Penny’s from Heaven

 

Penny & Lola

“Penny for your thoughts,” I said to Lo.

“Actually, Penny is all for your thoughts.”

“What?”

Penny xox – an OnlyFans content creator.  She’s loving Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume V: Shorter Shorts.”

“How do you know?”

“Take a look for yourself.”

Lo showed me some of Penny’s sexy “May is Masturbation Month” promotional photos.

“Wow!” I said, “Photogenic.”

“You don’t mind if I have a little Masturbation Month time before May, do you Daddy?” asked Lo as she reached under her jeans and began sliding her fingers up and down her crotch.

Penny xox

“I’ll leave you and Penny to enjoy each other.”

“Good, because I already got my subscription to her page.”

“Of course you did,” I said.

“We sex goddesses have to support each other.”

“Indeed,” I said as I went to leave the bedroom and close the door behind me.

“You can leave it open,” she said, just to rub it in, so to speak.  She likes for me to hear the pleasure she gives herself when getting off to other people.

Ten minutes later, she sauntered into the living room, pantless, wearing just her t-shirt.

“Feeling better?”

“I’m ready for you now, Daddio.”

She bent over by the window, looking outside as the Sunday strollers sauntered by on the sunlit sidewalk.

Her hands were resting on the windowsill and she looked over her shoulder at me.  “Well?  Are you going to fuck me?”

“Do you want me or do you just want to be fucked?”

“Is there a difference?”

“That’s cruel.”

“I mean, I want to be fucked by you.”

“Me specifically, or would anyone do?”

“Are we playing Twenty Questions, or are you going to penetrate my wet pussy?”

“For you, fucking is a physical act.  For me, I take pleasure in the cerebral interplay of personalities.”

“Well, you’re not going to get any play – cerebral or corporeal – if you keep talking.”

“And you’re going to get nothing but corporal punishment,” I said, as I took out my belt.

“I don’t know why you’re punishing me, but I like it,” she said, preparing for her lashing.

SMACK! – I gave her one strike across her bum.  She didn’t cry out.

SMACK!! – I gave her another.  She made a little peep in the back of her throat with her mouth closed.  Her head bobbed up a bit as she vocalized the yipe.

SMACK!!! – I gave her a third, much harder than the first two.

“YEOW!” she cried out through the screen of the window.  People on the street certainly heard her.  Admirably, her hands remained on the sill.

I stood behind her.  I entered her red bum.  She let out a gasp of delight.

“Penny will be pleased,” she said.

Penny and Match, Cinder & Spark

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“She’s married, has two teenage sons, and her greatest thrill is turning people on.”

“Just to be clear,” I said, “you turn me on.”

“Oh, I know that.  But she turned me on.  You’re just reaping the rewards.”

“Looks like we both are reaping a pretty good return on just one penny,” I said as she began to squirt, her legs buckling as she bit down on her lower lip.

She had to jump off my cock and she squeezed her legs together as tightly as she could, futilely trying to stem the stream of satisfaction.  Within moments she screamed as her ejaculate puddled around her bare feet on the hardwood floor.

“Looks like it’s raining,” I said.

“Penny’s from heaven,” she concluded.

Check out Penny’s OnlyFans page

Looks like Penny could use a spanking too

Swing

[The following story, which took place a few years ago, was published in the March edition of ENM Magazine – Ethical Non-Monogamy.  Unfortunately, despite heroic efforts by its publisher, this month is the last month of its short existence.]

Lo’s Green Dress from ENM spread

Saint Patrick’s Day in Chicago, where the river runs green and the jazz of a bygone era still swings.  Lo and I had gone there for Lily and Jim’s wedding.  It was an extravagant affair.  All the quaint rituals and odd practices of the public betrothal symbolizing holy monotony.  I mean monogamy.  I mean matrimony.  Sorry, I struggle to find the right words sometimes.  All the focus on the bride as an unblemished princess performing for her solid, stoic king.  There’s just something about it that provokes the puckish prankster in me.  Especially when I know that the beautiful bride in her pure white gown has a devilish desire for exceptionally large cock and that her groom comes up short. 

But Jim is a good friend of mine and a sometime paramour of Lo’s, so we took added delight in the carnal knowledge that behind all the nuptial vows, the oaths of fidelity, and the pomp of the ring ceremony, both Lily and Jim hadn’t any plans of restricting their bodies and pleasures only to the one legally bound to them.

So, as all the other guests let out gentle expressions of awe and shed a tear in reflection of this display of love and affection, I grinned a wicked little grin as I sipped my expensive scotch.

Lo saw my mischievous look and rubbed her leg up against mine under the table, indicating that she had some ideas of her own.

We both knew Lily and Jim to be swingers and so, when the formalities were over and the dancefloor opened up for revelry, Lo missed no opportunity to scandalize the evening.

