Author Archives: Lola Down

About Lola Down

Just your everyday nymphomaniac next door.

Lusty Letters: Creative Writing Class

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Dear H.H. and Lola,

My name is Jane and I have been reading mysexlifewithlola since your first post in 2011!  It was my first year in college when I discovered it along with a bunch of other erotica blogs.  You and some other writers inspired me to put pen to paper and write out my deepest, darkest fantasies – things that I was afraid of even thinking, let alone writing!!!

With Lola as a role-model and the seductively sensuous writing of H.H. as inspiration, I unleashed my inner slut and began penning my nocturnal imaginings.  At first it was just for myself, but, by my junior year in college, I had gained enough confidence to take a creative writing class.  When we went around the room reading our stories, I shared some of my more mild fiction.  For the most part, my colleagues and professor were supportive, though I did get a few shocked or disapproving looks from more than one of my peers.  

In my senior year, I took an advanced creative writing class and one of our assignments was to bring in an example of a living author whose genre and/or style we admired.  H.H., I brought you into class!  I read from your story “Horsing Around.”  I deliberately chose the most shocking story of yours I could find because. . . well, just because.  As I was reading it, a girlfriend of mine snapped a photo of me because she wanted to capture all the body-language of our classmates as I narrated about Lo’s longing for horse cock.  As you can see from the photo, I think the images aroused a lot of feelings from them.  My professor interrupted before the climactic scene and said we were out of time (which we weren’t).  But, after class she called me over to her desk.  I was very nervous about what she was going to say.  I looked up to her a lot and she had always encouraged me, but I thought I might have crossed a line this time.  She asked me, “Where did you get that story, Jane?  I didn’t quite hear the source.”

“It’s a blog: mysexlifewithlola.com,” I said, nervously.

“Oh,” she said as she wrote it down in her notebook.

“Why?” I asked.

“I just needed to note it for. . . for record-keeping.  All of the student’s excerpts must be recorded,” she said.  I felt certain, however, that she went home that night to explore more of your writing.

Thanks so much Lola and H.H.

Yours,

Jane

Since then I’ve started dating an older guy.  We read your blog together sitting on the bed, each of us masturbating to it.

With Sexy Company

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Just saw that mysexlifewithlola.com was included among the top 13 erotica sites for women! The best part about it is that the list includes so many of our favorite bloggers! Very glad to be among them!!!  Thank you!

[Illustration by JoKoss. If you want us to read your blog, just write to us: downloladown@gmail.com]

We’re Good

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Once, while doing a little internet search to find out if any other guy is in a similar situation as I, I came across the following plea for help to some advice columnist:

 

I recently found out that my girlfriend waits for me to go upstairs and take a shower, or goes upstairs to the shower herself so that she can masturbate.  I have never, ever rejected her for sex.  I have even told her many times that she could have me whenever and wherever.  We have been together for almost five years.  When I caught her – long story – she claimed that this has only been going on for a few months before I found out.  I was really upset about it.  When I confronted her about it, she said that it only happens ‘six out of every ten times’ that I’m not home.  So, more than half of the time that I’m not there, she would rather fuck herself than me.  She acts happy and she tells me she loves me multiple times a day.   She says that everything in our relationship is good.  However, over the past six or seven months, she only had sex with me maybe once or twice a month.  (When we started dating we were having sex at least once or twice a day!)  She claims that she wants sex, but she just would rather masturbate than have sex with me – even when I’m at home.  I just don’t understand why.  And now I feel like I just don’t know who she really is or that our relationship is as truthful as I thought it was.

 

I felt really bad for the poor dejected boyfriend, especially because it could easily have been written by Lo’s ex-boyfriend – the guy she was with just prior to me.

You see, she was with this boy, Steve, for close to three years.  The first year was wonderful – so she tells me – but the last two, not so much.  At some point she fell out of love with him.  It happens.  Now, Lo being Lo, though the love was lost, she couldn’t just turn off her libido.  And, if she were very honest, she would tell you that she stayed with this fella because he did have quite an amazing cock – over 9” in length and thicker than her forearm in girth.  As a result, she resorted to the methods of the hapless fella’s girlfriend as quoted above.  She would masturbate in bed after he fell asleep.  She’d masturbate in the shower when he was home with her (at his parent’s house).  She would masturbate when he wasn’t around.

