should be there soon.  Lola looked very much out of place in this stuffy dining room with its fancy China and white linen tablecloths.  Her black leather skirt and matching leather jacket, contrasting with her see-through white t-shirt (no bra), caused her to look like she had walked in from a Harley Davidson biker gang.  I was actually afraid the hostess would turn her away due to the dress code of the joint.  But she didn’t.

Lola sat alone at the table for four.  She was facing me and gave me a little, discrete wink.  I think she was just as confused by the table for four as I was.

Then, all of a sudden, a man shaped like a boulder entered the room.  He was one of the largest humans I had ever set eyes on!  He was dressed nicely – it must have been custom-made clothes – in black pants, a white pressed shirt, and a small blue and pink bow tie.  He wore no jacket over the shirt.  His waste line must have been 60 inches, at least!  He was probably just under six feet tall, with unusually small feet, at least compared with the size of the rest of him.  He looked down at Lola and smiled, politely.  From across the room, I could see that he was sweating on the brow of his bald head.  He sat down.  Now I understood why Lola was seated at a table for four.  He took up nearly the entire side of the table.  He had to move the second chair to the side in order to fit awkwardly.  I thought to myself, how does this guy ever fly on an airplane?  Or any public transport for that matter?  There is not a chair large enough for him!  As it was, I was worried about the structural integrity of the chair he was currently occupying.

A waitress came by and, after a word with Mr. Biggs, she removed the two extra place settings.  She then brought over a bottle of champagne.  At least the guy did his homework and knew Lo’s beverage of choice.  They clinked glasses.  Lola smiled coquettishly at him.  They opened their menus and a brief discussion ensued before he ordered for the two of them.  Lola seemed charmed by him.  Or, at least, she was laying on the charm – smiling seductively with a twinkle in her eye.  She must have found him to be endearing or else she wouldn’t be trying to hard to impress him.

From my vantage point, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the words hardly mattered.  All the communication was exchanged between glances.  Lo allowed her leather jacket to flap open, revealing her hard nipples through the thin, transparent fabric of her blouse.

Lo, flaunting it. A.I.

The first course was served.  It was a creamy, thick soup.  It was only served to Lo.  Mr. Biggs sipped his champagne and intently watched Lo eat.  She brought the spoon up to her lips and daintily downed the soup.  She could see how enticed Mr. Biggs was by her polite performance and she relished in pushing the envelope.  She took a spoonful of soup and then, after eating it, she licked the spoon with her tongue very erotically.  Mr. Biggs’ eyes opened wide.  I do believe he was salivating at the sight.  I had to remind myself, he’s a feeder.  This is porn to him.

The next course came.  It was arancini balls, with a drizzle of cheese sauce on top.

I didn’t have to hear Lo to be able to read her lovely, lush, red lips saying, “Mmmmm, I love balls.”

Mr. Biggs watched as Lo slowly, indulgently took a bite of each ball from between her index finger and thumb as she used her hands to eat them.  Lo seemed to enjoy putting on the performance.

The third course was the main course – a beautifully creamy beurre blanc sauce over a filet of sole.  I could see by the look on Lo’s face that she was beginning to feel full.  But, nevertheless, she self-sacrificed for her friend’s food fetish fantasy.  Lola ate slowly, “accidentally” (on purpose) dripping a little of the white sauce on her chin.  She had Mr. Biggs eating out of the palm of her hand, even though she was the one doing the eating and mesmerizing him in the process.

She tried to make some small-talk, but he was too enraptured by her ingestion too converse.  Lo gave up on the conversation and continued to seduce by taking satisfaction in the sole.

Mr. Biggs’ abstention from partaking in the meal and his careful observation of Lola didn’t go without notice by the other patrons and the waitress, but that didn’t impinge upon his or Lola’s delight in the scenario.

Lo cleaned her plate, as she felt was the expectation.  This provided a brief interlude before dessert for her to get to know her dinner companion a little better.

“Tell me about you,” said Lo.

“What would you like to know?”

“Well, single, dating, married?”

“Married.”

“Oh, does Mrs. Biggs know you’re on a date with me?”

He chuckled and said, “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?  We’re just having dinner together.  How’s the sex-life?”

“Nonexistent,” he said with a frown.

“Oh no!  Why?”

“Look at me.”

That comment broke Lo’s compassionate heart.

“I’m diabetic, I have high-blood pressure, my circulation is terrible, and, if you haven’t noticed, I’m morbidly obese.”

Lo wanted to say, “And why don’t you have sex?” but she refrained.

“Also,” he continued, “she just gave birth – our first baby – and she’s exhausted, stressed, and has zero libido now.”

“Well, at least you did it once,” said Lo, lighting up.

“It was artificial insemination.”

“No!”  The exclamation escaped Lo’s lips before she knew what she was saying.

“Yes,” he said.  “We just aren’t, well, physically compatible.  I’m over three-hundred pounds and she’s a petite buck-ten.”

“There has to be a way.”

“Nope.  I mean, there was when we first got together.  But then when we wanted to get pregnant, over a year ago, I was already too large for her.  So we got professional help and, actually, that’s how I found you.”

“How’s that?” asked Lo, lighting up now that the topic of conversation had turned towards her.

“I was doing some research on-line about the process and I came across your story, ‘The Master,’ I think it was called.”

“Yeah,” said Lo.  “You came across it?” she asked for clarification.

“Not in that sense.  Well, I mean, later in that sense.”

“Good,” said Lo.

“But I found that story and then I found you and I was like, ‘Wow!  She’s hot!’  And then I saw a post about, what was it? – ‘A Wet Workout and a Wank.’  Was that it?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, and you were so sexy in that photo that I knew I had to contact you!”

“I see.”

Just then the waitress brought the dessert for Lola.  But it was also the dessert for Mr. Biggs’ eyes.  They were beaming at the melted chocolate lava cake à la mode that the waitress set between the two of them with two spoons.

“Aren’t you going to have some?” asked Lo, pouting cutely.  She asked not only out of concern for her date, who hadn’t eaten a thing all night, but also because she was beyond full.  She couldn’t imagine eating that entire portion herself!

“Oh no,” he said, “watching you eat is pleasure enough for me.”

Lola wanted this culinary cumfest to be as hot as possible.  She excused herself and went to the bathroom where she removed her t-shirt and returned with only her leather jacket on, unzipped, so that when she moved in just the right way, you could catch a glimpse of her naked breasts.