We sat at the table next to the newlywed couple.  Rather than the usual choice of two entrées, there was a choice of four and so people were passing bites from their plates around for each other to taste.

“You are so generous!” said one guest to me after I let her have a bite of my food.

“Whenever I experience something amazing, I just want others to share in it,” I replied, rubbing Lo’s arm.

“I’m the opposite,” said the young woman to me.  “Whenever I find something amazing, I keep it all to myself.”  She also rubbed the arm of her partner.

“You can have him,” I thought.

Meanwhile, Lo was seated next to Lily’s Uncle Collin.  He arrived to this event without his wife Suzanne and no one blinked an eye about it.  The family was used to their “independent” social schedules.  This wedding happened after the shenanigans that had taken place at Collin’s mountain cottage, so Lo was very familiar with ‘Uncle Collin’ and his love of young women and his E.D. issues.  The whole night, any stranger would have thought that Lo was Collin’s date for the evening.  Given the age difference, they might have thought Lo was his hired companion as his FGE – “Full Girlfriend Experience.”

They danced together – marvelously, I might add – and reminisced, quite loudly at the table, about the days at his cottage.  He repeatedly alluded to Lo suntanning nude along side Lily, going to a farm and milking goats, and they laughed about how Lo lost her bikini bottoms while tubing behind his boat on the lake.

As they told these stories, Collin gradually drew the other guests at our table into their intimate stroll down Memory Lane.  He is charismatic and a good storyteller, but the whole time I was silently fuming, ready to burst out with, “Yeah, you could read all about it on our blog!  With photos!!!  I wrote it better than he tells it!!!”  But I remained silent and let the senior statesmen have the spotlight that he so craved.

He subtly hinted at, without giving too much detail, the nudity, sex, and other debauchery that took place at the cottage.  He was in on the secret we shared with Jim and Lily – that they got married prior to this large ceremony to appease their Catholic families and that, though they lived “in sin” prior to the private wedding, Lily was and continues to be an A.O.L. girl (Anal Only Lifestyle).

After Collin regaled them with his tales of titties and sun, one of the young women at our table, noticing Collin’s wedding ring and Lo’s “hotwife” ring, asked, “So you two are. . . married?”  She asked it hesitantly, knowing it was an inappropriate question that was only sparked by the gaping age difference between them.  Yet the curious guest was inebriated enough to broach the subject and display her incredulity.

“Oh no,” said Lo, laughing and delighting in the twist of the knife that was about to take place, “I’m not married!”

“Oh, so you’re. . . ?” the woman’s half-formulated question hung in the air awkwardly.

“We’re just friends,” said Lo.  “This is my partner, HH,” she added, as she put her delicate hand on mine.

The fact that they weren’t married, but had shared so much together, compounded with the fact that Lo was dating another, yet different, older man who was seated right next to her as she laughed about these sexperiences, seemed to blow the mind of our dinner companion.

“Oh,” she said, feigning comprehension, but displaying complete befuddlement.

The band began to play again and Lo begged me to dance with her.

I demurred, saying, “Dancing is emblematic of our relationship.  When we dance, you do whatever you want.  For me, though, the goal is to have fun.  But all you do is criticize and then, when I stop, you criticize because you always have to have an object of your derision.  Without it, you feel a tremendous void.  And whatever I do – driving, cooking, dancing, cleaning – I’m your eternal object of derision.”

Lo replied, “Well, when dancing, it’s more fun for both partners if one is not stepping on the other’s toes.”

“That’s only possible if you’re dancing solo.”

“You’re right, dancing is emblematic of our whole relationship.”

As harsh as this banter sounds, it was all said lovingly, tongue-in-cheek.

One of our friends at the table overhead us and said, “You two should write a book chronicling your lovers’ quarrels.”

“That’s a great idea!” I replied “That way I could document my long suffering.  I could call it, ‘The History of my Calamities,’ after Abelard.”

“Your calamities,” chided Lo, “you should be so lucky to have an Eloise like me!”

Having fully lost our audience with our theological allusions, Collin remarked, “You two have great erotic tension.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but no erotic release.”

“There’s a difference,” said Lo, “between erotic tension and sexual tension.”

“And what is that?” I asked.

“Erotic tension is in your head.  And you have a great release for that – the blog.  Sexual tension is between your legs and you have a great release for that.”

“What might that be?”

“My puss.”

“How’s your sexual tension?”

“I never have sexual tension,” said Lo casually, “I only have sexual release.”

“I suppose that’s what it means to be ‘a liberated woman.’”

She got up to dance with Collin some more.

Louis Armstrong’s “Just a Gigolo” was being sung by the crooner and Lo, wearing her green velvet dress in honor of the Irish holiday, looked stunning as she twirled and dipped with Collin.

