“Why
don’t you just jack it like a real man?” she complained.
“Because
I prefer fucking your flapper to fucking my fist,” I responded.
“But
Daddy,” she said, in a nicer tone now, “don’t you know that I find it hot to see a man masturbating?”
“Any
man, masturbating to anything, or certain men, masturbating to you?”
“I
prefer men to masturbate to me, but seeing any man masturbating to anything
still turns me on,” she said as she was rubbing her puss under the covers. “Please, Daddy, just stoke it for me, over
me, to me.”
“Maybe
I’ll just get my Stoya Fleshlight,” I said, trying to arouse her jealousy so
she’d give herself over to me completely.
“No! If you do, I’ll get out my horse cock dildo
and my Hitachi!”
“That
sounds fair. . . and fun!”
“No,”
she said, “I want you to use your hand and I’ll finger-fuck my holes.”
“Fine,”
I said, more willing to concede due to the prospect of watching her. I pulled down the covers, got between her
legs, grabbed my hard member, and pulled at it for her to see.
“That’s
it Daddio,” she said as she spread her legs wide, began inserting the fingers
of her right hand into her puss and slid her left hand around from underneath
her ass to penetrate her posterior place.
“Did
you make every man you were with masturbate for you?”
“I
didn’t have to make them,” she said.
“They volunteered.”
“Tell
me about it.”
“There
are so many. Which one?”
“Tell
me about Teddy.”
Teddy
was her fuck-buddy in college. A tall, lean,
basketball player with an enormous cock.
“I’d
lie in his dorm room bed and he’d stand over me with his huge black cock right
over my face. It was as long as my
entire head. He’d drop his balls in into
my mouth and grab his rod with both hands.
Both hands!” she said with emphasis.
“He’d stoke it over me as I lay naked on the bed and then, when he came,
he shot all the way down to my knees and covered me with his hot jizz up to my
chin.”
I
could tell that as she told me this story, she was on the verge of climaxing
herself. But she held back.
“Tell
me about Gerald.”
Gerald
was also a college fuck friend. The
opposite of Teddy in every way, except Gerald was also an athlete – a
bodybuilder whose bulging biceps attracted Lo until she found that he had a
micropenis.
“He
was so self-conscious about his size that, no matter how much I wanted to take
him in my mouth, he was resistant. My
natural attraction for women made the prospect of licking that little clit so
appealing, especially since he shaved it and his balls clean. He wore a teensy-tiny speedo when he worked
out. It was like he was wearing panties. I wanted to pleasure him with my lips and
tongue all the time, since I obviously didn’t feel him in either of my holes,”
she said as she fingered both of her holes more deeply.
“Did
he jack it for you?”
“It
was the only way he could cum. He’d pull
that little pimple with his thumb and index finger as he stood over me, just
like Teddy did, and then he’d ejaculate all over my face. It was the only way he could feel dominant.”
“How
often did he do that?”
“Countless
times. It always left me unsatisfied,
but I liked it nonetheless.”
“You
never met a cock you didn’t like.”
“Don’t
stop,” she said, looking at my cock as my stroking slowed. I pulled harder, longer, faster. “That’s it,” she said. Her whole hand was almost fully submerged in
her pussy and two fingers were going at her perineum.
“Tell
me about Tim,” I said. Tim was her beau
before college and, since he was older and Lo significantly younger, sex with
Lo was off-limits for him. That didn’t
mean that Lo didn’t try. Lo always finds
a way.
“He’s
probably the one responsible for my male masturbation mania. The only way he got off was by
masturbating. I would be fully clothed
and saying sexy, naughty, dirty things to him like I’m doing for you right now,
and he would jack it until he came.”
“Where’d
he cum? On your face?”
“No. He’d cum into my hands. I’d hold them out like I was receiving an
offering and then I’d lick them clean like a kitten licking a bowl of
milk. He loved that.”
That
was too much for her. She came and came
hard. Her pussy and sphincter clutching
and contracting on her deeply driven digits before eventually dilating
again. When she recovered, she looked at
me and said, “You didn’t cum.”
“No.”
“That’s
not fair, Daddy.”
“I
don’t think so either,” I said. “Why don’t
you give me a hand-job?”
“Because
I’m going to fall asleep now,” she said.
“That’s
fine, just position your left hand like you’re giving the ‘OK’ sign, and I’ll
do the rest.”
She
complied. I lay next to her and inserted
my cock. She said, “You’re just using me
as a sex object.”
I
didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily she followed up the comment with,
“And I like it. It’s so soothing.”
Reviewing
in my mind’s eye the stories she told, looking at her naked body next to me, I
came and came hard all over her. She had
drifted off to sleep. I grabbed a
washcloth, wet it with warm water, and gently cleaned her off. I kissed her mouth good night and lay next to
her thinking about what a good bad girl she is.
The
next morning I awoke to find her face bobbing up and down on my erect shaft.
“Lo?”
I asked.
She
popped off of my knob and said, “I’m sorry you didn’t cum last night,
Daddy. Let me make it up to you.”
I
didn’t disabuse her of that belief until after she accomplished her mission. When I did, she just said, “You dirty dog!”
“What?”
I asked, innocently. “You told me last
night you wanted me to cum. Was that
just lip service?”
It was one of
those strange April nights when the temperature drops twenty degrees from the daytime
high of 68, the wind rustles up the new buds on the trees outside, and from out
of the darkness, lighting, thunder, and downpours fill the sky. Lola couldn’t sleep. When I got to bed she said, “I’ve tried
everything. I’ve tried meditation,
masturbation, guided meditation, guided masturbation. . .”
“Wait. What is ‘guided masturbation’?”
“Oh,
well, I called up a friend and asked him to tell me how he wants me to
masturbate,” she said as if it were no big deal.
“You
did?”
She
nodded her head in affirmation and pouted saying, “But it didn’t help.”
“I
bet it helped him. Why didn’t you call
me?”
“You
were working hard, Daddy.”
“So?”
I asked, frustrated by the thought that she’d rather hear inappropriate
instructions from one of her suitors than from me.
