Tag Archives: Hand Job
Protected: Frankie Gets Fucked
Protected: A Few Tricks, A Little Treat – Andrew and Jane at it Again!
Protected: MILF Milking Masturbation
Imitation is the Best Form of Flattery
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Art by Al
The perennial question: Does art imitate life or life imitate art?
“Daddy,” Lo said, as she was lying down in bed. It was one of those rare mornings that she woke up before I and was already engaged in her favorite activity – pleasuring herself to something on her phone – “I’m reading ‘Paint me like one of your slutty girls,’ and I want you to know how much your writing turns me on.”
“That’s nice, Lo,” I said, slowly opening my eyes.
She was in her red top and matching red bottom satin pajamas, one hand down between her legs under the satin, the other holding her phone.
“You know,” I said further, “that story has nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, but you wrote it.”
“About you and your admirer and his obsession with you.”
“That’s what I love about it.”
She brought her hand out from under her satin shorts and licked her fingers before replacing her hand on her crotch.
I reached my left hand over and placed it between her legs so I could feel her fingers moving and her hand pumping up and down as she inserted her fingers to her hole. I tried to slide my hand under her satin bottoms and she said, “Uh uh. Only over.”
I relented and resigned myself to merely feeling her feeling herself.
She dropped her phone and pulled her tits up and over the V-cut of her top and said, “Suck them, Daddy,” which I did.
“Pull my nipples, Daddy.” I did that as well. She orgasms quite easily to the feeling of pain caused by pulling and pinching her nipples.
She moaned.
“What’s got your engine revving so this morning?”
“I told you,” she whispered in a breathy sigh, “I was reading. . . your story.”
“And?”
“And Al sent me a drawing of what he would like to do.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a drawing of him and his wife in bed, getting off to my photos on their TV.”
“Oh, I see.”
“He wishes he could tell his wife that he has been jackin’ off to me regularly for months now. He wishes he could tell her what a slut I am – that I like to go A-to-M and A-to-P and P-to-M and P-to-A-to-M.”
Before speaking I thought that if the Secret Service ever needed a code name for Lo, it would be: MAP PAM
“Yes, you are a dirty slut.”
“Say it again, Daddy.”
“You are. . . ,” but before I could say it, she was back to Al.
“He wants to tell his wife about me, about how I’m a hotwife and sleep with men and women. He wants to have her read the books and blog and get her to do the same. He wants her to fuck other guys in the bed next to him.”
She came in a gush of good feeling. I felt it wash over my hand.
As she was recovering, I looked at her phone.
“Lo, that’s not a painting,” I said.
She opened her eyes. “Oh, that? No. That’s from Jane and Andrew. I sent them Al’s art and, guess what?! They reproduced it in real life! And they improved upon it. Look at Andrew! He’s locked in his cage. And look what else!”
Andrew & Jane
She used her dry hand to enlarge the photo so I could see that Andrew and Jane had printed up art of Lola and framed it around their television. “Isn’t that amazing!”
“You are a sexual celebrity.”
“A tempter for Andrew’s celibacy!”
“I sure hope he’s not celibate with a wife that sexy!”
“Maybe they both cum to you when she gives him permission.”
“I want him to look at my photos and lose control and cum even in his cock-cage.”
She saw my cock twitching under the sheets. “Oh, Daddy, do you need to cum?”
“When I see you like that, I do,” I said, which wasn’t the whole truth. I am actually even more turned on by her voice, her tone, her moan, and her dirty talk than by seeing her. She could make me cum over the phone, which she has actually done many times.
Art from Al
“What do you need?” she asked.
“Stroke me.”
She grabbed the hand lotion next to her on the nightstand and put it in the palm of her left hand. “Give me that cock,” she said.
She wrapped her hand around my hard rod and the cool cream made me even more hard than before. She began sliding her cupped hand up and down my shaft. She slid her palm down to my balls and cupped them before moving even further down.
“You like how life imitates art?”
Andrew and Jane
I couldn’t answer. She knew why. “You’re going to cum,” she observed. “Where do you want to cum?”
“You tell me,” was all I could say.
“My face.”
At those words, I pulled back and got up, straddling her torso, grabbing my throbbing organ and coaxed my creative juices to climax, baptizing the crown of her head in hot white spurts that dripped down her face. She licked around her mouth and said, “I bet Al would like to show his wife how I do that too.”
“Maybe he’ll paint you like a Mona Lisa drenched under a dripping Jackson Pollock.”
“Classic, abstract, and pornographic all at once. I like that!”
“You should, it describes you perfectly.”
Imitation #1
Imitation #2
Protected: Clench & Drench
The (Not So) Secret Life of Lo the Nympho
Lo’s kungfu Grip
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
That wasn’t Lola firing off those five fucks in a row, that was me. Lo had just used her left hand, filled with moisturizing cream, to get me off in my pajama bottoms. This has become an almost nightly routine for us now. We get into bed – she naked, me in my pajama bottoms – and she says, “Do you want me to milk you Daddy?”
I almost always say yes.
On the rare occasions that I ask her if I can have her, to fuck her, you know, the old-fashioned way of intercourse, she usually just reaches down between my legs and squeezes her cream-filled hand around my hard rod. I am powerless to protest. She strokes to climax – always my climax – and then I fall off to sleep in my cum-filled pjs, too spent to change.
This nightly ritual has spurred me to purchase five or six more pajama bottoms in order that I have something to wear the next night.
What Lo does after my dissipated desire allows me to nod off is a mystery.
But recently I have gained a glimpse into that dark, hidden recess.
After hearing from Ginger and her transformation from housewife to hotwife, Lo became curious about the legalized brothels of Nevada. Apparently, she had been doing internet research on her own late at night.
Fit Ginger Hotwife
Fit Ginger Hotwife
“Daddy,” she said one day over breakfast, “it has been a long time since we went on a vacation.”