As they kicked up a storm on the dancefloor, one of the women at our table sat next to me.  “Aren’t you jealous,” she whispered in my ear.  I couldn’t help but think of her as Iago.  Though green was the color of the day, it was not the color I was seeing as I watched my Desdemona dance with her Cassio.

“No,” I replied with a smile.

“Not at all?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Want to get some air?” she asked.

“Sure.”

I followed my femme Iago out onto the balcony of the hotel and, though it was freezing in the windy city, she offered me a few puffs from her vape pen.  Not wishing to be rude, I accepted.

Suddenly my Shakespearean companion transformed into a jovial leprechaun and the next thing I knew was Lo, Collin, the sexy pixie elf and I were at The Green Mill, a dancehall throwback to the age of Swing.  A big band was playing with a tall, lean black trumpeter in the lead.  They were pounding out “Tain’t What You Do” as Lo was passed from partner to partner in the crowd that was jumpin’ and jivin’ to the beat.

In my mind, the spotlight was on Lo and her eyes were on the prize – the trumpeter who seemed to be singing the words especially for her, with a peculiar emphasis on them, changing the meaning from, “Tain’t what you do, it’s how you do it” to “Taint, what you do.  It’s how you do it.”

“How you feeling now?” asked the leprechaun.

I felt as if a green wave was carrying my Lo further and further out to sea as I was stranded on the shore watching her recede into the distance.

There, far on the horizon, I saw her up by the stage, talking with the trumpeter who was standing, his crotch eye level with Lo’s face.  She was looking up at him, saying something.

The band took a break and Lo disappeared, as did the band leader.

Collin returned to the table and I inquired about her whereabouts.

“It’s Saint Patty’s Day!” he said, “The luck of the Irish.  I believe that Lo is getting lucky!”  He slapped me on the back and bought me another drink that I didn’t need.  “When in the Emerald City, anything can happen with a little magic from the Wizard,” he said, removing a teal handkerchief from his jacket pocket that suddenly turned into Lo’s satin panties.  He handed them to me and said, “Improbable, yes.  Possible, perhaps.  With Lo, all is green go-go and Eternal Return of the Dame.”

When I heard these words, I knew that I was slowly losing my grasp on reality.

The last thing I recall from the evening was a Julie London song, “Hey Daddy,” being played by the band as an instrumental number.

When I woke up, I was in my hotel room in the bed and Lo was rising and descending on a large bottle of champagne.

Celebration Time

Groggily I rubbed my eyes and looked at her to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.  I then said, “Be careful darling, I wouldn’t want that bottle to break.”

“Not to worry.  I’m wide, wet, and willing.”

As she proceeded to hump to her heart’s content, she said, “Will you order some breakfast from room service?”

Always the dutiful daddy, I said, “Sure, what do you want.”

“A bowl of Lucky Charms.”

Lo’s Taint

Friends, Fans, and Fucks

Harder

 

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

“Hi Al.”

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

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

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

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

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

Al and Lo

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

“Now you’re begging the question.”

“I never beg, except for cum.”

“So you’re a sex-addict too.”

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

“What is it you want?” he asks.

“I want my pussy pounded,” she replies.

“Besides that.”

Al and Lo

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

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

“Yes – harder and deeper.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are one exceptional woman!”

“I prefer sexceptional.”

“How would you characterize your relationship with HH?”

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

“What does that mean?”

“Look it up.”

“You two have a good sex-life?”

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

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

“No, I’m fucking you.”

“What?”

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

“Are you cumming now?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

[Long silent pause.]

“There,” says Lo, proudly.

“You just came?”

“Yep.”

“It seemed, well, a little anticlimactic.”

“Not for me.  Want to see?”

“Yeah.”

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

Wet Spot

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

“About what?”

“Your jeans being all wet?”

“Enjoy it.”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“You mean, in addition to that?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, shoot.”

“Why are you with HH?”

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

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

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

“I haven’t.  Who are they?”

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

“And that’s how you feel?”

“That’s how we both feel.”

“Wow!”

“What?”

“That’s a radical take on marriage.”

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

“Point taken.”

“Can I see a photo of your wife?”

“Why?”

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

[He sends a nude photo of his wife.]

“There.  What do you think?”

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

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

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

“Has COVID impacted you at all?”

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

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

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

“In only the best way!”

Lo Super Spreader

Sex Drive

Our first date flopped.  Cooped up since March due to COVID, Lo was complaining that she hadn’t been on a date in “forever.”

“What about the brothers?  Don’t they count?”  I asked, referring to the two boys from across the street who had been making regular house calls to Lo’s bedroom to unload their pent-up pandemic sexual frustration with the help of Lola’s pussy.

“Those aren’t dates, Daddy.  Those are booty calls.  Pity fucks.  Besides, they’re so young and inexperienced that there isn’t even sexual tension buildup.  It’s all just ram-and-release.”

“You seem to like it.”