“Are
you still hard at work?” she asked seductively, rubbing my crotch to gauge my
state of arousal.
“Work
hard, play hard,” I said, as I pulled out my manhood for her to see.
She grabbed it while licking her
lips.
“You
know I’m not just a sex organ,” I said.
“I
think your brain is a sex organ,” she replied as she went down on me.
“In
that case, I have a very large sex organ.”
She
interrupted her activity to look up at me and say, “And growing larger.”
“I’m
not that big,” I said.
“I
meant your ego.”
“I’ll
have you know, I’m very humble.”
“Looks
to me, you have a lot to be humble about,” she said caustically.
“What
do you mean?”
She
pulled down the sheets to reveal her huge horse-cock dildo on the bed next to
her, still glistening.
“I’m
so big, wide, and wet that I wouldn’t feel any bit of you.”
“Care
to test that hypothesis?”
“I’m stretched to my
limit.”
“You have a limit? That’s news to me!”
“‘Limit’ is a flexible term. Like ‘full’ or ‘fucked.’”
“Oh, so it’s elastic?”
“Yeah, it can be used in many
different ways.”
“Depends on who’s using it.”
“Right. It takes a lot of abuse, but it is never
exhausted.”
“Never wears out.”
“Right.”
“Like this terrible pun.”
“What pun?”
“Are we still talking about ‘limit’?”
“I wasn’t, were you?”
“Darling, you certainly do push the
limits.”
“What limits?”
“All of them. But the real question is, why did you call on
some other guy for your ‘guided masturbation’ when you could have called upon
me?”
“So many married men turn to me for
sweet release. I’m a goddess of pussy. I answer to the call of depravity.”
“But you called him!”
“Well, I saw that he had posted a
pic of a cumtribution he had made for another girl and he wrote, ‘For my
beautiful cum slut.’ I called him to
remind him that I am his beautiful
cum slut.”
“You think you’re everyone’s
beautiful cum slut.”
“Well, aren’t I?”
“Everyone but mine, I guess.”
“Oh,
Daddy,” she said, still holding my cock firmly in her hand, “would you make a
cumtribution for me? Would you jack it
to my photos and cum all over them?”
“Lo,
why would I do that when I have you right here, in the flesh?”
“To
show me your unfailing love.”
“Lo,
I write thousands upon thousands of pages of poetry for you, but you’d rather I
grab my masculine member and stroke it until I ejaculate a hot mess over your
image?”
“I
call it giving tribute to my icon.”
“Because
you’re a goddess of pussy.”
“Now
you’re turning me on!”
“Those
are your words.”
“Well,
you feel that way, don’t you?”
“How
could I not, darling. It is the truth.”
“So
you’ll make an offering at my virtual alter?”
“If
you want me to, I will.”
“Now?”
“Whenever
you say.”
“No,
not now. I want you to do it when I’m
away. Now you can enter my holy temple.”
“But
I thought I wouldn’t even feel you.”
“You
won’t and I won’t feel you, but why should that stop us from fucking?”
I
got between her legs and entered her. She
was right – it was like a mere mortal entering the pearly gates. However, that only made it more alluring for
me. She could tell I was getting turned
on.
“Cum inside me,” she said.
“Put your fingers inside you, right where you want me
to cum.”
She inserted almost her whole fist along over my cock
and I could feel her fingering her G-spot.
“There,” she said, “right there.”
I came and came with force all over her fingers. She gripped my cock with her hand inside her
and milked it for every drop.
When I pulled out, she said she was going to clean up. I drifted off on the bed until I heard her
calling out for God from the shower. It
startled me. I navigated the thick cloud
of steam to find her squatting on the shapely bottle of Dove shampoo, rubbing
her clit, and cumming uncontrollably.
(Do they make the bottles that shape for that purpose or did she buy that
brand because of its ergonomic contours?
The questions Lo causes me to ask.)
I disappeared into the fogbank as stealthily as I had
entered it. I went back to the bed. When she climbed in naked next to me, I held
her warm body.
“Just in time,” I said.
“Just in time for what?” she asked.
“Tomorrow is the first of May.”
“Hooray!
Hooray! It’s the first of May!”
she sung, “Outdoor fucking starts today!”
“No, silly,” I said.
“April showers.”
“Oooooh,” she said, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you see
my pink flower.”
“Me and the rest of the world.”
“A beautiful flower should not be hidden away to be
seen only by one man.”
“Stop
it. You won’t get me to go by doing
that,” I said as Lo batted her lashes at me, reached for my cock, and rubbed
her hips up against my leg.
“It
will be fun.”
“Fun? Your idea of fun and mine are very
different.”
“I
don’t think so.”
“You
think another wedding will be fun?”
“The
last one was, remember?”
“I
remember – the food was beyond blasé, the music was mediocre, and the people
were piss-poor conversationalists.”
“Oh,
Daddy. Don’t you remember what we did in
the bathroom?”
“That
was its only redeeming feature.”
“I
have a lot of redeeming features,” she said, pulling her breast out of her
blouse.
“You
need a lot of redeeming, darling.”
“Suck
it,” she commanded.
I
bent my head down to her nipple and did as she asked.
“Bite
down.”
I
followed her instruction.
“Harder.”
I
did as she wished.
“Mmmmmm,
that’s it. Make it hurt. Pull it with your teeth.”
I
pulled.
“Let’s
go fuck,” she said, removing her blouse and lifting up her skirt, running down
the hallway. I followed her, but she
stopped me at the door to the bedroom.
“No, wait,” she said, “I have a better idea.”
“A
better idea than fucking?”
“Well,
it involves fucking.”
“I
see. What’s your idea?”
“I’ll
change into the different outfits I might wear to this wedding and you can fuck
me in each of them. At the end, you can
tell me which is the one you want me to wear.”
She
shut the door and when she opened it again she was wearing a little white
blouse and a short skirt and heels. No
panties. She lifted up the skirt and
bent over the bed. “How’s this?” she
asked.
I
entered her from behind and said, “This will do.”