“True,” I said, sipping my coffee. “What do you have in mind?” I knew she was up to something nefarious.
“Well,” she began, looking off into the middle distance to conjure her vision like a fey dreamer, “in Nevada prostitution is legal.”
“With certain qualifications,” I said, being a cold, hard realist. Very hard.
Undeterred by my interruption, she continued, “And I’ve looked into it. They have special vacation, well, uh, sort of sex-tourism packages.”
Lola’s eye is always attracted to a big package. “I’m confused,” I said.
“Daddy, they issue a special license for tourists to prostitute themselves.”
“No – really?”
She nodded enthusiastically. Then she looked up at me with those pleading puppy eyes. “Please, Daddy.”
I’ll spare you all the details, but basically there are a lot of costs involved: licensing, STD testing, room rental, etc. It seemed to me very much like a day trip on a recreational fishing boat. There’s the cost of the boat, the fishing license, the taxes, etc. Built into the cost of the day excursion on the boat are all the hidden costs. We had to discover all the overhead ourselves for our sex-tourism jaunt.
Once all that was done, we flew to a remote part of Nevada. Setting up the clientele was easy, given our high-profile web presence. There was no shortage of johns eager for pay-to-play with Lo.
Other than suggesting the idea and knowing what our special vacation was for, Lo had no other insights into the details. She wanted it that way. In order to keep her both figuratively and literally in the dark, I arranged the flight to land at night. We drove through the veiled desert to the remote, rather dilapidated brothel. It looked more like a repurposed old motel. Lo and I found our room and, as she was exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep.
Early the next morning, only a few hours after we had arrived, I woke up to begin preparations for Lo’s stay. As Lo soundly slept in the buff on the king-sized bed, I collected all her clothes – every last garment. I put them in my suitcase and simultaneously unpacked the special outfits I had purchased for her, especially for this occasion. They consisted of thong panties, lace panties, satin bras, elaborate strappy one-piece lingerie, fishnet stockings, and the like. There was not one item of clothing left in the room that she could possibly wear outside. She was trapped by her own undergarments, imprisoned by G-strings and sheer mesh fabric. A fitting metaphor for the Veil of Maya in which we all find ourselves.
I then snuck out of the room with her suitcase. She had no idea, but I had rented the room adjacent to hers. The walls were paper thin, allowing me to be a clandestine interloper in her affairs. About nine that morning I got a text from Lo: “Where are you?”
“I had to go out. Your first appointment is at noon. Enjoy.”
“Out? Where to?”
“Running some errands for your vacation. His name is Peter. Call me if you need anything, I will be close by.”
“Daddy, breakfast,” she wrote, complaining.
“It’s being delivered.”
I had arranged for everything. The room service arrived, finding Lola naked in the hotel room. I suppose that sort of thing was not unusual, given the purpose of the establishment.
I returned to my adjacent room around ten after getting some greasy grits for myself and I heard Lo in her room. It sounded like she was showering and then masturbating. Then, repeat. I texted her, “Turn on the TV.”
I had arranged that I could cast from my computer to her TV. I put on one of her favorite shows: Playboy’s “Swing.”
“Oh, Daddy!” she texted back.
I could hear the muted sounds of the TV from her room.
Around noon her first customer, I mean john, that is to say, Peter came.
And boy did he cum!
I heard muted voices. Then I heard Lo saying, “Fill me! Fuck me! Stretch me! Cum in me!” That last bit was screamed so that it was exquisitely distinct through the wall.
I heard her repeating at the top of her lungs, as if an incantation or mantra: “I love cock! I love cock! I love cock! I love cock!!!”
There were a few moments of quiet and then I heard the door close. A few moments later Lo texted me, “First done and gone.”
“How was it.”
“Well, it’s only 12:20, so, I’d say pretty quick. When’s my next appointment?”
“Not until 1:00.”
“Can you come here, Daddy?”
“No, Lo. I’m out. Running errands.”
She sent a sad-face emoji.
I heard her fire up her Hitachi Magic Wand (which I had strategically left for her to find).
Screams. Silence. Screams.
A knock at the door.
John #2.
This time there was a lot of talk, but no climax. No yelling or screaming.
At exactly two o’clock I heard the door close.
“Two down,” texted Lo.
“How was it?”
“He just wanted me to stroke his cock while I looked into his eyes and talked to him.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Anything that came to mind. He just wanted me to talk. I tried to make sexy talk, but he preferred that I just say anything. I basically told him the history of Elizabethan Theater and the history of Shakespeare plays. That made him very hard and horny.”
“You’re kidding,” I texted back.
“Gotta go! Next customer.”
I heard the knock at the door even before she texted me.
This time she was loud and proud.
After a little less than an hour, I heard the door close.
“So many kinks,” she texted.
“What do you mean?”
“This one just wanted me to masturbate the entire time. You have no idea how tingly my pussy lips are. I had the Hitachi – thanks Daddy! – on my cunt for almost an hour!”
There was another knock at the door.
“Don’t I get a lunch break?!” she texted.
“No rest for the randy,” I texted back.
This time I heard what sounded like her being thrown against the wall in a rhythmic pattern. I was worried. I watched my phone like a hawk. I thought the two of them were going to pound right through the thin wall into my room.
After about twenty or thirty minutes of the constant banging, I heard nothing at all.
Ten minutes later I heard a man’s voice yelling, “Whore! Cunt! Fucking Slut!”
A few minutes later I heard the distinct purr of Lola.
Then the door shut again.
“Are you ok?” I texted her immediately. I was so concerned.
“Divine,” she wrote back.
“Please explain,” I responded, dryly.
“He was rough and violent and he said so many derogatory things to me. . . I loved it!”
“Really?”
There was another knock at the door.
This time, after a while of no sounds, or at least none that I could hear, I detected Lo’s quiet voice saying, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Then it stopped.