“Oh, I love it, for what it is.”

“So, what is it you want?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“My only wish is to please you.”

“That’s good because my only wish is to be pleased.  I want to go on a proper date.”

“So Meri also doesn’t count?”

“Well, she did count, but we dated before COVID.”

“I assume I don’t count.”

“Oh Daddio, you do count.  You count the number of men and women I fuck.”

“I can’t count that high.”

“I’ll buy you an abacus.”

“Is that the thing with the beads on it?”

“Yes.”

“That you put in your ass?”

“No.  That’s a different thing.”

Not an Abacus

“Oh.”

“I want to go on a date with a couple.”

“A couple?”

“Yeah, a married couple.”

“You have anybody in mind.”

“Daddy, I always have many bodies in mind.”

“Any particular bodies for your date?”

“Yes.  There’s a married couple that is trying to get the ole flame flickering again.”

“Let me guess, you think that you can help his wick to grow.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Where’d you find this couple?”

“They found me.”

“Not another ad!”

“No, Daddy.  They have been reading the blog.”

“What are their names?”

“Ron and Nicole.  She’s a schoolteacher.  He’s a lawncare person.”

“Interesting.  And how are you going to go on a ‘date’ in COVID?”

We.  We are going on a date.  You and me with them.”

“Again, how?”

“Do you like drive-in movies?”

“Haven’t been to one in ages.  Why?”

“Well, it will be like a drive-in.”

“How so?”

“We’ve picked a place to meet and they’ll go in their car and we’ll go in ours.”

“And?”

“That’s it.  We’ll see where we go from there.”

Skank Suit

We pulled up in the vacant parking lot.  It was cold out for November.  Ron and Nicole pulled up to our right in a late model Cadillac.  Ron rolled down his window.  Lola rolled down hers.  They smiled at each other.

“Hi Lola,” called Nicole from the passenger seat.

“Hi Nicole,” responded Lola.  I waved, foolishly, and smiled politely.

We could see our breath as the winterlike air flowed into the cabin.

My car has bucket seats.  Lo and I couldn’t physically be right next to each other.

Their car had a bench front seat.  Nicole slid over to Ron.  They were in their early to mid-forties, I’d say.  She was pretty.  He was smaller in frame than I had imagined.  They were clearly there to see Lo perform.

Lola stripped naked in the car, but with the windows rolled up, soon the glass was covered in condensation.  Ron and Nicole couldn’t see anything.  The more Lo tried, the more foggy the windows got.

Lo rolled down the window, which had the benefit of allowing Ron and Nicole to see her and to make her nipples very hard.  But they could only see so much.

Lo opened the car door to expose below her chest.  She swiveled and spread her legs, putting her feet up on the seat and fapping her wet pussy.  The couple in the car next to us seemed to enjoy the show, but even I was cold, so I can imagine how chilly Lo’s hairless crotch must have been!

I could see that Nicole had Ron’s cock in her right hand and was stroking it as Lo stroked herself.

That didn’t last long.  Lo was shivering.  The cold air on her nipples made them hard.  The downdraft on her bare pussy gave it goosebumps.  Pretty to look at, but no amount of caressing, slapping, or fingering could dispel the chill.

After about a half-hour of trying, we called it off and said we’d try again another time.

On the ride home, the heat blasting, I put on Poe’s “Hey Pretty.”  The seductive lyrics sang:

 

Hey pretty

Don’t you want to take a ride with me?

Through my world

 

Lo leaned over and said, “Can I just be your cock-warmer?”

“Cock-warmer?  What is that?”

“You just let your cock rest in my mouth.”

Cock-Warming

“We both know that there’s no ‘just’ with you.  Especially after this.”

“I’ll tell you what, you drive and I’ll give you the longest unzipping of your life.”

But just then our little late night drive took a strange turn.

We had just got home and I could tell by the look in her eye she was up to no good.

She walked in the front door wearing that little strumpet outfit she had put on for her audience and, not getting to give the show she had planned for them, she was ready to perform for me.  A bad, naughty little performance for a packed house of one.

She pranced into the living room in her heels, black leather skirt, no panties, leather jacket, sheer blouse beneath revealing her hard nipples.  She turned on the music: Machine Gun Kelly, “Bad Things.”  It was as if she had been waiting her turn in the strip club and the DJ finally got around to her set list.

The blinds were all open as she did her little COVID Cabaret.

“Did you like seeing me in the car tonight, Daddy?”

“I did,” I said as I sat down on the couch to watch her.

“What did you like about it?”

“Your willingness to make a couple happy.  I always say your generous nature is your best quality.”

“I have a lot of good qualities.”

“True.”

“And a lot of bad thoughts.”

“Do tell.”

“If you only knew the bad things I like,” she sang along with the song.

She lifted her skirt above her ass as she bent over by the window.