After
she came, she pushed me out. “I have to
try on another outfit. Give a girl some
privacy to change.”
She
shut the door again. When she opened it,
she was wearing a tight blue dress and strappy heels. “Thoughts?” she asked as she lifted up the
dress from behind and bent over the bed.
I
repeated the process again. “I like
this, but not as much as the other. Too
fancy.”
Now
she pushed me away again and she shut the door in my face. When it opened, she was wearing a short red
dress. “This?”
“This
is by far the best!” She looked like a
little harlot and she lifted up the back to show me how ready she was for a
third go-round.
“So
you’ll come?” she asked.
“Yes,”
I said, meaning that I’d cum.
“No,
you’d better not fucking cum on this dress,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m not paying to have this dry-cleaned. I mean, you’ll come to the wedding.”
“Yes
dear,” I said reluctantly, “You know you always get your way.”
“Don’t
you like my way?” she asked as she slammed her ass into my hips again and again
and reached back with her right hand to massage her perineum.
“Your
way is the best,” I said, pulling out and telling her to get on her knees as I
came into her mouth and she hungrily devoured me.
My
reluctance to go was twofold. First, I
simply detest weddings. Call me a
curmudgeon, call me jaded, call me a stick-in-the-mud, but if you’re getting
married, don’t call me. Second, I found
it particularly challenging to be happy for the “happy” couple, knowing full
well that they really weren’t happy together but rather, felt this to be the
next logical step in their relationship.
Relationships based on logic are not relationships based on love. Logic has its own sort of force, but not the
mystical force exerted by love.
However,
countering these two weighty reasons for declining our invitation were two
weightier reasons to concede to the social obligation: an open bar and the
prospect of seeing Lo on the dance floor in that red dress. If two people are fool enough to get engaged
and ultimately get married, if those same two people are fool enough to invite
me to their party and supply free food and adult beverages all night, really,
who am I to stand in the way of my happiness?
So
I went. This was no conventional wedding
and thank God for that! It was not at
some swanky hotel or a low-budget VFW hall.
It was being held at a mountaintop private residence. As such, the bride and groom were welcome to
use the grounds, but not the dwelling. A
big-top tent was rented and set up and, as accommodations for the guests, we
were welcome to pitch our own tents in order to avoid the treacherous hair-pin
curves of the dirt road back down into the valley at night.
Lo
and I arrived around noon and, though we thought we were early, to our surprise
we found that the pre-nuptial festivities were already in full swing. Beer kegs were strategically placed around
the expansive lawn, games of Frisbee, croquet, and bocce were being
played. We mingled, took some pics of
the vista overlooking the river basin below, and we drank and had lunch before
setting up camp.
By
two o’clock a sprawling tent city was emerging and we were lucky enough to find
a level spot on some soft grass right at the corner of this temporary
village. As we unpacked the tent and the
air mattress, a young couple pulled up in their Subaru Outback and began
setting up their tent next door to ours.
Everyone was in a jubilant mood and the fella turned to me and said,
“Not a lot of space here for all of us.”
“No,”
I replied, neighborly.
“We’re
practically right on top of one another,” he remarked. It was true, there was so little room between
tents that we couldn’t even spread the lines to tether down the tent with the
stakes.
“I
wouldn’t mind being right on top of him,” Lo said under her breath to me. I saw her lick her lips as she watched him
nimbly unpack the suitcases from the car into their tent.
“I
hope you two don’t mind,” he practically called out to us, “but we’re planning
on trying to make a baby tonight.”
I
had no idea what the neighborly thing to respond was, so I just looked
dumbfounded until his wife yelled at him, “What did you just say?”
“I
said, we are hoping to make a baby tonight.”
“Oh
my God,” she said, “You have to excuse him, he’s a redneck country boy,” she
said apologetically. “You keep your
mouth shut and just set up the tent,” she called to her husband.
“What?”
he asked, “I’m just giving them fair warning.”
She
was an attractive brunette, in her mid-thirties I’d guess, and clearly in love
with the somewhat dim-witted, yet well-intentioned beau of hers.
The
two of them made some small talk with us as we put the finishing touches on our
new homes – asking how we knew the bride or the groom, where we were from,
etc. At one point he turned to me and
said, in confidence, “How old are you?”
“How
old do you think I am?” I asked back.
“I’d
say at least forty-five,” he said, being honest, though not necessarily polite.
“Well,
you’re in the ballpark, if you add about five or so years.”
“And
what about her?” he asked, nodding over to Lo.
“What
do you think?” I said, turning it back to him.
“Twenty,
twenty-two maybe.”
“Again,
you’re close,” I said.
“You
lucky dawg!” he said, slapping my back with a big smile.
Soon they and we
went our separate ways. There must have
been at least two hundred guests attending this affair and so we didn’t
actually see them again that evening. I
told Lo about his untoward questions and remarks and she smiled, contentedly,
while her words denounced his lack of couth.
The
rest of the day and night went much as you’d expect – cocktails were served
along with hors d’oeuvres. As the sun
was getting low making for the perfect romantic lighting, the bride and groom
were escorted down the grassy out-door isle to the perfect spot with a backdrop
of mountains descending toward the horizon in the distance. The speeches were made, the vows were
exchanged, the public display of affection put on for the guests. I, for my part, held back my applause,
reserving judgment for later years.
The
band came out and dancing under the stars and in the tent commenced along with
copious amounts of alcohol being consumed.
Perhaps as a result of the fresh air or all the dancing, the effects of
the alcohol upon me were negligible in comparison with what I ingested.
The
stars were bright, the air was warm with a slight breeze, and music was wafting
over the grounds. Lo was happy to be
dancing in my arms and before too long she pulled me aside and said, “Daddy,
let’s go to the tent.” It wasn’t so
early; already some couples had made their exits. But the party was still at critical
mass.
Nevertheless,
Lo and I led each other through the ever darkening expanse of land to the tent
city where, after taking a moment for our eyes to adjust, we figured out which
tent was ours. In through the zipper
door we climbed, out of our party attire we slipped, and into each other’s arms
we sprung.