At ten to five, I got a text: “I’m starving, Daddy.”
I was too enraged and jealous – yes, jealous! – to respond.
At five sharp, there was another knock at the door.
This time I heard nearly nothing except the loud groan of a man’s voice.
At five-thirty the door shut.
“Well, at least I got a snack,” texted Lo.
“Ready for dinner?” I asked.
“I’m always ready, and hungry, and horny.”
I knocked at her door, even though I had the key. I was curious as to her reaction and I also thought it would be an ironic joke.
She answered the door the way I imagine she answered it for all the six other guys who had preceded me: wearing a black negligée that barely covered her ass and pussy. Nothing else. Her tits were practically falling out of it.
Lo, Dressed for Success
“You’re a welcome surprise,” she said. “I actually thought you had booked me straight through to midnight!”
“Would you like that?”
“I’m a hard worker and I work best when my customers are hard.”
“Well, good news – you and I are going to grab dinner together.”
“First, where? Second, I have no clothes, remember?”
I handed her a sleek black dress. She had panties and bras and high heels in the room already.
She put on the heels, not the bra or panties. She looked dressed more as if in a negligée than a party dress. Her nipples were visible through the thin, shiny material.
She looked good – dirty, dissolute, disheveled, devilish, and desirable.
“Don’t you want me, Daddy?” she asked as she hiked up her dress and spread her pussy lips to show me the cum dripping out. Whose cum? Could have been anyone’s.
“Later, Lo,” I said. “We’ve got reservations.” I almost chuckled to myself as I said it.
“Really?!” she asked, excited as if we were still in our metropolis and able to pick from a few hundred eating establishments.
We walked out into the cool, dry Nevada night.
“No car?” she asked as we walked in the dirt across the parking lot.
“Here we are,” I said after about fifty feet, when we got to the door of the dive bar and restaurant across from the brothel.
“Here?!” she moped.
“Lo, there ain’t another Michelin rated restaurant for at least a hundred miles from here.”
“I don’t need Michelin rated, but I do need edible.”
“Relax, this place is fine.”
“We walked in like two invitees to the Emmy’s, only to find a juke box greeted us, followed by a long, worn wooden bar, and tables with plastic picnic-table cloths covering them, pitchers of Miller Light upon them, and people wearing cowboy hats unironically dancing.
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked as all the male eyes in the place magnetically rested upon her sweet, antipodinal angelic aura.
“Couldn’t be any more serious,” I said as the kind hostess showed us to our picnic-table.
We ordered the less-than-mediocre meal and a pitcher of their finest Miller beer.
“Daddy,” Lo inquired, “do I have a busy day tomorrow?”
“All booked up – ten to six.”
“I don’t know if I can handle it,” she said, almost admitting defeat.
“I believe in you, Lo. Did you not enjoy today?”
She was quiet for a few seconds. Pensive. “I enjoyed it well enough.”
“What’s that mean – ‘well enough’?”
“I was hoping to get fucked like a broken screen door in a hurricane. But only one guy was like that. Don’t get me wrong,” she said, her eyes lighting up, “that was wonderful, but the other guys – they were kinda weird, you know?”
“What do you mean?”
The meal came and Lo started eating like she hadn’t seen food in a week, even though the food was far below her standards.
She never completed her thought.
“I have something special planned for you tomorrow,” I said.
Her eyes lit up. “Tell me!” She can’t stand a surprise.
“Nope. You’ll find out tomorrow.”
We finished our meal and ordered another pitcher of beer. We weren’t driving, so, why not?
After downing two pitchers, we felt oddly attracted to the silly country dancing that we had observed among a few of the regulars. We joined in. Lo’s black, strappy heels were a comical contrast to the other women’s cowboy boots. Lo’s sleek black dress also looked out of place among the other women in their jeans or denim shorts and plaid, button-down shirts. But the biggest contrast was that the other women were all at least ten years older and heavier than Lo, by far. They were like ranch hands. It was clear that they were all married and moms. Though the brothel shared a parking lot with this restaurant, it seemed as if the other prostitutes all went home to their husbands and families at the end of their shifts, or they went somewhere else, but they certainly were not grabbing dinner here. I’m not saying any of that in a disparaging way, just pointing out the ways in which Lo stood out like a rosebush among the cacti.
And I wasn’t the only one to notice the difference. The men in the place looked over their wives’ shoulders as they danced with them, staring at Lo. The wives, for their part, gave Lo the meanest of looks, judging her and silently despising her. They knew where she had been all day and where she’d be all night. These good Christian women, with God, guns, and glory on their side, stood in judgment of Lo’s heretical goddess, gams, and gloryhole.
Perhaps mistakenly, we ordered another pitcher of beer to quench the thirst we developed while dancing. Soon Lo was dancing in the arms of many of the different men at the bar, letting them feel her nipples over the sheer material of the dress, slide their hands down over the curve of her rear, and partially up her thigh. I could tell Lo had a long day and was getting too tipsy to tear up the dance floor and so I politely cut in and escorted her back to her room where she had worked the day as an escort.
Samantha Massie reading Match, Cinder & Spark
Country Girls with Samantha Massie
Reverse View of Samantha Massie and friends
Samantha Massie and her besties
Samantha Massie and friends
One more of Samantha Massie’s behind
Back in the room, Lo quickly slipped out of her dress and into a slip, pulled out her Hitachi and her phone and began going at it on the couch as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. By the time I returned to where she had been stimulating her stretched and sore pussy, I found her, motor of the Hitachi still vibrating, her phone still open to the photos she was using to get off – pics of her friend Samantha Massie and her crew of country MILFs. I had been in the bathroom for maybe three, four minutes max! But by the time I came to the couch beside the bed – the same bed upon which she had prostituted her body – she was sound asleep with her breasts hanging out of her slip.