“Well, Daddy, are you going to give it to me?”

I stood up and came close to her.  I began undoing my pants, but she stopped me.

“No,” she said, “your belt.  Give it to me.”

“Punishment?”

“Yes.”

She assumed the position, bracing for it.

I pulled out my long black leather belt, bent it in half, grabbed both ends in one hand and gently let it fall upon her flesh.

“Oh, come on,” she mocked.  “Harder.”

“I gave her a mild whack.

“Harder.  Wasn’t I bad Daddy?  Wasn’t it wrong of me to arrange this COVID dogging session?”

I gave her a strong spank with the strap.  It made a clear cracking on her ass.  Her body convulsed as if she was surprised by it.  Then she said, “Yesss, that’s it.”

I gave her another.

We hadn’t engaged in this sort of play for a long time.

“You were bad,” I said, reflecting upon it.  “Dressed scantily in public like that.  Like a little skank.”

“That’s right.”

I gave her a harder smack.  I could see the outline of the belt in a red line left on her skin, even in the dim light.
“Again.”

I gave it to her again.

“Harder.”

She got another harder.

“I wish that the three of you could be doing this to me.  You, Ron, Nicole.”

I gave her another WHACK!

“I wish I was tied to a pole naked (except my heels of course) and each of you had a strap to take turns on my body.”

“Why?” I asked as I inflicted another, harder lick of the leather.

“Cause I can take it.  Cause I like it.”

“Why?”

WHAP!

“Because I deserve it.”

SMACK!

“Because I’m so, so bad.”

I gave her one last, forceful spank with the belt before she said our safe word.  She turned around.  There were tears in her eyes.  She reached out her arms and hugged me.  She wrapped her legs around mine.  She was holding on for dear life.

“I hate this pandemic!” she said, weeping.

She slowly descended, her body crumpling around my legs.  She was on the floor, hugging my shins, crying, weeping, naked.

“Come,” I said, helping her up.  “Let me apply some aftercare.”

Spank Me Daddy

I led her to the bedroom where I gently laid her out on the bed, face down.  I went into the bathroom and got out the baby oil.  I puddled some in my palm, rubbed my hands together to warm them up, and gently caressed it over her glowing red ass, sore from the spanking she received.

“Owweeemmmmmm,” she purred, her cry of pain turning to a hum of pleasure.

I made small gentle circles with my palms on her ass cheeks.  I slid my fingers between her ass cleavage.  I ran my fingertips up and down her crotch gently.  I revolved my index finger around her special spot, slowly descending into it, one knuckle at a time until fully submerged.  She moaned with pleasure.  In-and-out I went, first with one finger then with two.  I curled them and fingered her ass much the way I would finger her pussy.

Her body mimicked the motions of an inchworm, rising in the middle and then descending.  Up-and-down.  Faster my fingers slip-sliding in-and-out, until she said, “There!  Stay.  Deep.  Hold it!”  She came.  I could see her pussy juices dribbling down her thighs.  Her ass clenched up on my fingers.  Her body was motionless for a moment before the waves of involuntary convulsions shuttered across the surface from feet to shoulders.

Her sphincter released and I slid my fingers out with ease.

To my shock she was asleep.

I was hard, but happy.  My deepest desire is to please her.

As She Likes It

“Glass of water please Daddy” – read the text I had received from Lo.

I got up off the couch where I was distractedly trying to read a tome on Arthur Schopenhauer’s theory on Beauty and the Sublime.  I had just arrived at his discussion of “the stimulating” and “the charming.”  Of course I began thinking about my little Lo dressed for a night out. I recalled how one night at a bar, responding to an admirer who said she was dressed to kill, she said, “I’m just a sexy brunette in a little black dress and nothing else but my killer personality.”  She then proceeded to lift the hem of her little black dress to demonstrate the truth of that statement and thereby disarmed the patron completely.

Lo in and out of her little black dress

Schopenhauer was arguing how objects that stir the appetite are inappropriate subjects for art since their effect is counter to that of disinterested aesthetic contemplation.  I was in the middle of making a note in the margin of the well-worn book, arguing with the German curmudgeon on just that point, when I received the text.

Lo was in the bedroom with the brothers.  I was irritated because it was the third time that week that they had come over to use Lo as their personal pleasure provider and leave her after they had made her their cumdump.

I knocked lightly on the door before letting myself in.  Lo was stretched out on the bed and I had entered just as the boys were in the process of switching places, tag-team style.

Contemplation of Beauty

Lo looked at the glass of ice water I had in my hand and said, “Can you put it in my water-bottle with a straw dear?”

I left the room without closing the door.  I poured the contents of the glass into her hydro flask, closed it, and returned.  It was then that I noticed how soaked the sheets were.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching up and taking the bottle from my hands, drinking large sips immediately while one of the brothers – the one deep inside her spread legs – didn’t even relent a little bit with his jackrabbit thrusting at her thighs while she imbibed.  I’m not sure he noticed I was there.  I’m not even sure he noticed that Lo existed above her hips.