Tents
are never ideal places for frolics in bed – firstly, because there is no bed
per se. Secondly, because open sleeping
bags slip and slide and bunch up and disappear in the darkness. Be that as it may, we found a way to make it
work.
We
were lying on top of one of the sleeping bags and under the other one. We were spooning. My arms were wrapped around her naked body
and her round bum was pressed up against my pelvis. She could feel my manhood growing hard. My hands groped her breasts. Her tush pushed harder on my hardness. She reached behind her and began stroking
it. She pointed it at her target and it
slid right in.
“Do
I feel tight or loose?”
“Tight.”
“Wet?”
“Very.”
“Do
you like?” she asked as I protruded deeper into her.
When
we were done, we turned on the flashlight to remake the “bed” (air mattress)
and cuddle up next to each other – big and little spoon – for warmth, though
the air had only cooled a little and we hoped that no one heard our kinky taboo
sweet nothings.
Only
a few minutes had passed before we heard our neighbors unzip their tent and
clumsily get into bed. They must have
set up their interior so that their heads were right by ours, because we could
hear every word they whispered.
“Shhh,
Sam, you’ll wake everyone up,” she said.
“No
one’s around,” said Sam.
“Yes
they are,” she whispered back. “I just
saw the light go out in their tent when we were walking here.”
“Then
they’re not asleep.”
“Shhhh,”
she said back.
There
was some rustling and movement and then we heard some giggles on her part
followed by a zipping sound (the sleeping bag) and some more rustling. Lo was kissing me when we heard her moan. It didn’t take long before they had worked
themselves into a rhythmic slip-sliding sound and we could hear the heavy
breathing. Lo reached down and grabbed
my hardening cock. We heard the wife
moan and it sounded like she was in bed with us.
Lo
got on all fours, her head facing the neighbors’ tent, and she nudged me to get
behind her. As I entered her, she also
moaned. We heard the rhythm of the
neighbors stop cold for a second and then, when Lo moaned again, it picked
up.
I
was very self-conscious and I could hear my hips slapping up against Lo’s ass
as Lo began to breath more heavily. Soon
she was whispering, “Yes, yes.” We heard
the neighbor wife call, “Fuck, that feels good.
Harder, Sam.”
That
just spurred Lo on to be louder with her, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” in
time with my thrusts.
Now
it was feeling like a competition – who could go longer, who would be louder. It was odd, there in the darkness, as if we
were in the same room, yet not. The
simultaneous orgy and privacy was getting us very worked up and I think Lo
wasn’t able to control it any longer – she started crying out, “Fuck, I’m
cumming. Fuck! Deeper!
Hold it. Hold. It.
Stay. Right. There.”
As
she did so, our female neighbor began growling through her grit teeth. She was cumming too and it was an angry,
intense orgasm.
When
we were all done and lying down, I’m not sure who started it but there was
giggling and soon we were all giggling before Lo said, “Good night,” to our
neighbors and they responded with a very warm, “Sleep tight!”
It’s
almost like it’s a trade – sex for her stories.
I feel like I get the better part of the bargain: both sex and her stories.
More
gently than before, I entered her and held her in my arms as her lips whispered
in my ear. “Daddy,” she said.
“Yes?”
“I
have to tell you something. But it’s
really embarrassing.”
“What
is it? You can tell me.”
“No. It’s a really
strange kink.”
“Nothing’s
strange between us,” I said.
“Well,
you know how I’ve been reading and watching Game
of Thrones?”
“Yes.”
“You
know that I know.”
“Well,
there’s one character on there who really gets me all twitterpated.”
I know precious little about Game of Thrones, so I didn’t even dare venture a guess. I do know, from all the press, that there is a lot of sex and violence on it. Lots of big, buff men and buxom, beautiful women. The odds are that all of them get Lo twitterpated.
“Who
might that be?” I inquired.
“You’re
going to think I’m weird.”
“Lo,
you’re delightfully different.”
“Well,”
she said, as she turned onto her back so she could see my face as she told
me. “There’s a character named Tyrion
Lannister.”
“Yeah?”
I said, not sure what that meant.
“He’s
played by Peter Dinklage.”
“OK,”
I said, still not getting the full import of her revelation.
“You
know, from Elf. The ‘south pole’ elf.”
“Oh!”
I said, picturing him in my mind, “Ooooohhhhh,” I said again, realizing what
she was implying.
“Ooooohhhhh,”
she said, her eyes shut, as she enjoyed my pole.
“But
Lo. . . ?”
“So
many fantasies about Snow White,” is all she said before she gushed gallons
over me as I pulled my sword from her stone.
When
she was done anointing my blade with her holy water, she asked, “Weird, right?”
“Whatever
floats your boat, Lo,” I said. “Speaking
of which, I think we need to change these sheets.”
Is
there any fetish, kink, or taboo that she hasn’t been into?
“Whatcha
doin’?” I asked when I saw Lo on the bed, a book in her left hand, her right
hand under the covers, between her legs.
Her
right hand quickly withdrew and her legs snapped together as she looked up,
blushing, and said, “Nothing!”
“Looks
like you’re reading a book and masturbating.”
“Yeah,
so?” she replied belligerently.
“So,
I like that.”
“Well,
it wasn’t meant for you.”
“Why
so defensive?” I inquired as I sat on the bed next to her and looked at what
she was reading. It was Game of Thrones.
“I’m
sorry, Daddy,” she said, her tone completely changed. “I was just reading this and. . . you
startled me. That’s all.”
“What
was it you were reading?”
“Pull
down your pants, get on your back, and I’ll tell you.”
I
followed her instructions immediately.
She climbed on me, lowered herself on my erect rod, and let out a soft
moan. She was very wet and I glided in
with ease. When she was comfortable, she
said, “I was just reading a passage in the book where one of the women learns
to ride a horse. She mounts it slowly
because she’s afraid,” she said as she slowly slid down on my cock, and then
back up again. “But she gradually gains
confidence in the saddle. The horse
moves faster and she finds it exciting.