Flash and feed.

She sat back down at the table, moving in just the right way for Mr. Biggs.

She dug into the lava cake with her spoon and seductively licked the chocolate off of it.  Accidentally, a little of the chocolate lava dripped on her chin.  She went to wipe it off, but he said, “Please – that looks so good.”  Her hand holding the napkin froze midway to her mouth.  She realized that this turned Mr. Biggs on like nothing so far.  Lola put her napkin back on her lap and picked up the spoon.  Slowly, keenly spying Mr. Biggs’ reaction, Lola descended the spoon into the soft cake.  She got a little cake, a little lava, and a little vanilla ice cream on the spoon and raised it to her open mouth where her tongue was prominently placed to receive the helping.  But, at the very last moment as her hand made its slow-motion trajectory toward her parted lips, she diverted the delivery and smeared a large splotch of the sloppy serving around her lips.

Mr. Biggs’ eyes nearly popped right out of his face.  Lola repeated the performance, this time getting it on her chin.

Soon she sat with a goatee of chocolate and vanilla dripping down her neck.

The waitress came over and asked if everything was ok.  Lola looked up at her and smiled, saying, “Just fine.” She caught the waitress gazing down at Lo’s bare chest.

Mr. Biggs, looking to prolong Lola’s humiliation, politely asked for a cup of tea.  Neither Lo nor Mr. Biggs acknowledged the obvious – Lo’s messy mug.  The waitress was confused.  Soon other patrons in the restaurant were staring.  Lo, aware that this was a performance that pleased her paramour, played along, smiling back seductively at the guests who were embarrassed on her behalf.

She continued to smear cake on her face as Mr. Biggs sipped his tea patiently.  Soon it was spread from ear-to-ear.  Mr. Biggs could take no more.  He asked for the check.  He paid and soon the two of them were in the elevator going down.

Lo still wore her dessert on her face and Mr. Biggs said, “May I kiss you?” once the doors of the elevator shut.

“Yes.”

He didn’t so much kiss Lo as greedily lick what he could from her face.  He was in an ecstasy of culinary concupiscent rapture.  As he kissed her face, Lo reached down, under his substantial stomach, and grabbed his crotch.  To her amazement, she felt nothing.  She recalled his comment about high blood pressure.  The elevators arrived at the lobby and the two of them got out.  Both of them had chocolate on their faces now.  They walked through the crowded arcade of shops and restaurants on the ground level until they were in the parking garage.  It was an empty garage and Lola could spot Mr. Biggs’ car right away.  It was the SUV parked in the handicapped spot to the right of the doors.  He clicked the remote and it lit up.  Lola stepped up onto the elevated footstep and hoisted herself in.  Mr. Biggs got into the driver’s side and turned to Lo.  He was breathing heavily.  He continued to kiss her face.

She pulled back.  “You said dinner and a movie.  What movie?”

“Well, we can’t go to my house.  My wife is there.  And I would like to go to a movie with you, but I also want so much more.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I would love a blowjob.  I haven’t had one in ages.”

Lo unzipped his fly and pulled out the little pud that she found hidden in there.  How could this outsized giant have such a below average cock?

“Do you mind if I watch a movie?” he asked.

Lo’s lips were already wrapped around his pud.  She didn’t reply.  He took out his phone.  He began watching all sorts of BBW (Big Beautiful Women) and SSBBW (Super Sized Big Beautiful Women) porn.  Lo’s thick mane was between Mr. Biggs’ legs as he held his phone on the steering wheel and watched the porn in the largely vacant parking garage.  Every once in a while Lo would come up for air, look at the porn, give him a kiss, and then go back down for more.

This continued for quite a while, until, in fact, Lo’s jaw began to get tired.  And then Lo began to get tired.  She had had a full bottle of champagne all to herself at dinner.  Gradually, Lo’s sucking and bobbing slowed until she was merely lying in Mr. Biggs’ lap, reduced to nothing but a cock-warmer as he continued to gluttonously engorge on porn of large women.

Lo had no idea how much time elapsed as she was snoozing in Mr. Biggs’ lap, but the next thing she remembers was feeling his large hands in her hair, gently pushing her face down on his diminutive dick as his hips pushed up.  Up-and-down, in-and-out, he was manipulating her to face-fuck his cock.  Perhaps he found just the right video to engage his libidinous desires.  Perhaps he needed to cum and wanted to bring the night to its ultimate conclusion.  Maybe he found her unconsciously covering his cock to be a real turn-on.  Who knows?  Lo was roused from her slumbers and, though surprised at first, she eventually engaged enthusiastically in the effort until, with much wheezing, quick thrusts, and a few grunts, Mr. Biggs unloaded into Lo’s mouth as she lapped up every stray drop from his small pud.

Lo sat up, her hair disheveled, her mouth dripping with cum and her face covered still in drying chocolate, and she looked at Mr. Biggs.  He did not look well.  He pulled out an inhaler and took a few quick puffs.  He was perspiring.  Lo actually asked if she should call for help.  He assured her he would be ok.

When he finally caught his breath he looked at the clock and said, “Thanks Lo, but I have to be going.  Will we see each other again?”

“I had a good time.  When would you like to get together?”

Lo actually had no intention of seeing him again, but she is always polite.

“Halloween is coming up in two weeks and I have an invite to a very special party.  Perhaps then?”

“Sure,” said Lo as she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  She popped out of the car and pulled out her phone, texting me.  She knew I wasn’t far.  I told her where I was and soon she was in the car with me and she relayed the blow-by-blow to me as we drove home.

Lola was receiving detailed instructions from her paramour who grew more perverted by the pound.  The special Halloween party, he informed Lo, was to be for kinksters only.  All invitees were expected to arrive in an outfit that would be outlandish and sexy at the same time.

Perhaps this does not come as such a great surprise, but Mr. Biggs, in addition to being a chub chaser, was also a total nerd who had a thing for Star Wars.  As a result, the costume he had fixated on for him and Lo was Jabba the Hutt and Princess Leia respectively.  But there would be an interesting twist on the costume.  Instead of it being a pairing of ginormously fat and rail thin, it was ginormously fat and Lo, in the sex slave outfit, proudly parading her prominently rounded rolls.