What’s more, when Lo began to deny this strapping youth the pleasures of worshiping at her alter, he, being virile himself, would often jack it in the bed next to her.  She could feel the bed moving, his breathing growing heavy in short quick breaths, and sometimes even the warm ejaculate upon her back.  Through it all she remained stoic and still, feigning sleep until it was her turn.  She knew that only a few moments after he came she would have her chance.

Yet, every once in a while she still craved that cock of his and she would get her fill.  On occasion she would open her mouth to receive all nine inches of that rod; she’d bend over to take it in her puss or her ass; she’d get on her knees to have him cum on her face.  And this was enough to give Steve hope and keep him returning to the well for more.

Much of this relationship was while Lo was in college and Steve, who didn’t go to college and lived at home with his parents, was none-the-wiser of Lo’s various “boyfriends” she kept at school.  There was Gerald and his diminutive endowment enhanced (or, rather, the opposite of enhanced) by the use of steroids.  There was Teddy and the massive member he carried around with him like a Smith & Wesson 500 Magnum.  And there was the elusive Ryan.  These play-things were good for some thrills, but Lo was unable to extricate herself from the place she carved out in Steve’s nuclear and extended family.

She went through all the motions of Thanksgiving and Christmas, birthdays, and family vacations with them.  Yes, the first year she entirely enjoyed him and his family.  In truth, they were a very good group of people – so good that when she felt herself falling out of love with him, she lamented leaving them more than leaving him.

She remained in this limbo, as I said, for about two strained years.  I knew her during this time and, on occasion, we would see each other.  It would only be years later, after she and I became a couple, that she revealed to me that she had a thing for me all that time and that frequently, after we would get together for a coffee to catch up, or an innocent meeting at a concert or bookstore, she would jill it to thoughts of me.  (Flattering.  Very flattering.)

But then, in some magical way, sparks of romance began to shoot back and forth in our Platonic relationship.  Soon enough she was slipping away from Steve in order to meet with me for the illicit dark alley kiss; the so very risky blow-job in my office, or the unrestrained fuck in the front seat of my steamed-up car.

Then came that fateful day that she and I were at a remote bar, staring into each other’s eyes, talking, after having two or three drinks, when she revealed to me something that cut me to the quick.  “So, last night, after we met and you got me all riled up,” she began, making reference to our long, lustful make-out session that resulted in her cumming a number of times without any actual penetration, “I needed it.  I had to have it.  I went home and I woke Steve up from bed and I sucked his cock till he was good and hard.  I spread my legs and, as he was going at me with that massive cock of his and I was just on the verge of cumming and cumming in a BIG way, I found myself unconsciously saying. . .”

“Saying what?” I asked, on the edge of my seat when her words trailed off.

“Saying your name.”

“Out loud?!”

“Well, loud enough that I heard it.  I don’t think Steve heard me.  He was going at me furiously.  When I finally came, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming your name cause, you see, I was imagining that it was you fucking me and not him.”

These words of hers poured into my ears like a mixture of poison and elixir.  They swirled in my chest and elicited the most confused concoction of emotions I had ever known.  At one and the same time I was delighted to hear this story; excited to imagine it vividly in my mind; repulsed by the image; disturbed by the thought of her going home to him for sex, even if she was thinking about me.  I had no words for any of this.  Waves of heat descended over my body from head to toe.  All I could do was look into her lovely eyes and gaze at her beautiful and oh-so-dirty mouth.  And, without knowing what it was that I was doing or saying, I grabbed her hands and my mouth pronounced the words, “Lo, I need to tell you, I love you.  I love you desperately and deeply.  I love you in a way that I have never, ever known.  I love you and I have loved you and every day I fall deeper in love with you.”

She looked at me with confusion and joy on her face.  We were in the middle of some dive joint in the sticks, country music playing on an old jukebox, the bar filled with sad, drunk people.  This was hardly the place that I would have picked to profess my love for her and I think that the confession came as quite a surprise to her as well.  But her response to my unreasoned and untoward words surprised me equally.  She said simply, “I love you too.”  It wasn’t the sort of pat, formulaic response that is said out of politeness.  It was heartfelt.  They were four simple, monosyllabic, yet very weighty words pronounced with measure and sincerity.  Perhaps more than the words, the look in her eyes as she said them lent them the reassurance of truth that reading them on the page fails to do.