Lo, Sleeping with her Best Friend
The next morning I woke up early. I snuck out with her dress.
“Daddy, where are you?” she texted.
“Errands,” I responded.
“What could you possibly have to do?”
“I guess not you.”
“What?”
“You fell asleep on me last night, leaving me hard up.”
“Sorry.”
“Should I find a prostitute?”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Can you fit me into your busy schedule?”
“I’m very flexible – I could probably fit you and a couple more guys in.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Time to find out how much more of this I can take. Where’s my breakfast?”
“It should be there any minute now.”
“Well, my john is here now.”
There was another knock at the door.
“Oh, never mind. Breakfast arrived,” she texted.
About twenty minutes and a few howls later, I heard the door close.
“How’s breakfast?” I asked.
“He fucked me as I ate it. He said it was a real turn-on for him.”
“Full, or still hungry?” I texted back.
“I can always take a little more,” she wrote.
I heard the bath running.
I heard a knock at the door.
I heard Lo open it and talk to the customer.
About twenty minutes later I received a text. “He jacked off to me as I took a bath. That was easy!”
There was another knock.
Lo texted, “Daddy, they’re arriving every half hour.”
“That’s your surprise. Today is economy class. They only paid for thirty minutes. Later they will be arriving every fifteen minutes.”
“What?!” She included a number of emojis to demonstrate her displeasure with that.
There were three more visitors to her room before lunch.
“Will you join me for lunch?” she texted.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I knocked at the door. She opened it wearing only a transparent and skimpy negligée through which I could see everything.
Lo, Falling Out
“You said you could fit me in.”
“That was before you told me my schedule. I’m full up.”
“I hope not. You have ten more appointments today.”
“Ten?!”
I finally walked in the door. Lunch was delivered. A sandwich, fries, and a lemonade. I watched her eat as I observed the room. It was a mess. The bed was a mess and looked well-used. Various undergarments were strewn around the room. Used condoms were hanging over the side of the trashcan and were in it as well.
“How’s work?” I inquired.
She spread her legs for me to see the commingled cum of various men dribble out of her.
“It’s a complicated business,” she said in between bites, “a lotta ins, a lotta outs. You know.”
“I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“Everything tastes like cum,” she said as she put down her sandwich and took a sip of her drink.
“Your favorite flavor.”
“Do I have cum in my hair?” she asked.
I looked. “A little.”
“The last guy was all about cumming on my face.”
“Bad aim?”
“No. For the most part, he hit the target.”
“Any other standout performances?”
“One of the guys, I forget which one, wanted to use my ass.”
She knows exactly how jealous that makes me.
“Did you let him.”
“He paid for hit, didn’t he?”
“I suppose.”
“He went ass-pussy, ass-pussy, ass-pussy, ass-mouth.”
“Covered all the bases.”
“Then he repeated it.”
“All in a half-hour’s time?”
“He made the rounds quickly.”
“Where did he finally arrive?”
“Ass, then mouth.”
“Well, you’ll have to speed up the spin cycle because all the rest of today’s engagements are only a quarter-hour.”
“Don’t you worry. Just as I can make you cum in under five minutes, I will give each of them their money’s worth.”
“Your talent never ceases to amaze me!”
I left and returned to my post. As I was outside, I saw the next customer pull up. A middle-aged man with a wedding band on his left ring finger.
I slipped in the door to my hotel room as he knocked on Lola’s door.
Soon I could hear him knocking on Lola’s back door too!
He was gone quickly.
A new customer came in and exited in under fifteen minutes. Lola texted me, “I had to pee when the last one arrived. I told him so. He asked to watch. He stroked it as I was on the toilet and then came on my face as I continued sitting, fingering my clit in front of him. It was hot!”
Cleanup
Ready!
Another customer. Lo texted me after that this one had a foot fetish and came on her toes.
There were many more before her last appointment for the night. The last one had paid for two hours and had a very particular fetish. It was a husband and wife and they wanted Lo to dress up as a bride in white lingerie: mesh lace pushup bra, matching thong panties, harness suspender belt connected to white garters and of course a tiara with flowing lace veil. I had packed all this for Lola with a note on it that said, “Finale.” Now she understood what I meant by that.
They were into roleplay. The husband and wife team told Lo that the scenario is that they are her parents on her wedding night and they are going to teach her how it’s done.
“You want to be sexy for your groom,” she said to Lo.
“OK, Mom, tell me how,” replied Lo.
“I’ll show you instead,” she said as she got naked and bent over the bed. “Put your ass in the air like this.”
Lo stood next to her as if her magic mirror. Gazing into the looking glass, the older woman beheld the younger.
Her husband approached her from behind and mounted her.
“Make sure you’re good and wet,” she instructed.
“Oh, Mom, I’m always wet.”
“He’ll enter you like so,” she said as she moaned.
“Is he big?” asked Lo.
“Try for yourself,” she said.
“Lola, spread your pussy for me,” he said to her.
Lola did as told, very dutifully.
He entered her.
“That’s it, honey,” said her ersatz mother as she grabbed Lo’s ass cheeks and spread them for her husband to penetrate her. Then she got in front of Lo and began smacking at Lo’s tits as they hung down and undulated forward with each thrust from behind.
“Mom,” said Lo, “that hurts!”
“Does it?” she asked, pausing from pawing Lo’s breasts.
“I didn’t say stop,” said Lo.
The wife resumed slapping Lo’s tits, gently at first but gradually with more force as her husband also grew more forceful from behind.
“I think you have done this before,” said the wife.
“Once or twice. Why? Am I good at it?”
“So good,” said the husband.
“Are you going to cum?” asked his wife.
“Fuck, yes! I am.”
“Cum on my tits!” said his wife. “And let me taste you after,” she added, opening her mouth wide.
He pulled out of Lo and came right on his wife’s breasts as she held them together tightly. Then he put his cock in her mouth for her to taste Lo’s juices.