I left the room.

After the boys were done, about a half-hour later, and had returned to their home across the street, Lo sauntered into the living room and, laying down a terrycloth towel on the couch first, sat on it naked next to me.

“Watcha reading?”

“Schopenhauer.”

“Who?”

“Arthur Schopenhauer.”

“Is it interesting?”

I put my bookmark between the pages and looked up at Lo.

“You know there’s a difference between spreadeagle and starfish, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a difference between being used in a good way and simply providing maintenance sex.”

“I thought maintenance sex was a phrase married people use,” she said.

“It doesn’t have to be limited to just hetero married monogamous couples going through the monotony of the same-old same-old.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m just going through the motions for the boys?”

“If I saw motions, I would say yes.  But what I saw was you, starfish on the bed, as they popped in and out.”

“Well, I enjoyed it,” she protested stubbornly.

“OK,” I said, before opening my book again.

“And it’s more than I’ve been getting from you!”

“OK,” I repeated, removing the bookmark.

“And they like it.”

“OK,” I said a third time as I began reading.

She grabbed the book out of my hands.  “Talk to me!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You clearly have opinions.”

“And you clearly think my opinions are wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear them.”

“If you like it, and they definitely like it, then who am I to stop you.  You just looked. . . bored.”

“Well, they’re not legendary lovers.”

“So why do you do it?”

“I like to please.”

“They use you like a kinky fuckdoll.”

“I aspire to be a kinky fuckdoll.”

“Congrats!”

“Sometimes I like to be dominated.  Sometimes I like to be worshiped.  But sometimes I just like to be used.”

“Seems to me that they could dominate, worship, and use a Fleshlight just the same as they do you.”

“Are you jealous, Daddy?  Is that what this is?”

She cuddled up to me closer.  She reached down for my cock.  I could smell the cum on her.

“Oh,” she said, “I see.  You need to use me.  Well, come on.”

“Looks like you’ve already been cum on.”

“That’s no reason to deprive yourself.”

She undid my pants and pulled them down around my ankles.  She moved my book.  She got on her knees between my legs and began licking my cock.

“You know, before they left, they both had their cocks out above my head,” she said as she took my hard cock in her hand and whacked its heft against her cheek.

“I bet you loved that.”

“A gal just likes to be appreciated.”

She stood up and bent over, showing me her ass.

I spanked her.

“Yes, Daddy!  Yes. Again.  I was bad.  Can you see their cum dripping out?  I can feel it.  It feels so good.  Spank the slut out of me.”

I smacked her bottom until her ass was glowing red.

At that moment I heard the doorbell ring and someone walk into the house.

“Lo, the door is open!”

“It’s ok, I’m waiting for a special delivery.”

In walked one of the brothers.  Was it Roy or Gary?  I never can tell them apart.

Lo looked up at him, “He never succeeds in spanking the slut out of me and we’re both ok with that.”

The kid laughed as he walked over to us to put the package he was carrying down on the coffee table.  “My mom says thanks,” he said just as Lo lowered her bum onto my hard cock.  The kid watched.  He had never seen anyone but his brother fuck Lo before.  Lo was bobbing up and down.

“You left the door open?” I asked Lo.

“My love is an open door,” she replied.

“You have the sexiest body,” the smitten scaramouche said.

“I bet you say that to all the sluts,” replied Lo as she reached down to rub her clit.

Lo gestured that she wanted the voyeur to come closer.  He did.  She unzipped his pants and took his cock in her mouth.  I was going at her from behind.

A moment later, the other brother entered.

“Roy!  What are you doing?  Mom’s waiting for you,” he said, nonplussed by the sight of the three of us.

“She can wait a minute,” said Roy to Gary.

Lo used her right hand to indicate that she wanted Gary to approach.  He did.

“Get behind me,” she said, turning in such a way as to allow Roy to enter her ass as Gary entered her puss and I, odd-man-out, was left standing over the six-legged, six-armed, three-headed beast.

“Don’t just stand there,” she said to me.  “I have enough holes to fulfill all the demand.”

I was welcomed into her warm mouth.

Keep in mind, this was all happening in the living room with the blinds open.

I was the first to cum, ejaculating deep in the back of Lo’s throat, as she likes it.

Then Gary pulled out and stood in front of Lo and came on her face, as she likes it.

Finally, Roy pulled out of her ass and stood in front of her as she kneeled on the hardwood floor.  She took his cock in her mouth and sucked long and hard, fondling his balls from below with her hand and grabbing his ass from behind with her other hand to pull him in to fill her up orally.

He pulled back at the last crucial second and said, “Lie back!”