Her hands clutched mine and I knew that we had something, something real and something special – something that we had to do something with and about in order to become the people we were.

Sometime after this mutual exchange of love, I said to her, “Lo, but there is one thing I need you to promise me – to promise me very solemnly.”

“What?”

“I need you to swear that if ever you fall out of love with me like you have fallen out of love with Steve, you will tell me.  You will have the kindness and courage to say it to my face immediately.  You will never string me along.  You will never stay with me out of convenience.  You will never fuck me and whisper to yourself the name of some other man.”

Little did I know back then what I know now – that I would give my blessing to Lo’s fucking as many men and women as she pleases.  Yet one thing still holds true – I demand her love.  I know that when she fucks someone else, it is I whom she loves.  I know that when she masturbates to wild fantasies, it is I whom she loves.  I know that when she lusts for men and women whom we pass in the street, it is I whom she loves.  As long as I know that, we’re good.  We’re very, very good.

[Image, of Lola Masturbating by JoKoss.]

Sexy Shorts: Master Debater

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In the bar, I held my cold beer and watched from a distance as some stranger tried to pick up Lo.  A smile ran across my beer-froth-covered lips as I saw her sitting on the barstool in her tight dress looking delectable with her curves in all the right places.

Earlier that night Lo and I had met up with the doppelgangers, Lilly and Jim, for the first Presidential Debate.  None of us were up to the task of hosting, so we decided to enjoy the political poppycock in a public forum.  We found the smallest, saddest, scuzziest dive-bar we could and went in there hoping for a subdued crowd of barflies.  We got what we came for and the little old man tending bar was more than accommodating to us.  Not only did he turn on the debate, but he had no objection to turning up the volume when a crowd of boisterous twenty-somethings filtered in (after being thrown out of some other place, no doubt).

When we arrived, Jim sat to the left, then Lilly to his right, and then Lo.  I stood behind the three of them because I wanted to both hear the TV and also be able to hear everyone’s conversation.  But that had the unintended, yet most welcome, consequence of making it look like Lo was unattached.

A middle-aged man in a flannel shirt came into the bar.  I saw him glance over all the possibilities before he sat on the stool next to Lo and ordered a beer.  Within mere moments he was talking with her – asking her what he had missed of the debate and soliciting her opinion about the opponents.  At first, Lo was rebuffing his advances.  I could tell by her body language.  She repeatedly turned her back to him and tried to talk with the doppelgangers.  But, by his second beer and repeated conversation starters, I could see that she was beginning to let her guard down.  At one point she looked over her shoulder at me and, no doubt, saw my devilish grin.  She responded with a mischievous, seductive look in her eyes, as if saying to me, “I’m going to leave this bar with you and fuck you later, but first I’m going to make you good and hard by flirting with this guy next to me.”

If that was her plan, she performed it to a tee.

Since Jim and Lilly have no inkling about Lo’s secret hotwife-life, when the guy at the bar got up to use the Loo, Lo took that opportunity to say to them, “I just realized, with HH standing back there and me here, it looks like I’m a third wheel!  Like I’m single!”  She said it as if it were astonishing, but I knew it was all an act.  She added, “I think I’ll have some fun with this.”

When the man returned to his barstool, Lo turned to him, tossing her hair with her hand, and began a deep, heated conversation.  I could only hear snippets of their words because they were talking in the hushed tones of an intimate exchange; no longer the public commentary on the debate.

Lo opened the conversation with, “So, are you married?”

“No, divorced,” I heard him respond and then he went on to explain for a while, much of which I didn’t catch.

Lo nodded her head and looked deep into his eyes, feigning empathy.  At one point she put her hand on his and said, “Oh, you poor thing.”

Soon he was inching his stool closer to Lo’s and put his hand on her back and rubbed it up and down a bit.  Lo leaned into it and made him feel comfortable doing it.  She was flirting with her eyes and tongue.

I was rock hard in my pants as I pretended to be a bystander watching the debate, but I was actually watching the two of them very closely.

They talked and talked as the debate went on and on.  Finally, when everyone stood up to leave, Lo introduced the man to Jim and Lilly and then turned to me and said, “And this is my boyfriend, HH.  HH, meet So-and-So.”  I didn’t catch his name because I was too enthralled by Lo’s dramatic flair for bringing her flirtations to an end.  I extended my hand and shook his and then Lo and I left the bar, arm-in-arm, with the doppelgangers.  When we were outside, we all had a pretty good laugh about it.