Eventually the horse breaks into a trot as all the men watch her ride
it. She rides with her husband and then
the two of them are together and. . .”
She trailed off as she began to undulate on me.
Nipple Pull
“Is
that all?” I asked.
“Pull
my nipples and twist. Hard.”
I
did as she commanded.
“Harder!”
she said.
I
was practically pulling them down to her navel as I twisted.
“She and her
husband find a place to lie down and he pinches her nipples and pulls on them, just
like you’re doing.” She came.
She
lifted her gushing puss up off my soaked spear and lay on her back. “Have me again and I’ll tell you more.”
As
you, dear reader, are well aware, I am of a different generation than Lo. That doesn’t keep us from having fun. Frequently I find myself at parties
surrounded by people twenty years or more my junior. For the most part, I’m a good sport about
it. However, there is one activity that
these younger folk engage in that I simply cannot stomach: Playing “Cards
Against Humanity.” Call it a delicate
sensibility or a prudishness of a bygone era, but I find this particular card
game to be repulsive. Luckily for Lo, I’m
a good sport and see that, like all things on this big blue planet, there is
something to be learned from it.
Perhaps
due to my generational difference, not only was I of a dissimilar temperament than
those enthusiasts of the game, but I found that I was also ignorant of some of
its terminology. Late one night, while
playing this perverse pastime, I happened to pull the card that read: Anal
Bleaching.
What?
I
found myself having to inquire as to what the hell this meant and I was
informed by my young companions that this is, indeed, a thing. Women, it turns out, actually bleach their
anus in order that it have the proper luminescent halo around it. Ass angels, I suppose.
Well,
my dear reader, allow me to tell you that one of the first times that Lo and I
were engaged in a prolonged, pleasurable, and piquant entanglement of bodily
parts with the lights on low (and on Lo), one facet struck me as particularly
impeccable about her body.
Later, in the delightful afterglow
of my memory, I mentioned it to her one night as we were on the phone and
separated by distance, but connected by desire.
“Did
you like it?” she asked of our last tryst, as if there were any doubt.
“Very
much so,” I responded, seeing her in my mind’s eye.
“What
did you like?” She’s a glutton for
compliments.
“Everything.”
“Be
more specific,” she demanded, needing to hear each dissolute detail.
“You
really wish to know what struck me the most?”
“I
do,” she almost whispered in a seductive tone.
“It’s
a little embarrassing to say, especially over the phone,” I said, modest man
that I was back then before Lo thoroughly corrupted me.
“Say
it. The dirtier the better,” she
instructed.
“That’s
the irony.”
“What
is?”
“That
it’s dirty, but it’s only dirty because it’s so clean.”
“I
don’t follow.”
“What
I want to tell you about. What struck me
when we were together,” I stumbled, “The thing that lingers in my memory,” I
stuttered, “What I can’t get out of my mind is how incredibly clean your
asshole is.” There, I said it! I could feel my face blushing. Poet that I am, I could find no more refined
way to tell her.
“Really?”
she almost squealed.
“Yes. Is that, er, inappropriate for me to say?”
“No. Not at all.”
Mind
you, dear reader, this was early on in our relationship. I had not yet discovered quite how debauched
my little Ms. Down was.
“Do
you want to know how I keep it so?” she asked.
“I
think some things about a woman should remain a mystery,” I answered.
Lola
Well,
dear reader, now many years on, I can tell you that it was certainly not
through “anal bleaching.”
Lo
was in the tub. I was in my business
suit. I looked down at her and said, “Lo,
how long have you been in there?”
“Why
do you ask, Daddy?”
“Because
there’s so much steam in this room that the paint is peeling.”
“Just
a little while,” she said demurely.
Cheese & Crackers
“I
see you have all your bath toys,” I said, looking at her glass dildo in her
hand, her suction cup dildo stuck to the wall, and her hand-held showerhead
dangling.
“Everything
but my rubber ducky.”
“A
rubber and a dicky?”
“That
would be nice too, but without the rubber.
Why don’t you get out of that stodgy old suit and join me?” she asked.
I
began loosening my tie and unbuckling my belt.
“That’s
it, Daddio,” she encouraged.
Red Wine
“I’m
going to change, but I’m not getting in there with you. It looks like you have things well in hand
already,” I said, as she reinserted the glass dildo.
“Well,
I’ll be out in a just a bit and then we can play ‘Hop-on-Pop.”
“You
know,” I said as I was hanging up my suit jacket and pants, “the Twittersphere was
all agog this week with memes and a bruhaha about women in bathtubs.”
“Really?”
she said, preoccupied by her pussy.
Hearts
“Yeah,”
I said, “Apparently some company is marketing bath trays for women and the ads show
all the wonderful things that a woman can do in the tub with them. But it’s backfired because, I mean, really –
who eats a five course meal and watches a movie in the tub?”
To
my rhetorical question, I heard moans and then gasps of pleasure, followed by “Fuck,
Fuuuuuuck, Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
“I
know, right?” I said.
When
she finally emerged from the bath, like Venus from the froth of the sea, she
said, “I haven’t just been doing myself, Daddy.”
Lola
“Oh
really? You had company?”
“I
wish,” she said. “No, I also did the
laundry. It’s clean and dry now.”
It was the first of the month. Lo and I have a little tradition of saying
“Rabbit, rabbit,” to each other on the first of the month. I woke up next to her and I whispered it to
her.
“More like ‘grab it, grab it,’” she
replied.
“What? Why?”
“Because, you were clinging to me
all night, grabbing my tits, stroking my puss.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be,” she retorted, “I liked
it. But it gave me crazy dreams.”
“Like what?”
“I dreamed that we were on vacation
in Hawaii with our friends. We had
rented a minivan, but I just needed to get off.
The minivan was old, loud, and rumbly.
I pulled out my Hitachi from my suitcase and began using it. I was about to cum when someone noticed. So I put it away.”
“That’s not like you.”
“Yeah,” she said, “it was a
dream. Next thing I knew, we were on the
beach and my Hitachi was in my hand. I
put it down my bikini bottoms.”