“Lick me clean,” she instructed Lo.
Lo didn’t need to be told twice.
“That’s it. You’ll make a good wife to your groom. But, darling, I’m going to have to instruct him how to properly fuck you. You don’t mind, do you?” asked the older woman.
“No, Mom. He’s been hoping to be schooled by you.”
“Good. I hope he’s longer and thicker than your father over there,” she said, nodding at the sated man in the chair.
“He is, by far!”
The couple eventually cleaned up and left, each of them kissing Lo goodbye first.
I then returned to my love and got the full story from her as she made passionate love to me, calling out numerous times, “Daddy, am I a bad girl? Am I a slut? Am I a proper, passionate, pliable little prostitute?”
“Yes, dear,” I said, “you’re a good whore, but more than anything else, you’re my whore.”
She liked that. She liked that very much.
On the plane home, Lo turned to me and whispered, “Thank you Daddy, that was the most wonderful birthday present ever.”
“Birthday present? – it was your Valentine’s Day gift.”
“So I still have a birthday present coming to me?”
“You sure do!”
Her eyes lit up. “When we get back?”
“If you’re a good girl,” I said, patronizingly.
She held my hand. There was a silence during which I knew exactly what she was thinking.
Three, two. . .
“What is it?” she asked, right on queue.
“That would spoil the surprise.”
“But Daddy, I can’t wait. Give me a hint.”
“No hints.”
She looked disappointed and then put her finger to her lips and furrowing her brow as if she were in deep thought.
“Now Lola,” I said, “if you do that, you’ll give yourself wrinkles prematurely.”
She looked at me, surprised.
“Do you think I’m getting wrinkles?” she asked in a panic, putting her hands to her forehead to smooth her skin.
“No,” I laughed, “no I don’t.”
“When do you think I’ll get wrinkles? Do you think I’ll go grey? You think my boobs will sag?”
“You realize, Lo, you’re ageist.”
“Ageist? Me? Impossible. I’m dating you and you’re ancient!”
“You see. There you go again.”
“Oh, come on,” she said.
“Well, thank God you don’t age.”
“No, I don’t, do I?”
“Not a day over twenty-four.”
“But I will be soon,” she said with fright.
“No you won’t.”
“What?”
“How old were you last year?” I asked.
“Twenty-four,” she said as if it were an obvious question.
“And how old did you turn the year before that?”
“Twenty-three. Duh.”
“Nope.”
“What?”
“You turned twenty-four.”
“I think you failed math. Twenty-three comes before twenty-four.”
“How old will you turn this year?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Nope.”
“We are in a plane, but are you high? How ‘nope’?”
“Because, my dear, I am the author of this here story. You have been twenty-four since we started this account of our sex lives together.”
She looked at me like I was crazy.
“OK,” I said, “how old am I?”
“That’s easy,” she said, looking a little nervous.
“Then tell me.”
“You’re fifty-something.”
“Fifty what?”
“Fifty-er-uh-something.”
“I had a birthday last year. Remember?”
“Of course I do! I got you a private stripper. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” I said, dreamily.
She teasingly punched me, “Hey, I’m over here,” she said.
“And how old did I turn last year?”
“Fifty. . . one?”
“Nope.”
“Two?”
“Nope.”
“How old?”
“Fifty-something, exactly.”
“That’s silly.”
“I have always been fifty-something and you have always been twenty-four. I will always be fifty-something and you will forever remain twenty-four.”
“Forever?”
I nodded affirmatively. “Forever.”
She thought about it for a while before finally asking, “But I still get a birthday present?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I’m ok with that.”
Lo Exhausted
Consolation Prize
[Continued from Wing-Woman Wardrobe]
“What bar are you going to?” I asked Lo about her date with Jeremy. To clarify, she was going to be his “wing-woman,” helping him to find a suitable companion in the aftermath of his recent divorce.
“What’s it to you?” she asked, indignantly as she sat in front of the mirror, nude, putting on her eyeliner.
“Well, you don’t have to be rude about it. Am I being invasive if I would like to know where the love of my life is taking one of my good friends for drinks and to hook-up?”
“To be clear, yet again, I’m not the one who will be hooking-up with Jeremy.”
“Yes, I know that, but after your little performance trying to convince him to let you be his wing-woman, I have my doubts about whom Jeremy will be going home with tonight. I imagine you won’t let him go home alone.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“So, where are you going with him?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll probably show up there and spy on us all night.”
“Am I really that transparent?”
“Mr. Cellophane.”
“So what? I’ll stay out of sight.”
“No you won’t.”
“I will. Promise. Please.”
“Fine, but only because I get turned on by you seeing me in action.”
“And I get turned on by seeing you in action.”
“I know that. That’s what turns me on.”
“Glad we clarified that. So, where are you taking him?”
Lola told me the name of a trendy club downtown.
“You’re not actually taking him there, are you?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“It’s so loud with that house music and the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.”
“You’re just old.”
“How can anyone talk with that blaring?”
“Darling, they don’t have to talk. They’re interested in the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM,” she said as she got up and pretended to be fucking me, slamming her hips into my ass with each “boom.”
“Suit yourself, but I know Jeremy won’t like it.”
We discussed it some more and agreed upon a less loud bar that we’d been to before.
Lo dolled herself up, threw on black lace thong panties, a short black skirt, and a transparent white blouse. She wore some sparkly costume jewelry and cute heels. I wished I was the one going out with her, but realized that I’ll have just as good a time watching her from a distance.
Lo Getting Ready for her Date
The doorbell rang and Jeremy was nervously waiting at the door like a kid picking up his prom date.
I let him in.
“All set for your debut?”
“You can joke, but this is nerve wracking.”
“Come on in. Have a drink or two and calm yourself down. Lola’s just finishing up.”