Lola was worried about this since she was self-conscious of the weight she had gained in the past couple of years.

“Lo,” I said, reassuringly, “you are gorgeous.”

“But. . .”

“No but.  I mean, beautiful butt!  Beautiful big butt – I cannot lie.  Besides, beauty, sex-appeal, the feminine mystique, it’s all about the mind, attitude, confidence, and persona anyway.”

“Slut is a state of mind.”

“Exactly!  I mean, just look at our friend, what’s-her-name.”

“Oh, funloving BBW?”

Funloving BB@

“Yeah, her.  By conventional standards. . .”

“Conventional standards of beauty constructed by men,” Lo interrupted.

“That’s what I was about to say.  By conventional standards she would not be beautiful.”

“Beauty is such a malleable thing.  I mean she might be just what Rubens considered the ideal of femininity.”

“Of course, but I’m not talking about Rubens.  I’m talking about Hugh Hefner, Bob Guccione, Larry Flynt.”

“They defined beauty for a few generations.”

“But look at what’s happening now,” I said, “with content creators like Faye Daniels, Dirty Little Diva Nicole, Chelle Silverstein, and even people like our friends, Samantha Massie, Sara Anne, Jennifer Kincade, and Karla Mott Nowak – they’re all so beautiful in their own ways and people appreciate that today.”

She gave me a sidelong look, revealing her jealousy.  She can sometimes behave just like Tinkerbell with that razor edge of possessiveness.  I knew I was in trouble.

“I mean, no one compares to you, of course.”

Funloving BBW

Believe

Funloving BBW

Moo

Funloving BBW bikini

Funloving BBW

Faye Daniels

Faye Daniels

Faye Daniles

Faye Daniels

Faye Daniels

The glamorous Faye Daniels in Rose Shaped Sunglasses

Faye Daniels and friend

Faye Daniels and friend

Dirty Little Diva Nicole and friends

Chelle Silverstein

Chelle Silverstein and husband Brenden Basil

Hotwife Sara Anne

Hotwife Sara Anne

Sara Anne

Samantha Massie

Samantha Massie

Jennifer Kincade

Jennifer Kincade

Jennifer Kincade

Karla Mott Nowak

Karla Mott Nowak

Karla Mott Nowak

Karla Mott Nowak

Shopgirl Assistance

Panties Panties Panties

“Excuse me, but could you please help me with this?” he asked.

“Sure, what is it you’re looking for?” replied the young, cute women’s clothing shop salesgirl.

“I’m trying to find the right size miniskirt.”

“Oh, for your girlfriend?” she asked, not seeing a wedding band on his ring finger.  “What’s her size?”

“Well, that’s just the problem.”

“You don’t know her size,” she said, holding up a couple of skirts.

“No.”

“That’s ok, it happens all the time.  Do you think her waist is wider or narrower than mine?” she asked, twirling and trying to be helpful.  He was stunningly handsome and had a ‘V’ shaped physique.  Broad shoulders, narrow hips, bulging biceps.  He wore a tight t-shirt that hid very little of his rock-solid pecks.  His jeans were loose-fitting, but she could see he was packing something large in them.  She immediately wanted to be as accommodating as possible and she was grateful to show off her own feminine form for him to compare her with his girlfriend.

“No, I don’t think you understand,” he said.  “It’s not for my girlfriend.”

“Oh?”

“It’s for me.”

“For you?”

“Yes.  And these are only in women’s sizes, understandably.”

She chuckled and asked, “Are you getting ready for Halloween?”  It was only August.

“No,” he said, secretly delighting in the bombshell he was about to drop.  He had never done this before.  He was nervous about her reaction.  But he also had been looking forward to this moment, vividly imagining it in all its detail, and spending lots of time choosing just the right sales assistant for the job.  He didn’t even know it before Lola, but it had become his particular kink.  “I’m a cross-dresser,” he said nervously, the blood rushing to his flush face.  “I’m looking for a skirt for me.  And maybe some panties, a garter, and maybe a nice choker.”  He said it all very fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

She was young.  Inexperienced.  Innocent.  Naive.  She couldn’t conceal the surprised look on her face.  That’s exactly what he was hoping for.  But he also was wracked with fear that she would laugh, or worse, call security.  His heart was thumping in his chest.  He could hear the blood beating like a drum in his neck and ears.

Now for stage two.

“Well, uh, what is your size?”  She asked foolishly.  But then she corrected herself.  “No, you know what, here, I’ll just measure you.”  She played it off as if she had had many customers with the same request.  In fact, she had never even fathomed an encounter like this.  But something about it – probably his amazingly good looks and his disarmingly polite, even shy demeanor – made her feel at ease and willing to help.

She wrapped a measuring tape around his hips.  She liked getting her face close to his abs.  She didn’t linger too long.  She did some quick calculations.  “What style were you interested in?”

He pulled up a couple of very skimpy skirts, barely six inches in length.  “Something like this.”  They were pink.  One had a plaid pattern on it.

“OK,” she said, trying to be cool.  These were sexy outfits.  She felt a twitch between her legs.  “Let’s get you something in your size and get you in the fitting room.”

“Will you help me pick it out?  I’m new at this.”

She laughed flirtatiously.  He was at least five, maybe seven years older than she.  “Of course I will.  That’s my job.”

They picked out a few items and then they walked to the fitting room together.  She had to tell the other shopgirl that it was ok.  They often had men waiting for their wives and girlfriends outside the fitting room, but never one go inside, to try on something like this!

She followed him in.  He took the items.  He tried them on.  When he found one that he thought fit, he opened the door to let her see.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She looked, mouth wide open, as she saw him in a pink frilled mini-skirt, his giant cock bulging out from the bottom, supported and veiled by tight white lace panties.  He was bare-chested.  She had never seen such an Adonis as this perfect man!

How do I look?

“Um, is that the look you’re going for?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, uh, well, you’re not exactly covered.”

“I like that.”

“Then I think it looks fabulous!”

“Really?”

“Yes.  Really.”

“I have a few more to try on.”

He shut the door.  Now her face was flush.  Her heartbeat was thumping in her chest.

A few moments later, he opened the door and asked again, “What do you think?”

This time he was wearing a pink plaid mini-skirt and white lace stockings held up by a garter belt.  The tip of his uncut cock protruded a good two inches below the hemline.

What do you think?