“There are no electrical outlets on
the beach.”
“It was a dream.”
“Right.”
“And I was about to climax when I
opened my eyes and suddenly saw that there was a crowd of people surrounding
me, watching me. So I stopped again.”
“Again, not like you.”
“This starting and stopping, edging
and trying again went on a lot.”
“Do you want to get off now?”
“So badly.”
“Do you want your Hitachi or me?”
“Tough question.”
“Which do you like more?”
“My Hitachi.”
“Really?”
“Then you.”
“Oh.”
“Then my Hitachi again.”
“I see.”
“My Hitachi is like icing on the
cake. No matter how good the cake is,
you always want icing after it.”
“But you said your Hitachi first.”
“Well, you always want icing. But just icing isn’t as good as icing with
cake.”
“So, what do you want now? Do you want your Hitachi as I jack it over
you?”
“That sounds good.”
She pulled out her Hitachi from
under the bed. She turned it on. She spread her legs and placed it between
them. I was on my knees over her,
pulling at my long, hard shaft, watching her every move.
“You know,” I said, “I had a dream
too.”
She didn’t reply.
“I dreamt that you were out on a date
with a tall, think, dark Jamaican man with long dreadlocks. I found the two of you in the front row of a
movie theater making out.”
“The front row?” she asked. “That’s a bit conspicuous.”
“It was a dream.”
“I like it.”
“And then I came home and found the
two of you on the couch, still making out.”
“Were you jealous?”
“No, I was turned on.”
She came, squirting all over my
knees.
“Come here,” she said, as she rolled
over on her tum. “Get inside me.”
I slid right in with my tum pressed
on her back.
“Do I feel tight or loose?”
“You feel loose and wet. Very wet.”
“Fuck me harder.”
I thrust with more force.
“Daddy, please, fuck me. Fuck me harder.”
“I would, but I’m afraid I’ll push you
right into the headboard.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she
said, “Just fuck me with everything you got.”
I pushed into her repeatedly. As I predicted, her head was banging the
headboard of the bed with a rhythmic pounding.
She just called out, “Yeah, yeah, harder! Don’t stop.
Fuck. I’m going to squirt. Stay in there. Don’t. . .”
She began squirting and her cunt
convulsed on my cock, squeezing me right out.
It’s damn near impossible to stay in her when she has an intense orgasm
like that.
“Hurry up,” she said, “Get back in
me!”
“I can’t,” I complained, “You’re all
clenched up. Try to relax.”
She did, which unleashed a gush of
more juice, soaking the sheets.
“I want you to cum,” she said as she
backed her ass up and slid her puss over my pole again.
“You liked my dream?” I asked.
“Yes. Maybe you were holding me so tightly that our
dreams were interwoven.”
“Are you cumming again?” I
asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Good, don’t. Flip over,” I commanded.
She turned onto her back and spread
her legs. I pulled out my dripping rod
and stroked it back and forth.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Playing foosball. What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m stroking myself to your amazing
body.”
She grabbed her Hitachi again and
put it between her legs as she watched me.
“Just like the guys on the beach,” she said.
With that thought, I began to
cum. She saw what was happening, and
like an acrobat, she swiveled her body around so that her face was now under my
balls and she put out her tongue to catch might release.
When I was done and she had a grin
on her face, I said, “A nutritious breakfast.”
“Yeah, but now I’m in the mood for
cake with icing and pancakes.”
“Pancakes?”
Or, see me and cum.
“Or at least pancake batter, cause
that’s what your cum reminds me of.”
Fap. Jill.
Vibe. Flick the bean. Solo time.
T.C.B.
However
you call it, Lo does it. And she does it
more than any woman I’ve ever met and more than most women whose rumored
self-pleasure sessions have reached my ears.
That
said, it came as no surprise to me when I heard. . . well, just sit down, get
comfortable, and I’ll tell you.
Lo had gone on her date. I was home, alone. At least she had had the courtesy to jack me off before leaving. But what to do with my time? You see, dear compassionate reader, when Lo goes off like that, it puts me in the greatest state of tension and anticipation. If only I could be there on all of her dates, sitting at the bar, watching from afar.
But
Lo needs, deserves, and wants her space.
I get that. And, to be fair, the
eager expectation is more than half the fun.
The other half is hearing her tell the tale to me in bed.
Still,
that gap between her departure and arrival must be filled. A hard, very hard task.
I
can’t just go out with friends. My mind
would be preoccupied. And what if I
missed Lo’s return?
Reading
is futile. My every wandering thought is
of Lo, and the thoughts wonder frequently, just like Lo.
Writing? Well, sometimes that is a good pastime.
But
on this occasion I got up to some mischief.
You,
my faithful reader, are well aware from long ago that Lo is insanely
jealous. Not just of my attention, not
just of other women, but of literally anyone who might remotely rival her in my
eyes. Hence, she was frequently frowning
upon my watching Weeds, and
especially Mary-Louise Parker, whose character, Nancy Botwin, not only
intrigued me, but reminded me of Lo in a number of ways.
Mary Louise ParkerFrankie Shaw fapping to MySexLifeWithLola – Can you believe it?!
Somehow,
during Lo’s late night adventures most likely, I managed to get through all the
episodes of that series. And for a good
long time, nothing replaced it. . .
.
. . until SMILF came along with its
very Lo-like star, Frankie Shaw.
Frankie Shaw of SMILF – Lola’s Fantasy
Lo
and I had watched the first episode together, but when Frankie got down and
dirty, Lo hit the power button and said, “Nope.
No more for you.”
“But.
. .” I tried to protest.
“But
nothing. If you’re getting hard
watching, then I’m shutting it off and you and I can go to the bedroom and get
fucking.” And that’s just what we did.
Now
that Lo was out, and most likely getting fucking with someone else, the image
of Frankie Shaw on the “recently watched” option of the T.V. menu was calling
to me and I thought, “This is ridiculous.
This is more than a double-standard.
This is cruel and unusual punishment.”
So I hit “Play.”