Jeremy came into the living room and I asked him what stiff drink he’d like. Whiskey, one ice cube. Easy enough for any bartender.
As I was pouring my 13-year-old scotch, Lola’s resounding voice could be heard billowing from the bedroom. She was at it again. It’s one of her favorite parlor tricks for our guests.
I walked into the living room with two drinks in hand. As I passed Jeremy his, he looked up at me with a grave face of concern. “Is she ok?” he asked.
“Lola?” I replied with a calming smile. “Yeah, she’s fine. She’s just getting the lead out.”
“She’s what?”
“Taking care of business.”
He was still perplexed.
“She’s masturbating until she’s silly,” I finally blurted out.
“Come on,” he replied in disbelief.
“Go see for yourself. I’m sure she’d like that.”
Her howls were still the background to our conversation. But they were taking shape now into her usual masturbatory mantra of “Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
“And that should about do it,” I said to Jeremy. “She’ll be out presently.”
About forty-five seconds later a flush Lola emerged into the living room, kissing Jeremy on the cheek.
“Hi, Lola,” he said rather embarrassed.
“Mind if I join you boys?” she asked, fixing herself a flute of champagne.
She sat in a chair next to Jeremy and very daintily placed one leg over the other as she drank. I could see Jeremy admiring her sexy gams. I wondered to myself if she crossed her legs because she was afraid she’d squirt if she didn’t.
We made some small talk until they both finished their drinks and then Lo gave me a little peck on the cheek and said, “Be good,” to me.
“Well, that’s no fun.”
She whispered, “And stay out of sight.”
That was her permission for me to show up at the bar to see her performance.
“Good luck,” I said to Jeremy.
“He won’t need luck,” interjected Lo, “He’s got me.”
I saw them get into his car and take off.
I quickly got myself dressed appropriately for a night out and sped off myself.
I heard from Lo after the fact that, on the way to the club, the following conversation took place:
Lola: You want me to jack you off?
Jeremy: What?
Lola: Jack you off. You’re a bundle of nerves right now. You need to relax.
Jeremy: Here, in the car, while I’m driving?
Lola: Yeah. You never had road-head before?
Jeremy: Road-head?
Lola: Yeah, pull out your cock and I’ll blow you.
Jeremy: I think I’d crash.
Lola: Keep your eyes on the road.
Jeremy: I’ll pass. It might make a mess.
Lola: Suit yourself.
Jeremy: Can I ask you a personal question?
Lola: Anything. I love personal questions.
Jeremy: HH said that you were, uh, masturbating back at the house.
Lola: Yeah.
Jeremy: Is that true?
Lola: I wasn’t singing in the shower. Didn’t your ex masturbate?
Jeremy: Not that I know of.
Lola: Oh honey, no wonder she ran off with the plumber.
Jeremy: What do you mean by that?
Lola: She was so repressed. She needed someone to unclog her pipe, if you know what I mean.
Jeremy: We had some regular sex.
Lola: Regular is boring. Rough, ram-rod, raw-dog is what she needs. Did she ever climax?
Jeremy: I don’t know.
Lola: Then that’s a no.
Jeremy: I grew up in a different era.
Lola: But women needed then what they need now. Promise me that if you start dating again, you’ll come to me.
Jeremy: Come to you?
Lola: Yeah, for advice.
Jeremy: Oh.
Lola: What did you think I meant?
Jeremy: Nothing.
Lola: You thought I meant ‘cum to me,’ didn’t you?
Jeremy: Well, is that what you meant?
Lola: I wouldn’t be offended.
Road Head
They got to the bar. Jeremy was hard under his pressed khaki pants. Lola had teased him so. But that was quickly replaced by nervousness and fear. He hadn’t done something like this in over twenty years. This wasn’t one of those super-trendy bars with the red velvet rope, the long line outside, the bouncer turning anyone away whom he thought didn’t add cache to the joint. No, this was a regular bar in a desirable neighborhood that had a commanding view of our city. The drinks weren’t cheap and the food was served on small plates. The clientele had to be of a certain economic strata in order to afford it. And that was Lola’s fatal flaw in her design for this evening. Instead of taking Jeremy to some dive joint popular with the college age crowd, she took him to something that she knew would be upscale. But, as a result, it meant that the only single women in the place were in their forties. Maybe there were a few in their thirties. But all the twenty-something women were on the arms of older men who could afford to treat their dates to a special evening.
I’m not judging or stereotyping. I’m just describing what I saw. Lo knows that she and I are frequently one of those December/May couples in an establishment like this.
Despite the fact that I had left the house after Jeremy and Lo, I arrived first. My knowledge of the city streets is better than Jeremy’s navigation system. I was inconspicuously hidden in a dark corner at a table for one. I saw Lola confidently enter with Jeremy and I saw as she scanned the room for the optimal place to occupy with him for greatest effect and maximum visibility. They took a spot at the center of the bar. Lo ordered a fancy cocktail and Jeremy ordered a beer. They were talking as if they were colleagues at work. Lo was running her hand through her thick hair, smiling, and gently touching Jeremy’s elbow as she laughed.
At the club
I could see guys at the bar taking note of Lola. More than one of them tried to chat her up, but she shut them down quick.
Jeremy looked stiff as a board, and not in a good way. After a couple more drinks, they both were loosened up a bit. So was the crowd. More people filed into the already cramped bar area and eventually two women who were trying to order drinks near Lo and Jeremy struck up a conversation with them. I couldn’t hear it, of course, but I later got the gist of it from Lola.
It turned out these two women were both in their forties and both newly divorced and trying to break into the dating scene. Lo elicited all the information from them while masterfully directing their attention to Jeremy and attempting to remove herself from the equation by explaining that they are just friends. But Lo overplayed her hand. In order to fully dispel any doubt of her own intentions vis-à-vis Jeremy, Lo said she’s not into guys.