Back at home, Lo and I had a very good tryst in bed, as I told her what a bad girl she was and she repeatedly teased me with what a slut she is and the various things she would do with the guy from the bar.  She admitted to me that the only reason she didn’t bring him home was because we were out with the doppelgangers and she didn’t want to take the chance of frightening them off.  Let them find out more about us, little-by-little, first.  She’s a wicked one.

Money, Booze, Sex, & Lola

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“Did you see this?” she said, holding a piece of mail in her hand and waiving it in the air.  I could tell by her tone and the scowl on her face, we hadn’t won the Publishers Clearing House prize.

“What?”

“You bounced our rent check!  That’s what.”

“I bounced it?!”

“Yeah, you.”

“Well, it’s our checking account.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one responsible for balancing the books.”

“Oh, so because I do more than my fair share of work, I am also responsible?  No good deed ever goes unpunished in this house!”

“You’re not responsible because you take on the balancing, you’re responsible because you fucked up the balancing.”

“How the hell am I supposed to balance a checkbook when you have the debit card and spend through our cash?”

The fight went on like this for some time before I finally walked out the door.

My phone rang.  I didn’t answer.  I was in the car with no particular place to go other than away.

The phone rang again.  Again I didn’t answer.  I just grew even more heated.  Why should we talk when we’re both angry?

A text came through, “You’re being conflict-avoidant again.”

At a red light I texted back, “And you’re being annoying again.”

The light had changed and the guy behind me honked his horn before I had time to hit send.  I gave him the finger.  Asshole.

I drove to my office – my refuge from the storm.

She called again.

“What?!” I said, answering the phone.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a contrite voice.

I wasn’t expecting an apology.  I was expecting a continuation of the fight.  My tone was completely over-the-top.  But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet.  Her apology was met with silence.

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she asked.

If she was looking for a reciprocation of an apology, then she was sorely mistaken.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Come home,” she said.

“No.”

“Are you going to the bar?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but that’s a good idea.”

“No!  Come home!”

“I might.  It depends on if I’m coming home to a hornet’s nest or not.”

“You won’t!  I promise.  You’ll come home to a horny-nest!”

“Lo, sex isn’t the answer to every one of life’s problems.”

“I’m not looking for answers, I’m looking to get off.”

I returned home, a little more calm.

We talked about money a bit more in quieter tones.  I explained that our finances are just a bit short right now, “but I’m confident things will be better next month.”

“That’s just the problem,” Lo said, exasperated, “you always think that next month will be better than this month.  What if it’s the same?  What if it’s worse?”

“So you’re saying that my worst quality is that I’m an incorrigible optimist? – I can live with that.”

“No!  I’m not saying that’s your worst quality, but that’s what you hear because you are an incorrigible optimist.”

I fixed myself a whiskey on the rocks.

We talked some more before agreeing to revisit the problem another day.  She suggested going out that night.

“Out?!” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.  “Let’s go out and have a good time.  Maybe you can watch me flirt with someone.”

“Here we are, scraping together the pennies from our spare-change jar to pay the rent, and you want to go out?  I’m sorry, I just find the idea of going out tonight repugnant and odious.”

“At least you can masturbate with your words.”

I shot her a look before taking another sip of whiskey.

“Well,” she said as she spread her legs on the couch and rubbed her pussy, “if we can’t go out, can you at least cum in?”

“Why this sudden erotic twist?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I’ve always been erotically twisted.”

“I’m in no mood,” I said.  “You’ll just have to man the torpedoes tonight.”

“I know I don’t look so good tonight,” she said, referring to the mascara that had run when she was crying and the old sweatshirt she was wearing, “but I promise, I feel good,” she said as she put her hand between her legs and rubbed her pussy, revealing that under the oversized sweatshirt, she wasn’t wearing anything else.

“Can I just sleep here tonight?” I asked, feeling tired and comfortable on the couch.

“Are you drunk or just an asshole?”

“Can’t I be both?”

“No, you can’t sleep here tonight.  You’re coming in the bedroom. . . and I will be too, soon!”