Lo did a spread eagle on the floor as Roy grabbed his cock with his right hand and rained down on her naked body, as she likes it.

The boys pulled up their pants and beat a hasty goodbye.

Lo, cum-covered and stretched wide, slowly got up.

“You know, Lo,” I said, scolding her, “anyone and everyone can see you from the outside.”

She replied with a curt, “Externalities.”

“What?”

“An unintended beneficial consequence bestowed on third-parties,” she said as if reciting from a dictionary.

“Where’d you learn that economic theory?”

“I do have a college education, Daddy,” she said bitingly.

“Oh, by that you mean you learned it in my class?”

“You’re not the only person who has something to teach me, you know.”

“Apparently not.”

“Now, did that look like maintenance sex to you?”

“Yes.”

“What?!”

“It was enough to help maintain your rapacious appetite.”

“Barely enough.”

“You know, darling, you are a walking, talking, fucking rebuttal to Schopenhauer’s aesthetic theory.”

“If that’s your way of saying I look beautiful, then, thanks!”

“I’m saying more than you look beautiful.  I’m saying, you are a work of art.”

Lola as a work of art

Sweet Charity

Wedded Bliss

It was late and all through the house not a creature was stirring, only Lo, clicking her mouse.

I was on my side of the bed, facing away from Lo, but I could feel the side of her thigh up against my back and the gentle rocking of the bed.  I gave it a minute, or twenty.  But when the motions didn’t cease and the moans increased, I rolled over to face her.

She was sitting up in bed, naked, her legs bent at the knees, one of them had been resting against me.  Her computer was between her legs, as one of her hands manipulated it and the other manipulated her clit.  The thin white strings of her earbuds dangled over her bare breasts on their way to their hidden nooks under her thick dark hair.

“Daddy,” she complained, as if my rolling over interrupted her activities.

“You know I’m trying to sleep here, Lo, right?”

“Just a couple more minutes,” she said without taking her eyes away from the screen.  “I’m getting close.”  Her voice was unusually loud because of the sounds kept out by the earbuds and their volume in her ears.

“Your onanistic sessions are taking longer and longer,” I observed.

“Shhhh,” she hissed, unconsciously.  I don’t even know if she heard what I said.

I rolled back on my side, away from her in order to allow her her privacy while she finished.  She seemed put off by my lack of interest.

“Daddy.”

“What?”

“Don’t you want to know what I’m looking at?”

I was going to be informed either way I answered so I said, “Yes, Lo, what is it that has you all riled up?”

“My friend Sam.”

“Sam?  Who’s Sam?”
“I told you.  He and his wife are big fans.”

“OK.”

“Well, he just wrote to me.  You want to hear what he said?”

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“I’m on the edge too.”

“What did Sam say?”

“He said: ‘I had a sex dream about you the other night. We were having sex in my bed, next to Alia as she slept, and I came inside you four times before I woke up with a major hard-on and had to stroke to you until I came for real.’ And you know what I said?”

“What?”

“‘I’m so flattered!  It would feel soooo good to have you cum inside me four times!  I’d be oozing your cum all day.  Did you tell Alia about your dream?’”

“OK, and he said?”

“He said, ‘I didn’t tell Alia about the dream. It never came up.  I did use her as a cumdump last night though.  I was reading through your posts and got super horny, but she wasn’t in the mood for sex, so I asked her if she would mind if I came inside her pussy and she was fine with that.  I was so horny from reading about you that it only took maybe 30 seconds of pounding her before I blew my load deep inside her.  It was so hot using her as a cumdump.  I really enjoy giving women pleasure, but sometimes it’s nice to focus just on my own pleasure.’  Isn’t that hot?”

“Cumdump” Alia getting herself off to Match, Cinder & Spark

As she asked, her orgasm began to take over her body, causing her to twitch and convulse.  She moved her laptop just fast enough to avoid squirting on it.  I grabbed it from her and viewed the photos Sam had sent accompanying his little virtual postcard to Lo.

Alia

When Lo was done, she got up (and got me up) to change the soaking sheets.

“Sam says that Alia wants to be more like you.”

“I know!  Isn’t it flattering?”

“Lola Down – inspiring hotwives everywhere.”

“I like that.  Did you just think of it?”

Sam & Alia inspired by Lola

“A stroke of genius.”

“Did you say stroke?”

“I did, but not with the meaning that Sam has for stroke.”

“Can I stroke you, Daddy?” she asked, getting into the newly made bed with me and grabbing my cock.

“You still want more?”

“I’ve yet to find my upper limit when it comes to sex.”
“Fine.  Turn on your back and spread your legs.”

If there was a male equivalent to what Sam described his wife, Alia, as – a “cumdump” – then I was it.  I was a prop for Lo’s pussy to palpitate upon.