She looked at him, speechless.

“Oh.  My.  God.”

“What?” he asked.

“Um, I’m sorry, uh.”  She fumbled.  She had never, ever seen anything like this.

They spent the better part of an hour trying on different items.  Her imagination went wild as she dressed him up in tight panties, stockings, even a bra.  She loved touching his rock-hard flesh.

She had orgasms before, but never had she had a hands-free, contact-free orgasm.  This one happened merely as a result of being in his presence.  She creamed her panties and she knew she’d have to leave work early.

Before her assistance was over, she asked, “Where do you plan on wearing these?”

He pulled out his phone and showed her the wallpaper of the homepage.  It was a sexy photo of a beautiful, buxom, brunette.  “They’re for my girlfriend, Lola,” he said.

And, indeed, he wasn’t lying.  Lola had instructed him to put her photo on his phone and to do everything that you have just read and to tell the shopgirl that Lola was his girlfriend.

Lola Wallpaper

Later that day, he brought all his lingerie home and did a photoshoot for Lola and relayed how he obediently fulfilled her instructions.

“Closet Panties”

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Labor Day – Two Women who Work

Mrs. Sins

Today is Labor Day and in honor of those who work, we want to introduce you to two friends (of ours and each other) who work hard for their money. We also want to ask you to support them through a very special gift.

Samantha (Sammi) Masog and Mrs. Sins.

I’ll let Sammi tell you about herself and her business:

My name is Sammi.  I am from a small town in central Minnesota.  I am currently expecting my first child.  My husband and I are very excited and nervous!  We have two beautiful little kittys named Heinrich and Leonardo.  I have always loved photography.  I am the person that notices the small things most would overlook.

While looking to make a living from the thing I love doing I stumbled across boudoir.  It was super intriguing to me.   It was a way for women to feel like the sexual creatures that they are, but also gave them a chance to see their beauty in a different light.  We sometimes get stuck in being a role for other people and forget to see who we really are.  So I started taking on clients.  It was incredible to see these people light up with the way they saw themselves through my eyes.  I ended up with a whole new appreciation for the human form.   In every body is something truly spectacular.  If you look for the beauty, it’s easy to see.  Society has made this a much more difficult task, especially towards ourselves.   Because of this and knowing exactly how it feels to be told you’re not pretty enough and that no one wants you, I want to make sure women everywhere know that is untrue.   That led me to become a life coach.  I wanted to help people in a more specific way.   So I honed in on empowering women.  Thus my Empowerment Coaching was born.

I coach women to unlearn the negative things about themselves and to learn how to embrace the beauty they already behold.  Through monthly or biweekly session I help break down those barriers that keep us thinking “I wish I looked like (blank).”   We work on affirmations to ensure that you are your most confident and true self.  There is so much more to this world than just looking beautiful all the time.  We need to cherish every part of ourselves.  And I want to help people do that.  When I combine coaching with my photography I can help women truly accept who they are and not who they think they should be.

Samantha Masog, Self Portrait

Samantha has used her talents and art to inspire so many women to be confident and proud of themselves. And, as she describes it, it is a labor of love. She also will be going into labor soon.

Speaking of going into labor, Mrs. Sins – already confident and proud of her beauty – took a set of photos when she was pregnant that we think you might enjoy!

Mrs. Sins expecting

Mrs. Sins Pregnant

 

Though she sometimes takes selfies, usually Mrs. Sins is photographed by her loving husband, Mr. Sins. Though he tends to be a little more camera shy than the Mrs.

 

 

 

Mr. & Mrs. Sins

Unlike a lot of the people we profile here, Mr. & Mrs. Sins don’t run an OF page or anything else to make money off of their artful photography. They do it for the sheer love of it.

Did I say “sheer”?

They recently requested a copy of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume V: Shorter Shorts and said that they loved it!

Mrs. Addy Sins reads Match, Cinder & Spark

Cover as Cover Up

 

Sometimes Mommy Needs some Alone Time

In order to show our appreciation and to help out two amazing women, we ask you to contact Sammi and make a donation to help pay for Addy to do a boudoir session with her and get some professional sexy photographs made of her for Mr. Sins, you, and all of us!

You can contact her here:

Instagram: rose.lens.empower
Facebook: Facebook.com/roselensempower

Mr. & Mrs. Sins

 

A Time to Love

Lola’s older sister, Roberta Go

“Gazing at the written world, seeing the elegant self-restraint that guards an inner decomposition, a biological decay until the last moment from the prying eyes of the world; that bilious, sensually disadvantaged ugliness that is able to kindle its smoldering fire into a pure flame and to even usurp the throne in the kingdom of beauty.”

Death in Venice, Thomas Mann

 

“Really?” asked Lo as I mixed the gin in with the tonic and sliced up a sliver of lime.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s not even noon.”

“What is time in a global pandemic anyway?”

We were two weeks into lockdown.  We were stranded in paradise.  Far away from our everyday hustle and bustle, cold weather, friends and family, we followed the dire warnings about travel a week into our winter vacation to the beachside resort town.  The sun was shining, the sea breeze gently moderating the temperature, the inviting golden sand beckoning us to walk through it barefoot.  But all the amenities of this place were off-limits.  One-by-one each pleasurable pastime was shut down, cordoned off, closed – first the bars and restaurants, then the beach itself, and finally the boardwalk.  We were allowed to walk on the sidewalks, but that was it.  There was nowhere to go anyhow.  We could take our lives in our hands and go to the supermarket to get necessities (if we could find them on the bare shelves), but we didn’t want to do that and we made as infrequent visits there as possible.

News of sickness, disease, and death were filtering into every media channel.  It seemed that even if we didn’t watch the news, we still couldn’t escape it – it was in the air.  The stock market was tumbling down off a cliff, unemployment was spiking, and anxiety was everywhere.  We couldn’t hug our neighbors for comfort, for they may be the vicious vector conveying the virus within their sincere attempt at reassurance.

Lola and I were utterly alone on the 25th floor of a resort hotel overlooking the vacant beaches and streets with nothing but the brilliant yellow, blue, and wisps of white for company.  On the horizon we could make out three giant cruise ships forbidden from docking for fear of their deadly cargo.  We were informed that the virus was rampant and people dropping with asphyxiation on the decks, desperately looking to the shore for some sort of assistance, in vain.