We went in the bedroom and I got naked and in the bed.  As I waited for Lo to get out of the bathroom, I dozed off to sleep.  I awoke to find her straddling me, naked, grabbing my cock and using it as a dildo to rub her clit.  I heard her moaning and then fell back to sleep.

The next day I saw that she made a Facebook post at two in the morning.  I asked her about it.  She told me that she couldn’t sleep.  I asked her if she jilled it.  She said, yes.  I asked, “To what?”

“I used you.”

“What?”

“I licked your soft, little, good-for-nothing dick in your sleep until it got hard and then I used the tip of it to jill my clit.

“Yeah, I saw that, but that was right before I fell asleep, around ten o’clock.  You made your post after two in the morning.”

“Well, it worked the first time, so I did it a second. . . and a third.”

I went to sit up and get out of bed, but my body ached and I moaned.

“What’s the matter?” she asked me.

“Nothing.”

“You’re hung over,” she stated.

“No I’m not.  I’m sick.  I’ve been fighting off a cold.”

“You’re dehydrated.”  Her go-to diagnosis.

“No.  Didn’t you see how much water I drank last night?”

“I didn’t see you drink any water.”

“I drank it right in front of you.”

“You drank two whiskeys.  Don’t you remember?”

“Yeah, and what was in the whiskeys? – Ice!!!”

“Why do I even try?”

“I wasn’t even going to have one, but I was so agitated, I felt compelled to have a drink.”

“And how do you explain the second?”

“Well, after the first, my throat didn’t hurt anymore and I was feeling quite good, so I thought: if one caused that much improvement, two will be even better.”

“And was it?”

“Last night it was.”

“And now?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, it was a bad idea.”

“I may be great at making bad choices, but at least I’m great at it.”

“You have to preserve yourself.”

“I’ll buy a jar of formaldehyde.”

“As long as you use it to keep your cock stiff and hard.”

“Watch it babe.  One of these days I’ll be dead and then you’ll miss me.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be married to a rich guy and I’ll have his money to console me.”

“Money won’t make you happy.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I’m willing to give it a shot.  Have I told you my plan?  I’m going to marry a rich man and then keep you on the side.”

“Stop promising and hurry up and do it.  I ain’t getting any younger here.  My plan is to grow old disgracefully, and you’re just the gal to help me do it too.”

Friday is Boobday!

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Hey y’all, every Friday is Boobday over at A Dissolute Life Means. . .

Last Thanksgiving we sent her the photo below.

Quick story of the making of it:

Lola and I were staying were visiting friends for Thanksgiving out of town.  We were invited over for the Thanksgiving Day meal and, just before sitting down, Lo saw that her phone had a message.  She opened it up and looked at a photo that one of her fans had sent.  She bent over to look at it more carefully.  She asked me to fuck her in the bathroom.  I found her irresistible and entered her from behind while she continued to admire her admirer.  I took out my phone and took a quick pic of us in the mirror.

On the right is the photo the friend sent in.

The story is now published and you can read it here: Very Thankful

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Priestess of Porn

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Lola and I were discussing my latest publication and the woeful lack of financial reward gained from it.

“Do you think that the problem may be with the world, not with me?” I asked, tired of being responsible for the failure of monetizing our sexy, silly, sensuous, serious, sappy, serial story.

“Yes, of course,” she said, “the problem is the world, not you.  The blog is the best writing you do.”

“Thank you dear,” I said, “you are an inspiration.”

“The world just isn’t ready for you,” she said.  The way she said it, I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic.  I shrugged and allowed myself to take it as a compliment.

“You know, you’re right.  I’ve put a lot of thought to this and I honestly can’t think of one author who is comparable in terms of range.”

“Oh boy,” she said, “here we go.”  Her tone was that of exasperation, as if she had heard this all before.  But I had never mentioned this to her.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about range?”

“Yes dear, please, tell me about your range.”

“Well, I’ve written plays, screenplays, works of philosophy, art theory, novels, poetry, and, erotica – don’t forget the erotica.”

“I am aware.”

“Perhaps,” I said, gazing off to the middle distance, rubbing my beard, “there is one, one author who has an equal range.”

“And who would that be?” she asked as if reading from a script.

“Marquis de Sade.  Yes, yes,” I said more enthusiastically the more I thought on it, “he had range – plays, philosophy, theology, erotica.”

“And look at how the world treated him.”