Oh boy, the eyes of the two women lit up! Their conversation became animated. They started regaling Lo with stories about flirting or kissing girls in college, always wanting to try it more, being married and confined by the marriage, and now, ready to explore new possibilities.
The two women were already quite intoxicated when they began talking with Lo and Jeremy. Their inhibitions were down and their arousal at this young, fresh meat high. They complimented and flirted with Lo, leaving Jeremy to watch dumbly.
Lo, for her part, cannot turn away from the attention. And so, after a few paltry attempts to direct their interest toward Jeremy, Lo gave in. Soon she was making out with one and then the other of the women, exchanging numbers, and, eventually, walking out with Jeremy.
On the ride home, Lo felt truly bad for her behavior.
Lola: I’m sorry about that.
Jeremy: About what?
Lola: The two women. We came out for you, not me.
Jeremy: That’s ok. I found it entertaining.
Lola: You like lesbians?
Jeremy: Who doesn’t?
Lola: You jack off to girl-on-girl porn?
Jeremy: [Uncomfortable.] Um, er, I have.
Lola: Are you hard now?
Jeremy: I’m driving.
Lola: I see that. You can drive and be hard.
Jeremy: I’m. . .
Lola: [Feeling his crotch.] Mmmm, you are hard.
Jeremy: There’s something about your voice.
Lola: That everything I say is dirty and depraved?
Jeremy: [Laughing.]
Lola: [Putting her right hand between her legs.] Did you want to see me with those two women?
Jeremy: I wouldn’t have objected.
Lola: Did your wife look at porn?
Jeremy: Ex-wife.
Lola: Did your ex-wife look at porn?
Jeremy: I told you, I don’t think so.
Lola: When you had sex, would she put her finger down on her clit and stroke it?
Jeremy: No.
Lola: Would she pull her pussy lips wide and stretch them out until it hurt?
Jeremy: No.
Lola: Would she curl her index finger up and inside her and finger herself when your cock was filling her up?
Jeremy: No.
Lola: Would she get so fucking wet that she could slide her entire hand inside and grab your cock while you fucked her?
Jeremy: No.
Lola: Would she beg you for another man to fuck her at the same time as you?
Jeremy: Never.
Lola: [Pulling out his dick.] You’re so hard right now. That whole time at the bar must have made you so full-up. Do you have blue-balls?
Jeremy: Uh.
Piss Slut
Just then they pulled up to the house. Again, I was home before they and I pretended that I had never even left. I was sitting on the couch. I saw the car headlights outside. Inside the car, Lola was climaxing. She held Jeremy’s hand as she pressed her knees together tightly. She squeezed Jeremy’s hand so firmly that he cried out. Lo bit her lower lip. When she finally relaxed, she turned to him and said, “I’m sorry for hurting you. I was trying to hold it in.”
“Hold what in?”
“My squirt.”
“Squirt?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to leave a puddle on your seat.” There was a long pause before Lo, realizing that Jeremy was thinking about leaving, said, “You can stay a while. It’s a two-car garage, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I should go.”
“So soon?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just go home.”
“And masturbate?”
Jeremy looked baffled at Lola.
“You can say it,” she coaxed gently.
“I might.”
“Why don’t you let me do it for you,” she said rather than asked. She began to jerk his cock as he was in park. Her mouth was very near to the tip of his cock. She looked up at him. “Do you wish you could have seen those two women hungrily and greedily fondling my naked body? What do you think? They each had two or three kids. What do you think it would be like? Them, with their sagging breasts, jealously pawing at my perky tits. Sucking them. Telling me to suck theirs. One of them holding my ankles up in the air as the other buries her face in my bush. Each of them telling the other to use me, to finger me, to fist me. Maybe they had their own strap-ons and they wanted to take turns fucking me. Maybe one wanted to fuck my cunt as the other fucked my ass. What do you think? How do you think I would like that?”
“I, I, I think you’d love that.”
Lola stroked faster.
“I totally would. I’d like them to put a collar and leash on me and lead me around the house naked like a dog. They could bring me to the bathroom and piss on me – in my hair, on my face, on my tits. They could sit on the side of the tub and masturbate until they squirt on my body. They’d call me their slut, their whore, their bitch. They’d pull at my nipples and spank my ass. One of them would hold my legs back as the other spanked my pussy. They’d punish me for being young and beautiful. They’d take out all their frustration on me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Suddenly there was a massive ejaculation that shot from the tip of Jeremy’s cock to Lola’s face. It wouldn’t stop spurting hot white cum all over her face. It was as if he hadn’t cum for years! Lola loved it! He called out and moaned and pounded the ceiling of his car with his fist.
Finally, when he had calmed down, Lo sat back, her faced covered, her hair covered, her neck covered and dripping down her cleavage, and she said, “The icing on the cake! HH will love this!”
“Oh shit,” said Jeremy, “HH.”
Lo laughed. She repeated, “HH will love this. Don’t worry.”
“You two have one strange relationship.”
“Not so strange. You’ll see. The world has changed a lot since you were single.”
“Well, Lola, thanks for a good night.”
“Sorry I had to be your consolation prize.”
“To be honest, you’re the one I wanted the most.”
“You’re so sweet!” said Lo as she leaned in and kissed Jeremy a long, open mouthed kiss, getting his own warm cum all over him.
“Good night,” she said as she hopped out of the car and walked in to greet me, the evidence of her evening covering her like a pearlescent halo that had melted.
“Hello Lo,” I said as she walked in.
She approached me and kissed me just as she had kissed Jeremy and then she dragged me to the bedroom to fuck her as she recounted for me every detail of the date, asking me, “Daddy, am I a slut? Am I a total whore? Am I bad? Look at me, covered in another man’s cum. Punish me.” And through her mental masochism, she managed to bring herself to orgasm multiple times.