Death surrounded us.  So why not have a gin-and-tonic after breakfast?  I had plunged into nihilism.

Yes, I still had Lola as my companion, but there was little for me to write about regarding “my sexlife with Lola.”  Her trysts, flirtations, and dogging down by the pool area were prohibited by the pandemic.  Yes, she still masturbated three, four, five times a day, but I’ve written about that in such detail and with such frequency that there is hardly anything new I could bring to the topic.  Our lives beat on with the same monotony as the repetitive waves upon the shore.

Until one day our desperation to escape the gloom of death and destruction was relieved.  We found solace in the strangest of places.  While preparing for her Friday morning fap session, Lo was doing her usual foreplay routine which includes checking her elicit email account.  In it, she discovered a missive from her sister Robie, whom she hadn’t seen for a dozen years or more.  Even with me, she had only mentioned her in passing as her “estranged sibling.”  All I knew about her was that she was older and residing abroad.  How on earth did she find Lo’s secret email account?

After getting the email, Lo called me into the bedroom and explained some of the backstory.

“She’s older and when we were kids we slept in the same bed.  It became. . . interesting. . . when she grew boobs.  Long story short, we got caught, she got kicked out of the house and sent to boarding school and then to Europe.  We were separated for a long time.”

“Why did she suddenly write to you now?” I asked.

“I’m getting there,” said Lo, still naked under the sheets, slowly stroking between her legs as she spoke, “During COVID lockdown she needed something to help her get off.  She was scouring the internet to find the really dirty stuff.  She came across (and to) our blog and, because I don’t show my face, was fapping to it regularly, not knowing it was me – her sister – that was making her horny, until one day she noticed something that gave me away.  She reached out and sent this photo of her with the ebook of Match, Cinder & Spark.”

Robie with our ebook

She showed me the photo.  I was in a state of shock; first by the events that led to this interaction and then by the family resemblance I saw between Lo and Robie.

“She’s beautiful,” I uttered unconsciously.

Lo took offense.  Always jealous.

“I mean, she looks so much like you.  It’s a compliment.”

Apparently Lo, being the younger sister, always took a backseat to Robie.  My comment brought back all those jealousy issues.

Since that first email exchange as adults, the two have reconnected on a number of levels, not least of which is that they frequently get off to each other long-distance.

I suppose the ever-present, yet occasionally more pressing, specter of death can reunite as well as rend.

Robie showing that she has been using Lo to get off

Friends, Fans, and Fucks

Harder

 

His name is Al and he is a sex-addict.

“Hi Al.”

He writes to Lo on the sly.  “You are my favorite slut.”

“I’m everyone’s favorite slut,” she quips back.

“I have a sex addiction.  My wife keeps me under lock and key.”

“If I were married to you, I would not only allow your sex addiction, I’d be your #1 drug.”

“I have no doubt,” says Al.  “But why are you such a slut?  What explains it?”

Al and Lo

“My man, HH, he is a great guy, but we’re about 30 years apart and I’m a little slutty nympho who drains him of all he’s got.”

“Now you’re begging the question.”

“I never beg, except for cum.”

“So you’re a sex-addict too.”

“Addicts go to meetings.  I prefer to say I’m sex-positive.”

“What is it you want?” he asks.

“I want my pussy pounded,” she replies.

“Besides that.”

Al and Lo

“There’s only one thing a woman wants from a man as he pounds her pussy.  She wants it harder.”

“I guess I was asking a different question.  I was asking about something deeper.”

“Yes – harder and deeper.”

“Let me ask the question this way: Isn’t there a down-side to too much sex.”

“Yes!” says Lo excited.  “I was just saying this to HH last night.  I let him have my ass and he said, ‘You’re so loose.’  I told him, ‘You’re the fifth guy I’ve had up in there today and not the largest by a long shot!  I can’t even feel you.’  There you have it.  That definitely is a down-side.  The Lola Down side of Lola’s backside, if you will.”

“The fifth cock?!  What are you, a prostitute?”

“I’m just your local neighborhood nympho.  Word gets around.”

“Do you date these guys or just fuck them?”

“Dating is a journey, usually with a destination.  I just enjoy the ride.”

“You are one exceptional woman!”

“I prefer sexceptional.”

“How would you characterize your relationship with HH?”

“He is my rock, I am his Circe. Or maybe his Pasiphae.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look it up.”

“You two have a good sex-life?”

“I Fuck HH when he’s up for it, flirt with others when he’s not.”

“Is that what you’re up to now? – flirting with me?”

“No, I’m fucking you.”

“What?”

“With my mind.  You know I can orgasm without even touching myself?”

“Are you cumming now?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

[Long silent pause.]

“There,” says Lo, proudly.

“You just came?”

“Yep.”

“It seemed, well, a little anticlimactic.”

“Not for me.  Want to see?”

“Yeah.”

Lo spreads her legs to reveal the wet spot soaked through the crotch of her jeans.

Wet Spot

“Wow!  Now what are you going to do about that?”

“About what?”

“Your jeans being all wet?”

“Enjoy it.”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“You mean, in addition to that?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, shoot.”

“Why are you with HH?”

“Nothing better than a nymphomaniac and a dirty old man.”

“You call yourself a hotwife, but you’re not married.  Why don’t you get married?”

“Have you ever read the letters of Eloise and Abelard?”

“I haven’t.  Who are they?”

“Look it up.  Anyhow, she was ahead of her time when she said to him, ‘I’d rather be your whore than your wife.’”

“And that’s how you feel?”

“That’s how we both feel.”

“Wow!”

“What?”

“That’s a radical take on marriage.”

“Well, I have met enough guys like you who entered into a marriage, but is it a marriage or a mirage?”

“Point taken.”

“Can I see a photo of your wife?”

“Why?”

“I like to know what my competition looks like.”

[He sends a nude photo of his wife.]

“There.  What do you think?”

“I understand why you’re a sex-addict.  She’s super sexy!!!”

“I wish she had your open mind to match her body.”

“More than my mind is open to her body.”

“Has COVID impacted you at all?”

“Yeah, a lot.  That’s why I’m here chatting with you now.  Most of my flirting and fucking has to be virtual these days.”

“What about the five guys from yesterday?  Are they in your bubble?”

“They sure were yesterday!  Far in.  You could say that I am the original super-spreader – in a good way, of course!”