“Precisely, my dear, precisely!  They put the genius in prison!  I suppose I should count my blessings that I have not been arrested, charged, indicted, found guilty and imprisoned.”

“By that reckoning, you’re ahead of the game.”

“No matter how things go, I am fully confident that someday my true talent will be recognized, like with Sade.  It may just have to be posthumously.”

“Great,” she said totally devoid of enthusiasm.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be remembered as more than my mistress.  You’ll be known as my divine muse.”

“Just what I’ve always aspired to in life.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“And you sound like a pompous ass!  You know, I’m more than just your muse.  I have great achievements in my own right.”

“Of course you do,” I said, “but we’re talking about an immortal legacy.  For that, you’ll be remembered as I see you; as high priestess in the holy church of Venus.”

“As a porn star, you mean.”

“A priestess of porn.”

“A slut.”

“An entelechy of the divine feminine.”

“A pinup calendar model.”

“Why must you speak in such pedestrian terms?”

“Your speech flies to the heavens.  I’m here to keep you grounded.  Earthly delights, remember?”

 

Cake & Bar – Interview with a Kinky Amateur Porn Couple

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In the past we have periodically featured some letters and guest posts from some of our readers.  Because we’ve received so much mail in the past year, we are now including a regular feature of kinky letters and write-in questions.  To start us off, we begin with a lovely couple that go by the names of Cake & Bar (you’ll find out why below.) They have a Tumblr and they post short films of their sexy passion for each other:

Q: Let’s begin with the name.  What’s Cake and Bar all about?

A: Well, Bar loves cheesecake (the actual food) and also loves Cake’s ass, so her name came easy. Bar has a very veiny dick and looks like a big Snickers when it’s fully erect, so that was the inspiration. The name is are also a play on us being an interracial couple.

Q: It looks like you started your Tumblr in July 2017.  Is this exhibitionism something new for you two?  How’d you get into it?

A: We started our Tumblr after being suspended from Twitter permanently for some odd reason. Tumblr was another way for us to share our sexuality and advertise for our porn movies on Manyvids. We’ve been on Manyvids for a year now, so yes we guess you could say we’re new to exhibitionism and porn making in general. Bar has always loved taking pictures of Cake, so one day he asked if we could start posting pictures anonymously to see the feedback we would get it from other people and the rest is history. For the most part it has been nothing but positive experiences.

Q: How long have you been a couple?

A: We’ve been together 15 years and been married 5 years and we have 2 children.

Q: Are you currently monogamous?  If not, what’s the relationship like?

A: Yes, we’re monogamous.

Q: How has been the response to your posting pics and films of yourselves?  A lot of Tumblr folks complain of people being rude or having derogatory things to say.  That hasn’t been our experience.  What about you?

A: For the most part we’ve had positive responses to the things we’ve shared. There’s always going to be some negative, but we take it in stride because it’s expected with the internet.

Q: You don’t show your faces in the pics/vids.  Do you worry that you’ll be found out?

A: We don’t worry per se about being found out, but we like anonymity and the masks give us something else to set the scene with.

Q: Do any of your friends/family know about your kinky side?

A: Only 2 of our friends know we make porn and they’re totally supportive of us.

Q: What do you each like (in terms of sex/porn)?

A, Bar: Straight amatuer porn, mostly Interracial and Black. Some professional porn like the Greg Lanskys stuff.

A, Cake: Doesn’t enjoy watching porn as much as she likes shooting it.

HH & Lo: Thanks so much!!!!

Cake & Bar: You’re welcome and thanks for your patience with our response.

Some photos from Cake & Bar getting off to Lola (more can be found at their Tumblr and at loladown.tumblr.com):

 

 

Red-Handed

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Sunday morning and, uncharacteristically, I slept late.  I usually “arise” hours before Lo – meaning, due to her lovely slumbering, naked body next to me, my cock is up before the sun and then I awake and, wishing to avoid disturbing her, I sneak out of the bedroom and perch myself on the couch in the living room writing erotica about her until she wakes and is ready to have me.

However, that morning was different.  For whatever reason, I didn’t get up before dawn and when my eyes did finally open, I awoke to find Lo on her tum next to me in bed.  Her phone was carefully placed at the head of the bed so she could read or look at something on its screen, her left hand was between her legs caressing her wet pussy lips and her right hand was casually giving my erect cock a hand-job.