The cum on
Pachu M. Torres – Art & Literature Collaboration
We are so excited to announce our new collaboration with the renowned artist and illustrator, Mr. Pachu M. Torres!
For years we have been following his work and, though Lola hasn’t been the actual model for him (but perhaps she has been the inspiration for some of his works), his art reflects something of Lo’s inner essence.
You can expect quick little vignettes of word and image like the one below. We’d love to hear your thoughts.
xoxoxoxo,
Lola & HH
Image – Pachu M. Torres
Words – HH
Game Day Highlights
It had a been a long time since Lola had seen the brothers from across the street – Roy and Gary. Well, to be honest, she had “seen” them, but only seen them around the neighborhood. A cordial wave hello while walking home or a polite smile if we passed them in the local supermarket was about all interaction she had had with them since she and Meri worked out their intricate plan to swap brothers for children. That strategy worked to perfection. Meri got to have a threesome with boys the age of her children and Lola, while taking care of the males of Meri’s household, got out of the tedious sex she had been having on a regular basis with Roy and Gary. She had grown bored of being their pandemic call of booty.
They had reached out frequently, requesting use of Lo’s services or, at least, to service her holes. But she had rebuffed them. Eventually they got the message. Things began to open up in the summer, post-vaccinations, and we imagine the boys went back to seeing their friends and girlfriends, then to college in the fall.
Omicron struck in December when the boys were back home for winter break and their over-protective mother shuttered them in the house once again.
Now it was January and both their colleges were having a delayed in-person start, opting instead for remote learning for the first two weeks of classes. That meant the boys were home and caged in for another half month.
Knowing how much the brothers enjoy football and imagining how they must feel pent up in that house (in more ways than one), Lo reached out to their mother and asked if it would be ok for the boys to watch the playoffs at our house. Of course, Lo only asked my permission – or rather, informed me of her arrangement – after the mother had agreed. That mother loves Lo. In her eyes, Lo can do no wrong. If she only knew. . .
The brothers came over and from the moment Lo met them at the door, their lust for Lo was palpable. Lo had no intention of falling back into the sibling cycle of sex again, but she simply cannot help herself from being seductive, salacious, and so very sexy. Lo decided to get into the spirit of football by wearing knee-high striped socks with tight pink shorts and an oversized football jersey that she stole from my drawer.
For those of you who don’t know, the playoffs lasted three weekends in a row. Each weekend consisted of at least two games. The brothers were at our house, high-fiving, yelling, screaming, and generally displaying their over-the-top testosterone levels for all three weekends, multiple hours at a time. Lo did nothing to relieve their tension. Rather, she only made the tightly twisted libidinous drive that tugged at their testicles even more taut.
Over the course of many hours, I curiously observed the boys’ interactions with Lola as the football announcers called the play-by-play. Though we were all watching the game on the TV, I couldn’t help but imagine that the commentary was about something else. What follows are direct quotes (in italics) from the games in a highlight reel.
Announcer 1: Welcome to Sunday Night NFL All Access. That stands for ‘Now Fucking Lola’ All Access.
Announcer 2: These players have been eyeing each other for weeks now. There’s a lot of frustration in the room. The strategy has to be for one to pound that front and the other to get penetration in the back.
Announcer 1: I couldn’t agree with you more. He really has to open up that hole.
Announcer 2: Well, the game is underway and it is his first penetration and it’s really deep!
Announcer 1: Wow! That’s a really big shot!
Announcer 2: No doubt, those two will hook up again.
Announcer 1: If this isn’t going to be a blow out, they will have to fill that gap.
Announcer 2: Look at that, an amazing turnaround. He was able to punch it in!
Announcer 1: They’re in a position to tighten this thing up.
Announcer 2: Looks like he’s able to get back on top of it.
Announcer 1: And now they’re double teaming.
Announcer 2: It’s a touchback!
Announcer 1: Yes, they just swooped the back end.
Announcer 2: He’s going deep!
Announcer 1: Another nice hookup.
Announcer 2: Terrific ball skills.
Announcer 1: This is going to be a real contest. It’s a match, blow-for-blow.
Announcer 2: But wait! What’s this? A fumble! Sacks are great, but strip sacks are even better!
Announcer 1: Great ball placement.
Announcer 2: And on the first play, some razzle-dazzle Hollywood style!
Announcer 1: They’re just having their way now.
Announcer 2: Those are some uncanny ball skills.
Announcer 1: That’s about as hot as it gets.
Announcer 2: He has amazing hands.
Announcer 1: He is hot, especially in the red zone.
Announcer 2: He snuck it into the end zone!
Announcer 1: Looks like he spiked it!
Announcer 2: Another booming finish!!!
Lola’s team uniform
All this testosterone fueled banter, excitement, and physicality had spurred not only the brothers into a sexual frenzy, but also Lola. By halftime of the last game, she wanted someone to score. But Lola’s nature is to avoid zero-sum games. She prefers when everyone wins. In that spirit, she lined up all us people with penises on the couch, sitting facing forward and the TV. I was in the middle and Gary and Roy were on my left and right, respectively. Lo had all three of us pull our pants down around our ankles. She was wearing her black, silk negligee and nothing else. She got down on her knees and between each of our knees to fluff each of us up one at a time. Then she gently, slowly descended her derrière down on my cock as her cunt was dripping with anticipation of finally being filled.
Securely seated on my lap, she reached out her left and right hands to grasp Gary and Roy by their uprights and, as she bopped and bounced on my pole like a cheerleader, she encouraged the brothers with her offensive holding.
Sure enough, first one, then the other reached the goal line.
Lo continued her halftime routine on me until she was able to coax me offsides into a neutral zone infraction.
She stood up, my ejaculate dripping down her inner thigh, and she looked at the three of us, spent and sidelined, and she said, “I just love full-contact sports.”
Lola’s Suited Up for the Big Game