“In only the best way!”

Lo Super Spreader

Sore, but not Satisfied

We watched Boogie Nights up until the scene where the newbie pornstar, Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) is filmed by the seasoned director, Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds), making love to his wife, Maggie/“Amber Waves” (Julianne Moore).  At that point, Lo was too turned on from watching the movie while cock-warming me to continue.  We retired into the bedroom where she proceeded to ask me, “I bet you’d like to film me auditioning all those men who want to be pornstars, wouldn’t you Daddy?”

“I thought you were sore?” I asked her, referring to her masturbation marathon earlier in the day.

“Sore, but not satisfied.  Fuck me.  I like it when it hurts.”

I slid in her slippery snatch and she moaned with pleasure and pain.

“I think you’d like to be auditioning them,” I responded to her.

By the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head, I could tell that the image of her being the older seductress, seducing young, aspiring actors, getting them to break through the role and into the authentic enjoyment of her body, was turning her on.

While her fantasyland role was screening in the adult theater of her dark and dirty mind, my own thoughts were scrawling across my cerebrum.  Since I had cum on my own earlier that day, my stamina was augmented.  I had plenty of time, while Lo bounced up-and-down on my rod to the beat of her own drum, to explore the following musings.

I began with Boogie Nights and the thought of how, yes, Lo was right, I could easily see myself in the role of the director, Jack Horner, filming his own wife as she slept with various pornstars.  Turning her lustful liaisons into works of art was already my forte.  My mind then turned to the late, great Orson Welles and his love affair infatuation with Oja – his muse, mistress, and movie star of films such as F for Fake, and The Other Side of the Wind.  A documentary about the making of the latter movie came out a couple years ago and in it, those who were on set with Welles recalled how he wanted to film, at great length, a pornographic sex scene starring Oja with Robert Random (actual actor’s name).  Perhaps the aging Welles (he was between 55 and 61 while making it) took delight in seeing his young mistress (she was between 24 and 30 while making it) getting delight from a younger man who could give it to her.  Sounds familiar.

“Deeper, Daddy, please,” she whined as she rode me, startling me out of my musings.

I opened my eyes and saw her pulling at her nipples over me.  “Am I your pornstar?” she asked.

I tried to meet her descending hips with ascending thrusts of my own.  She needed to feel the tip of my shaft on that magic spot deep inside her.  If I were larger, longer, harder, I would press that button without even trying.  But, alas, that was not the case.

Frankie Shaw

 

Frankie Shaw

 

Frankie Shaw using her Instagram to expose herself

Her question turned my thoughts from directors making their muses the material of art, to that wannabe pornstar who used her creative powers of writer, director, and actor to live out her clear fantasy of being fucked on camera.  Frankie Shaw, in her series SMILF, used every opportunity to get naked, get laid, and get herself off in her show.  I wondered how her husband, Zach Strauss, enjoyed watching her perform completely gratuitous sex scenes on the show.  Let’s be clear, none of her sexpoloits were essential to the story – from her fantasy gangbang in the pilot where she is fucked by a basketball team of black men, to her seducing the boy she babysat, to the creepy scenes of her naked in a bathtub with her fictional child.  None of that advanced the plot in a way that it couldn’t have done without those scenes.  But, given the creative license she had, she used it to be as licentious as she could, making her the star – the pornstar.

Frankie Shaw from her Instagram being exhibitionist in her neighborhood during COVID

Lo wasn’t cumming.  She got up, off of me and commanded, “Get behind me and fuck me, hard!”  She was on all fours on the bed and needed me to stand up, perpendicular to her, as she looked in the full-length mirror before her, watching us fuck, as she might watch a porno.

“Come on, Daddio!  Really ram it home,” she called over her shoulder.

I thrust at her with all I had.  I was panting, sweating, wondering if my back was going to be sore for a week.

Mercifully, she began to cum.  I could feel her pussy clenching, preparing to eject me and ejaculate.  Her voice was insistent.  “Cum!  Cum!” she demanded, knowing that there were mere seconds left before I wouldn’t be able to remain deep inside her.

Enjoy your erotic reading.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

“Inmeinmeinmeinme!”

I don’t do well with cumming on command.  If she had said, “Whatever you do, don’t cum,” then there would have been no problem.  Besides, I had, at her recommendation, already cum once that day.  I was near my limit.

Frankie Shaw gets nailed by the boy she baby sat in SMILF

It was already too late.  The torrent had been unleashed.  The spillage had gushed down her legs and now the dam was about to break, flooding me right out of her.

Frankie Shaw stars in a porno

Her legs were quivering and she was pounding the bed with her fist as she screamed “FUCK!  FUCK!  FUCK!”

I backed up and watched the demonic possession take hold as she lost control of her faculties, senses, bodily movements, and sanity.

Her orgasms are simultaneously a full-body and out-of-body experience.  They are sublime to watch, in the full sense of that word: terrifyingly beautiful.

The bed covers were drenched; her body lifeless on top of the mess she had made.

Frankie dreams of Lola

Scene from SMILF
Not necessary, Right?
How did this get approved?

 

Slowly, her breathing steadied and resumed regularity.

She rolled over as if she had been hit by a Mac truck.

“Wow!” was all she said.  And then, a little while later, “I won’t be able to walk, sit, or cross my legs tomorrow!”

Frankie Shaw getting off to Lola Down

“I guess you’ll just have to lie in bed all day.”

“That’s ok, it’s my favorite place to be and my favorite position.”

She got off the bed and began cleaning up the sodden bedding, throwing all of it in the laundry basket.

“Feeling better?”

“You didn’t cum,” she had the gall to complain.

“I did, just not with you.”  I knew that remark would piss her off.

She gritted her teeth and growled at me.

“You told me to fuck Stoya, remember?”

“But on these short days in January, I really needed an injection of vitamin D, if you know what I mean.”

“It would have just come out in the wash anyhow.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

She thought for a moment.  “I like to have the power to make you ejaculate on command.”

“Talk about a control freak.  I did ejaculate on command – your first command.  You told me to jack off while you masturbated to oblivion.”

“But I thought you knew the Golden Rule: Love thy woman as thyself.”

“Oh, is that the rule?  I thought you said it was: Love thyself and often.”

“That’s my rule.  Not yours.”

“So, why did you tell me to go away instead of letting me watch?”