Just as my eyes were opening in order to take all this in and attempt to make out the digital numbers on the clock, I heard her orgasm ramping up as she moaned into the pillow.  Her right hand let go of my cock and assisted her left in caressing her pussy.  The moans grew louder and her ass lifted in the air as if she were being penetrated by a phantom lover behind her.  She looked like an inch-worm as her ass slowly descended flat again with the passing of the ecstasy.

Without words, I gently pushed her over onto her back and spread her legs, entering her very wet pussy.  Her orgasm must have been blissful because she was unaware of anything at that moment, allowing me to see what was on the screen of her phone as it was still on, tilted against the headboard.  It showed pictures of Brian.  Apparently he works out a lot and he has a whole page of various images of himself bench pressing, curling, and doing sit-ups – all shirtless.  Lucky Lo.

I whispered to her, “Lo, you’re a bad girl.”

“I know, Daddy.  I’m sorry.”  She didn’t even try to deny it.  She was caught red-handed.

“As a punishment,” I said, feeling particularly entitled to demand whatever it was that I wanted, “you will have to do something for me.”

“What Daddy?” she said with some fear in her voice.

“First, turn over.”

She complied.  I got up behind her as if I were that phantom lover.  I penetrated her and began working at pleasing her pussy.

“What Daddy?” she asked, apprehensive of my wishes.

“When you cum,” and I knew she was going to cum soon, “I want you to call out his name.”

“Whose name?” she asked, poorly feigning innocence.

“You know who.”

“No, Daddy.”  My demand for her to own up to her unfaithfulness during sex seemed too much for her.

I spanked her bottom.  She moaned with delight.  “Yes, Lo.  Brian.  You will call out Brian’s name when you cum.  Do you hear me?”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Good.”

I went at her as I’m sure she had been imagining when she came the first time and, sure enough, within thirty seconds of agreeing to my punishment, she began whispering, “Brian.”  Her invocation grew louder and then she was calling out, “Brian!  Yes!  Brian!  Yes!  Fuck me!  Brian, I’m cumming!”

Hearing her call out another man’s name, knowing what she was thinking about, and visualizing all those photos that turned her on so much was too much for me.  I held out as long as I could and then I called to her, “Turn around and get on your knees!”

She jumped off my cock and swung around as I got to my feet on top of the bed and grabbed my throbbing cock.  I came all over her face as she submissively basked in the rain of cum.

When I was done, I simply said, “That’s my good girl.”

“All I want is to be your good girl, Daddy,” she said.

“I know that’s not all you want, but you’re lucky I’m such a good Daddy and I’m willing to give you whatever it is you want.”

“I know, Daddy.  And you’re lucky that you have a dirty little slut like me,” she said as she ran her tongue over her cum-covered lips.

Truth Stick

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It was Friday night and Lo and I were at a fundraising event at our city’s art museum.  It was a lovely affair and the only thing that gets Lo and me more riled up than art museums is art museums at night, with alcohol and lots of good looking people dressed to impress.

In my humble opinion, Lo was the most impressively dressed.  She was all dolled up in her heels, slinky skin-tight blue dress showing a lot of leg and cleavage, and her long hair framing her alluring face.  We were in the courtyard of the museum and a classical string quartet was playing.  I looked up at the sky and said to Lo, “I’m worried about the weather.”

“What about it?”

“I’m afraid it’s going to rain.  I don’t want you to get wet.”

“Too late for that.  I know what I’m going to do when we get home.”

“Oh boy.”

“Hopefully many boys!”

“Oh, I thought you were talking about me.”

“You and some other eye-candy I see tonight.”

“Like a little girl in a candy-shop, are you?”

She bit her lip and said, “Do you have anything for me to suck on, Daddy?”

“Lo, wait till we get home, ok?”

We were drinking champagne and then I noticed the perfect complement for it.  “Look, Lo, a cupcake bar!  Let’s get some.”

“You’re really undoing all of my effort.”

“Undoing what effort?”

“My diet.  Losing weight.”

“You have to feed your soul.  Soul, being immaterial, never gains weight, but it can starve.”

“My soul is starving – starving for your attention.  Let’s forego the cupcakes and find a coat closet and get right to the main course.”

We mingled and drank a bit more, but the weather was ominous.  Finally I convinced Lo that we should get going.