My
suspicions were borne out; Frankie Shaw is just like Lo. When she frantically scrolls through the
photos on her computer with one hand down her panties, it was a replay of a
vignette I had seen so many times with Lo in the starring role. In my mind, though, Frankie Shaw was fapping
it to mysexlifewithlola.com, scrolling through all the desultory images of Lo
fapping it to who-knows-what – probably to Frankie Shaw, if I’m being honest,
since Lo loves to condemn with me that which she condones privately.
I
only got through another two and a half episodes before I saw the headlights of
a car out front stop and let out a passenger.
It was Lo. I could tell by the
swivel of her hips as she walked. The
T.V. was off before she was in the house.
“Hello,”
she called from the door.
“Hello,”
I called back.
She
peered in the unlit living room.
“Sitting in the dark?”
“It’s
my best light and greatest comfort.”
“Well,
it can be dark in the bedroom too,” she said, walking down the hall, her
leather boots on the wood floor sounding like seductive music to my ears.
I
got up and followed her and said, “You bring the light,” as I turned on the
nightstand lamp to see her. Upon
reflection I added, “You know, that’s where Lucifer gets his name.”
“What?”
she asked, looking at me quizzically.
“Lucifer,
it literally means, ‘carrier of light.’
It is said that he, like Prometheus before him, had stolen the holy
light of God and ferried it to humans.
Artists for millennia have understood that light to be metaphoric for
creative inspiration, not literal light.
That’s what you are, my Lucifer.”
“Well,
get in bed if you want to fuck like the devil.”
I
waisted no time. I hopped under the
sheets as she stood next to the bed looking at herself across the room in the
full-length mirror.
“Good
date?” I inquired.
She
took off her black leather jacket and removed her shirt. No bra.
She was wearing a bra when she left.
It must have been a good date.
She
bent over, took off her boots, and then slid out of her skirt. Still no panties.
Her
naked body eased up next to me and she whispered in my ear. “Did you miss me, Daddy?”
“I
always miss you when you’re gone.”
“Did
you wonder what I was doing?’
“Of
course.”
“What
did you do while I was out?”
“I’m
more interested in what you did,” I
said. (See what I did there?)
“Slide
in me and I’ll tell you,” she said.
As
I complied, she moaned and said, “I missed you, Daddy.”
I
guess I have a type.
I
entered her and, truth be told, all I could feel was how very wet she was. It made me think of the scene from SMILF where Frankie Shaw is having sex
with the tall, big, basketball player, surrounded by all the other guys from
the team, and he says, “Am I in you?”
Just
as I thought that, Lo said, “Can you feel me, Daddy? Am I loose?”
“So
loose,” I said, “Like the opening of a tent flapping in the wind.”
“Well,”
she said, “you don’t have to be so explicit about it.”
“I
wasn’t explicit,” I said, “it was a simile.”
“Here’s
a simile: Get in my ass, it’s just like my pussy, only tighter.”
I
laughed and followed her instruction.
She moaned.
“Your
ass is a vice,” I said. “That’s a
metaphor.”
“I
thought you meant that my ass is a vice, like gambling or liquor,” she said
over her shoulder.
“It’s
that too, and so many other things.”
“Oh
yeah, what else?”
“It’s
the seat of my love for you.”
“Look,
Daddio, I want to get fucked good, hard, long, and hard. I want cock, right now, not poetry, so get up
there and give it to me.”
“You
said hard twice.”
“I
want it twice as hard.”
I
gave her what she wanted and said, “And I want to hear about your date.”
Once
she was good and pumped, she began talking in between gasps for air.
“I
showed up, looking slutty, smelling sweeter than cotton candy, and wetter than
a flower in the rainforest.”
“Who’s
the poet now?” I asked.
“Shut
up and keep pounding.”
“Keep
cumming and carry on,” I said, feeling her gushing.
“He
was a perfect gentleman. He stood when I
approached him.”
“I’m
sure he stood at attention.”
“And
he had saved me a seat at the bar. I sat
down and after he got me my drink, I swiveled toward him and spread my legs so
he could see, very clearly, what I was wearing under my skirt.”
“As
I recall, you weren’t wearing anything.”
“That’s
right, not even a merkin, as you had suggested.”
“I
still think the merkin was the way to go.”
“Maybe
next time, dear, but this time I was quite exposed.”
“Quite
the exposé.”
“But
not quite the big reveal. Not yet
anyway.”
“I’m
listening.”
“Yeah,”
she said, “but not fucking. Deeper
Daddio.”
I
grabbed on to her ass with both hands and spread her as far as she would go for
maximum insertion. She moaned
deeply.
“Don’t
get lost in your orgasm,” I warned, “I’m just as deeply invested in your
story.”
“I
asked him if he felt like eating.”
“The
ambiguity of your question is delicious.”
“He
paid the tab and we walked out of the hotel bar. I thought we were going to go to his car, but
as we were in the lobby, we saw the guests of a wedding filtering into the
ballroom. He stopped me and said, ‘I
have an idea. You look too good not to
show off. Let’s go.’ And then he took me by the hand and we
crashed the wedding party.”
“Very
impulsive.”
“We
danced for a good hour before the food was served. He twirled me and dipped me, sweeping me off
my feet.”
“Giving
great views of your gams, I’m sure.”
“My
what?”
“Never
mind.”
“From
there we went to the hotel room he had ready.”
“Just
for a nightcap.”
“In
the elevator up to the room, he kissed me passionately and his right hand began
going up my skirt.”
“I
bet the elevator wasn’t the only thing going up.”
“In
the hotel room he sat me down in the chair and asked if he could make a
request.”
“What
was that?”
“He
wanted to watch.”
“What?”
“He
wanted to watch me finger myself, with my clothes on. He said that his wife has a fear of fapping. She never does it. And it’s one of his favorite fantasies –
women masturbating.”
“Well,
he found the right woman, alright.”
“That
was no coincidence. He had been reading
the blog for a long time. He tried to
get his wife to read it, to open her up to new ideas.”
“And,
did it?”