“Well, you made me jealous when looking at all those women.”

You’re the one who wanted to look at them with me!”

“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissively.  “I wanted to make you jealous.”

“Oh, so it had nothing to do with being turned on by them?”

“There was that too.  But now I feel so slutty.”

“You should.”

“No, Daddy.  I mean, not only was I cheating on you. . .”

“It’s not really ‘cheating’ if I know about it and condone it.”

“I was corresponding with a guy online.”

“Today?”

“Yeah, well, like every day.”

“And?”

“His name is John.  I call him my internet boyfriend.”

“I think you mentioned him to me.”

“And I was cheating on him with another guy.  Or maybe I was cheating on the other guy with John.  I don’t know.  It all gets so confusing.”

“Let me see your other boyfriends.”

She showed me their cumtribute photos.

“Looks like I have stiff competition!”

Lola

Masturbation Marathon

Lo and I were in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch.  She was looking at her phone.  I sat with my laptop open, reading emails, when suddenly, up popped an email in our shared account.  Unlike most of our fan mail, it wasn’t directed to Lo, it was addressed to me.  And it had a few photos attached.  Sexy photos.  Of my female fan.

“What are you looking at?” Lo asked, never one to be unobservant.

“Nothing,” I clumsily lied.

“What do you mean nothing?”

“Just an email,” I said, telling the truth, trying to pass it off as nothing.

“Let me see,” she said, scooting over, closer to me, suspicious.

How does she do that?  How does she know when something is amiss?

My heart was racing.  She gets so jealous.

There was nothing to do but give in to the inevitable.

I showed her the email and the photos.

“Nothing huh?  Who is she?”

“I don’t know.  I really don’t.  Just a fan.  A connoisseur of fine literature.  A grateful reader.  A woman of exquisite taste in art.”

“You really don’t know who she is?”

“I swear.”

“She just wrote to you for the first time?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t carried on a correspondence with her?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“You like her?”
“What do you mean, like her?”
“You find her attractive?”

That is a very dangerous question.  The female author of the epistle in question was, in point of fact, appealing.  As her missive made clear, she was a wife and mother whose sex life had fallen fallow in the past few years as the children occupied more of her time and energy.  But reading about my sex life with Lola had rekindled something deep down inside her and she just wanted to show me exactly where it was rekindled.

“She’s not unattractive,” I said, attempting to be as neutral as possible.

“Let’s play a little game,” said Lo.  I was quizzical.  “I’ll go through photos of our fans and you tell me if you find them sexy.  But let’s do it in the bedroom.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just be honest,” she said as she walked down the hall.

“Are you trying to get me deeper in the hole?” I asked, following behind her.

“Depends on which hole you mean.”

GULP.

“Let’s start,” she said as she took out her computer and went to her special stash of emails and photos.  She unzipped my pants and grabbed onto my flaccid member as she pulled up photo after photo.  Honestly, I was too scared to get hard.

After about five or ten, she paused and looked at me a moment.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Lo, you know perfectly well what’s wrong.  For years now, you’ve made the nature of our relationship clear.  Now you want me to look at other women?  I think that I’m being set-up.”

“No no no,” she said with a smile.  “I’m just feeling like changing things up a bit.”

“You know, I could get just as hard looking at photos of men who’ve sent you cumtributes.”

“Well, maybe I’ll throw in a few of those as well.  But don’t be bashful.  Let’s keep on playing.”

She scrolled through scores of sexy photos and, for each one she gave me a bit of backstory, telling me the names of each woman and a bit of bio.

“That’s Floss,” she said.

“Yes, I know Floss,” I responded as she went through photo after sexy photo of her.

Floss and Match, Cinder & Spark

“And this is Karla.”

“I know Karla too.  In fact I wrote about her.”

Just Floss

“Yes, that’s right.  Did you know her hubby, Chris, gets off to me when he has her at home?”

Karla and Chris

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“This is the author, Larry Archer’s wife.”

“Is she a fan?”

“I don’t know, but I’m a fan of hers. . . and his!”

“And this is. . .”  The list went on-and-on.  With each new set of photos that Lo opened from her password-protected fap file, she grew a little more excited.  If she was a guy (and she sure acts like one), she would have had a raging hard-on at this point.  I have no doubt that her clit was fully tumid.  She was reaching for it.

Karla over the years

Karla’s husband Chris getting off to Lola

“Um, can you give me a minute?” she asked.

“What?”

“Here,” she said, passing me the Stoya Destroya vagina.  “You can use this if you want to wank.  But only use my photos.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna have me a wank too.”

“But you want me to leave.”

“Yeah, is that ok?”

“Um no.  Not really.”

Larry Archer’s wife

“Just give me a little while.”

She got out of bed to escort me to the door as she got out of her clothes.  She put her panties on the doorknob as if she had a paramour over, but it was just her and her fingers, toys, and binders full of women.

I went back to the living room, confused, carrying my vagina.  Well, Stoya’s vagina.  Carrying a vagina.

I returned to the bedroom and knocked on the door furtively.

“What?” she asked, not opening the door.

“Lube,” I said.  “You didn’t give me the lube.”

The door opened a crack.  I saw her standing naked.  She looked good.  Her arm extended, dropping the tube of lube in my hands.

“OK?” she asked, shutting the door.

Stoya front, Lola back

I walked away again.

Finding my way onto the couch, I began writing – this story.

Lo’s orgasmic arias were audible throughout the house.  They rose and fell, crescendo, decrescendo.  So many ups and downs I lost count.  I looked at the vagina sitting next to me and said, “It’s bad enough she needs more from me.  Don’t you just sit there and look despondent at me that she’s getting all the action.  It’s not my fault you don’t have arms, hands, or fingers to help yourself out.”

Finally, I made use of Stoya, more for her sake than mine.  She looked so sad there.

I came, one brief onanistic climax, looking at Lo’s photos on the internet while Lo, in the flesh, was having a grand old time fucking herself just down the hallway.  I got up to do the proper aftercare cleaning of Stoya in the second bathroom and saw Lo’s panties still prominently displayed on the doorknob as Lo went at it.

I returned to the couch and took a long nap.

I was woken up by the feeling of Lo’s lips on my flaccid cock.

“What are you doing?”

“Cock-warming,” she said as she lay naked on the couch between my legs, looking up at me.