We picked up the car from the valet, but once we were in, Lo suggested going to a club.

“Lo, it’s already ten o’clock.”

“Already?!  Are you kidding me?  As if that’s late.  The night is young and so am I.”

“Well, young’un, I’m not and I’m tired.  You can drop me off at home and have your night on the town.”

“Well,” she said, “at least tell me I’m going to get laid tonight.”

Silence.

“Oh no, I’m getting fucked tonight, preferably by you.”

Silence.

“If you don’t plan on doing me tonight, then I’m making calls and I’ll find someone who will.”

“Is that the origin of the term ‘call girl’?  I’ve had it backwards all these years!”

“Shut up and feel my puss!  Feel how wet it is?” she asked as she pulled my hand up her dress to her crotch where I discovered the reason for why her dress looked as smooth as skin on her – no panties!

“That’s it, Daddio.”

I began to caress her and she put the seat back to allow me easier access.  Suddenly a car jumped out in front of us from a side road.  I swerved.  She sat up.

“Watch it!” she yelled at me.

“Do you want me to drive carefully or to finger you?”

“Oh yeah. . .  Well, I guess I don’t really need you,” she said as she began fingering herself.

This was almost as distracting for me as my doing it for her.  She came.  She came again.  We pulled in the driveway.  I went to open the door.

“Not so fast, Daddio.”

“We’re home.”

“But we don’t have to go in right away.  How about you kiss me?  You know, I’ve gotten more tongue from a dog than I have from you in the past month.”

“Didn’t I get on my knees and lick your pussy all morning after your shower before we went out tonight?”

“That’s my cunt.  I’m talking about tongue-to-tongue.”

“With a dirty mouth like that, is it any surprise?”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

I kissed her.  She pulled my hand down to her dripping pussy.

“It’s never just romance with you?” I ask.

“It’s all romance with me.  My definition of romance is very wide, very deep, and fits a lot into it.”

“Are we discussing romance or. . .”

“Just shut up and keep kissing me.”

I followed orders.  She again pressed my fingers down on her clit.  She rubbed them around the way she wanted to be stroked.  “I said, keep kissing me.  That didn’t mean to stop fingering me.”

“How about we take this inside?”

“OK, pull down your pants.”

“Not inside you!  I meant let’s go in the house.”

“Oh, right.”

As we were walking into our building, there was a flash of lighting and a crackle of thunder – loud and very soon after the lightning.  Big, heavy rain drops began to fall, one-by-one at first.  Within moments of getting inside, it was a heavy and steady downpour.  “Let’s start this storm off right,” said Lo as she grabbed me, pushed me up against the wall, took my hands and placed them on her breasts.  I kissed her on her open mouth.  It was hot.

We walked to the bedroom.  I got naked and into bed.  Lo went into the bathroom saying, “I just have to take off my makeup.”

I guess I was more tired than I thought.  Within seconds I fell into a deep and heavy sleep.  I awoke to a naked Lo between my legs with my cock filling her mouth.

“Lo, I think I’m too tired,” I said, fearing her wrath.

She pulled her face up enough to say, “That’s a lie.”

“No it’s not.”

“Let’s see what the Truth Stick says.”  She grabbed my hard cock.  “The Truth Stick says otherwise.”

“I should beat you with my Truth Stick!”

“Yes!  That’s all I want!”

She climbed on my erection and slid her warm puss down it, straddling me.

But, no matter what the Truth Stick said, I kept on nodding off to sleep.  I don’t know if she came or if she merely got turned off by the lack of attention, but at some point she climbed down from her pole and sat next to me in bed.  She pulled out her Hitachi and placed it between her legs.  Looking over at me next to her with disdain, as she massaged herself, she said, “Brian, my special friend at work, said he’s really eager to work with me.  He told me today that whenever and wherever I need him, I should just say the word and he’ll be there.  I’m thinking about him right now.  I’m thinking about his big, strong arms.  I’m thinking about his broad shoulders.  His huge bulge in his pants.  I’m thinking about what sorts of things I might ask him to do for me.”

I know she was just trying to make me jealous and simultaneously rile me up to giving her a good hard pounding – plumbing her depths with my Truth Stick – and I was flattered, but unable to give her what she wanted.  As I heard her climax alone next to me the lyrics of a song wafted through my mind as I gently withdrew to dreamland:

She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she cums just like a little whore.