“He
said it didn’t. I told him, ‘Well, I’m
wide open.’ That’s when he could resist
no more and he fucked me good, hard, long, and hard.”
“There
you go again,” I said.
“What?”
“You
said hard twice.”
“Well,
he was hard. I was easy.”
I
couldn’t take it any longer and I ejaculated deep inside her.
“Lo,
you are the poet here,” I said as I slowly pulled out. “You pain such vivid images in my mind.”
“And
now that you’ve dipped your pen in my inkwell, I’m sure you’ll write all about
it.”
“How
do I look?” she asked, doing a little twirl on the toes of her shiny black
boots.
“Just
Peachy,” I said.
“Peachy?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re
so old,” she replied. “Do you like the
lipstick? Too much?” she asked as she
puckered up.
“Depends. What do you plan on doing with it?”
“Hopefully
something naughty,” she said as her tongue ran over her pearly whites.
Lo
was all decked out for a date she had with a new gentleman caller. About a half hour earlier she had emerged out
of her steamy shower, silky smooth down below.
She showed me saying, “Hopefully he’ll appreciate this.”
“You
are eager for him to get up your skirt,” I said, nonchalantly, though I was
upset that she wasn’t offering it to me.
“So
eager that I’m not going to wear panties.”
“Why
don’t you shave for me? Only when you’re
going on dates?”
She
walked up to me and made a pouty face, and teased, “Oh, is my ole man jealous?”
“No,”
I said, “Not jealous. But I appreciate a
slick, wet, whistle just as much as the next guy.”
“I
know,” she said condescendingly. “But
don’t you like my muff too?”
“Lo,
I like all of you in every way,” I said, “But maybe you could just keep the
mons pubis polished all the time, especially for when I go down on you.”
“But
Daddy, it’s winter. I might catch a
chill.”
“Wear
a merkin. I hear they’re coming back in style.”
“Funny.”
“I’m
serious. I read an article about
it. It was all the rage for Fashion Week
in New York.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee,”
she said dismissively.
“You
don’t seem to be too worried about catching a chill today,” I observed.
“I
plan to have his warm mouth on my va-jay-jay soon enough,” she retorted.
“Are
you just trying to tease me?” I asked, adding, “Cause you could have my mouth
on it right now.”
She
was applying moisturizer to her tits, tum, and mellifluous legs and puss. “Will you get my back?” she asked, applying
some lotion to my palm and turning around.
I
began to rub it into her shoulders and then down her back. She bent over, exposing her rear. “Get it in good there, cause I want to be
silky sweet for him when he has his face where your hands are now.” I was circling my middle finger around her
anus and she was moaning.
After
a little while of that, she got on the bed, lying on her back, her legs up. I thought for sure this was my
invitation. But no! Instead she said, “Don’t forget my toes. Get right in there.”
I
applied the lotion to her heel, her arches, her toes and between her toes, one
foot at a time. She was almost climaxing
from the sensation. I was hard as a rock
in my slacks and protruding noticeable. I
could see her pussy glistening.
“Do
you plan on giving him a foot-job as well?”
“I
plan on giving him whatever he wants.”
“Lo,
why are you torturing me so much? I’ll
just pull out my cock and you can give me
a foot-job. Think of it as warm-ups or
practice,” I said as I unzipped my pants.
“I’m
already hot. I don’t need warm-ups. And are you saying I need practice?”
“Practice
makes perfect.”
“I
am purrrrrfect,” she said, “or at least so I’m told.”
She
got off the bed and began rummaging through her wardrobe.
“Out!”
she commanded. “You’ll see when I’m
done.”
I
left the room and then, a while later, she appeared in the living room asking
me how she looked. I was starving for a
taste of her. When I said, “Just
peachy,” I was thinking about eating her peach, which now was more like a
nectarine.
She
lifted the hem of her short skirt to show me her bare nectarine. Then she bent over to pick up her purse and
pull out her phone.
“Lo,
the whole world can see how nicely you prepared yourself when you do that
move.”
“That’s
what I was going for.”
I
rolled my eyes.
“You
won’t miss me too much?” she asked.
“Lo,
I’m going to tell you the truth. As soon
as you shut that door, permission or no permission, I’m going to pull out my
Fleshlight and cum so hard into Stoya’s pussy.”
“NO!”
she exclaimed. Horror of horrors.
“But,
I’m so worked up right now. I can think
of nothing else.”
“I’ll
tell you what,” she said, “I just ordered my Lyft. It will be here in exactly four minutes. Go get a condom.”
I
ran to get a condom from the bedroom and appeared back in the living room,
eager to fuck her, but I had another thing coming.
“Put
it on,” she said, looking at her phone.
I
obeyed.
And
then, instead of bending over the couch and letting me enter her, she grabbed
my covered cock with her right hand and began jacking it.
“What?”
I asked perplexed.
“I’ll
jack you off. You have about two
minutes,” she said, not even looking at me.
“Why
won’t you let me fuck you?”
“Because,
I’m pretty as a picture right now. I
don’t want to risk messing up my outfit.”
“Really?”
“A
minute and a half. Do you want to be
hard-up all night?”
“OK,
ok,” I said, letting her tug, “but why the condom?”
“No
mess,” she said, her hand moving mechanically.
“Speaking of pictures. . .” she said as she manipulated her phone with
her other hand. She raised up her arm
and smiled at the camera as she shot a selfie without me in the frame. No one would even suspect she was giving me a
hand-job as she flashed her smile at them.
She sent the pic to her date with a message, “Coming.”
She
looked again at her ride app and saw the car turn onto our street. She got closer to me and ever-so-gently
licked my earlobe with her tongue as she increased her wrist motion. “That’s it Daddio, think about how he is
going to lick my clit later. Think about
how he’s going to cum all over my puss and make my skirt all dirty with his hot
mess. I’m your little trollop, your
little. . .”
She
stopped mid-sentence. The Lyft was
outside our window. I came into the
condom. She let go. I grabbed my cock and stroked it as I watched
her through the window getting into the car and blowing me an air kiss.