“You want something?”

“No, Daddy.”

“No?”

“I’m sore.”

“What the hell was going on in there?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I started off jilling to the women I was showing you, but then I was into the cumtributes I’ve been getting.  I’m such a slut.”

“Agreed.”

“No, you don’t know why I’m saying that.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, I guess it’s bad enough that I am not faithful to you.”

“I don’t mind. . . usually.”

“But I have a sort of internet boyfriend.”

“What is that?”

“You know, like a work wife or a work husband.”

“You mean when people become overly chummy with people they work with?”

“Yeah, like that, but in my case, it’s with people I’ve met online.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I’ve been cheating on one of them with another guy.”

“I’m sure they don’t expect monogamy from you, dear.”

“Yeah, they’re both married themselves.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“That’s just it!”

“What?”

“Do you think I have a problem?”

“Other than being a nymphomaniacal, egomaniacal hotwife attention whore?”

“Yeah, other than that.”

“No, not at all.”

“Really?”

John Doe shrine to Lola

“If your biggest problem is that you’re sexting with someone behind the back of your long-distance lover while shutting me out of the bedroom so you can fist-fuck yourself because you’re turned on by your fandom, well, hey, we all should be that lucky!”

John Doe gets of to Lo

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, before returning to cock-warming me.

“Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.  What?”

Northerngentleman

“How about Boogie Nights?  Have you ever seen it?”

Northerngentleman cums in his wife’s panties.

“No.”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat.”

  • Photos used with permission.

Separately Together

Lola Beating Batter

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked as I saw her whisking some batter in a bowl wearing just one of my t-shirts.

“Making whole wheat banana muffins.  Will you try one?”

“Darling, I’ll eat your muff any day.”

“Well, this is the only muff you’re going to get today because my donut hole is oozing jelly, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re confusing food metaphors.”

“Well, there should be no confusion.  If you don’t want our bed to look like something out of C.S.I., then I suggest you be content with just my banana muffin.”

“But you look so very edible in my shirt.”

“You can look, but no touch.”

“What about my banana?”

“Oh, is that what you have in your pants?  You looked a little large to me.”

“This is all natural,” I said, pulling the elastic waistband forward for her to see.

“Keep it in your pants,” she said, still looking at it longingly.

“But Darling.”

“No buts,”

“Just your butt, how’s that?  The perfect compromise.”

“Compromise?  Seems more like first prize for you.”

“That it is.”

“We’ll see,” she said.

“And then I’ll give you some of my batter.”

Later that night, we both got in bed and I asked, “So?”

“So what?”

“Do I get my prize?”

“No, dear, not tonight.”

I was a little disappointed, but I knew better than to press the issue.  She usually reserves her ass for other men, especially to make me jealous.

“Can I ask a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Will you hold Stoya for me?”

“Sure.”

I got up and took my Stoya Destroya Fleshlight out of the closet.  “Do you wish to lube her up, or shall I?”

“I will,” she said.  “Just stand there.”

“Why?”

“I like to see how my fingering her makes you hard.”

“OK.”

Stoya Destroya Fleshlight

She circled Stoya’s pussy lips like she was pleasuring her before dipping deep in her silicon cunt.

“You like that, Daddy?”

“I like that it looks like you like it.”

“I only wish she was here for me.”

“I bet you do.”

“You ready to fuck her?”

HH

“I am.”

She held Stoya’s pussy between her legs and said, “Go for it.”

I was positioned over Lo and Stoya.  Lo was in the Missionary position holding Stoya steady for me.  I slid right in.  I was fucking her for maybe ten seconds before Lo said, “Daddy.”

“Yes?”

“Try it this way.”  Lo turned onto her tum and placed Stoya between her inner thighs so I could go at her from behind.  I was sliding in and out as Lo read a magazine, dismissive of my masturbatory movements.

“Lo,” I said, interrupting her focus.

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha reading about?”

“Nothing.  It’s boring,” she said.  Then she pulled out her phone.  I could see she was looking at a naked couple.

“Who’s that?” I asked.  I didn’t have my glasses on as I looked over her shoulder.

“Just a couple.  They sent me a photo of them getting off together while reading Match, Cinder & Spark.”

Mike & Alia

She scrolled through a bunch of photos.

“Are all of those them?”

Mike Getting Off to Lo

“Yeah.  They really like it.”

“What about you?”

“I love it.”

“The book or that they’re getting off to it?”

“Both silly.”

“Good,” I said, as I continued fucking Stoya.

“Daddy,” asked Lo, “can you move to my side?”

“Why’s that?”

“I want to use my Hitachi.”

“OK.”

I got on her left side.  With her left hand she absentmindedly held the contraption steady.  With her right hand she pressed the giant vibrator on her clit, clearly focused on that action.

I went at it.  She went at it.  Each of us separately together.

I looked at her naked body as I made my moves on Stoya.  I observed Lo’s closed eyes, her heaving breasts, her tum tightening and relaxing as her right hand pressed and released the vibrating bulb on her clit.  I wondered what scenes were playing out on the inside of her eyelids.  Was she thinking of a man she saw today?  A woman?  A lover from her past?  Someone she is yet to conquer?  Was there a chance she was thinking of me?  Unlikely.  I was right next to her, physically, but she was somewhere else mentally.  She was enjoying the scene.  Maybe she was picturing the couple who sent the photos.  I could see her body tensing up.  Her shoulders grew concave as her right hand pressed harder.  Her breasts heaved and became flush.  Her brow furrowed with the intensity.  Her knees buckled and her hips rose.  Everything was teetering on tipping and spilling over.  The moment was taut with anticipation and anxiety.  There was always the slightest chance she wouldn’t pull it off; that the big O would slip from her grasp.  It seemed so palpably near, but far from certain.  It felt like there were many spirits in the room cheering her on to succeed as if she were running the last few yards of a marathon, the tightly stretched ribbon just aching to be snapped by the victor.

And then, there it was, her great reward for her efforts.  Her entire body heaved and went into spasms as wave after wave of pleasure rippled over her flesh.  She cursed and groaned, grunted and sighed while remarkably still holding the Fleshlight with her left hand.

Her pleasure was enough to put me over the edge.  I came, filling Stoya with my cum.

We put the sex toys away and fell asleep satisfied with the job our prosthetic lovers did for us.

Mike & Alia