I was balls-deep into her soaked, sloppy pussy.  Her secretions slathered me from my crotch to my knees.  She was so slippery at this point that I could hardly feel anything as I repeated the motions that turned on her spigot.

“I want you to gift me,” she said, breathing heavily.

“What?” I asked, looking down at her face as it contorted with pleasure.  Her eyes were shut and she was clearly envisioning something with her imagination.

“Instead of just passively giving permission for me to fuck other people, I want you to give me —- as a gift.”

“To whom?”

“Anyone.”

She came yet again as she said it.

I pulled out, allowing her body to recover.  The sheets were drenched.  Her puss was gaped.  Her breaths were deep, long, and loud.

“Why’d you stop?” she eventually queried.

How to tell her that her extreme arousal made fucking her indistinguishable from dipping my cock in a widemouthed jar full of warm water?

“I’m old,” I said.  “I need a break.”  Not a lie, but maybe not the whole truth.

“That’s why I want you to gift me,” she replied.  “If you can’t handle me, then might as well give me to someone who can.”

“Can’t handle you, or can’t satisfy you?” I asked.

“A little from column A, a little from column B.”

“How about you gift me your ass and I’ll show you a column that will satisfy you, if you can handle it.”

“I thought you said you need a break.”

“Breaktime is over.  Show me the back door and I’ll get to it in the workroom.”

“Nah,” she said, nonchalantly.

“What do you mean, nah?”

“Not today, ole man.”

“But you ‘gift’ your ass to the brothers and they don’t ask, or even beg like I do.”

“I do that for you.”

“How is it for me?”

“It makes you jealous.  It’s practically the only thing I can do to make you jealous.  And when I don’t allow you to have my ass, it makes you even more jealous.”

“You know me too well.”

“Why do you want my ass so badly?”

Rather than tell her the actual reason – that her pussy had become too much of a bath for me, I said, “It’s like Peter Gabriel sings.”

“What?”

“Don’t you know the song?” I asked.  Her perplexed look indicated I had to recite it for her:

 

In your ass
The light, the heat
In your ass
I am complete
In your ass
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
In your ass
The resolution of all the fruitless searches
In your ass
I see the light and the heat
In your ass
Oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light
The heat I see in your ass

“I don’t think those are the lyrics,” she said, laughing.

“Close enough.  Now show me the doorway to a thousand churches.”

“Do you have the church key?”

“That I do!”

“Fine, but only because you’re such a fool.”

“If that’s what it takes to have your ass, then I’ll be the court jester!”

“Hurry up and use your bauble and jingle your bells,” she said, rolling on her tum and spreading her ass cheeks for me.

Lo’s Temple of Venus

I slid right in and she repeated, “I want you to gift me.”

“Give you away, like a father giving away his daughter, the bride.”

“Oh my God, that would be even better.”

“What would?”

“If I wore a white wedding gown.”

“Maybe I could give you away in a church.  We’d call it Christmas charity.”

“FUCK!!!  I’m cumming. . . in my ass!”

Unlike her pussy, which squeezes me out when she squirts, her ass clenches, but just enough to make it feel even better, but not evict me.  She sprayed the newly replaced sheets beneath her as I ejaculated deep in her orifice.

I slid out of her slowly, taking my sweet time.

Wedding Shower

She was lying in her own puddle, panting.

“Are you going to clean me off or. . .”

“Come here,” she said, not moving.

I put my cock in front of her open mouth.  She took it in and sucked it clean.

“That’s my good girl.”

She smiled.

Giving Away the Bride

Victory Lap

As she made the ‘OK’ sign with her index finger and thumb, my hard cock filled the hole of that universal hand-gesture that indicates everything is alright.  And everything was better than alright.  She was lying under my arched, naked body, her left hand doing the bare minimum necessary to still qualify as a hand-job.  I was doing most of the work, thrusting in and out of her digital aperture.  She was lying naked on her back, her right hand doing more work on her clit than her left on my dick.  But, hey, it’s not a competition.  I was pleased.  She was pleasing – herself and me.

“That’s it, you big, bad dog,” she said in a sultry tone, referencing the taboo topic of her acquired technique.

She knew exactly what that would do to me.  She plays me like a fiddle with her nimble fingers, though I’m sure she’d rather play a long, black clarinet that requires both hands to get the proper fingering and also the use of a wet mouth and tongue to blow all those Ds loud and with proper dynamics.

Within seconds my baton was conducting the final climactic notes of this symphony.

As I write these tortured metaphors, I can hear Lo laughing and saying, “Symphony!  P’shaw, more like a minuet.”

Be that as it may, she was covered in pearlesque droplets from chin to chest.

Holiday Glaze

I fell back onto the bed, relishing the sweet release she uncorked for me.

But she, rather than lounge in the lethargic bliss I was enjoying, hopped out of bed, put on her jeans and a tank-top, and said, “Do you want to come walk with me?”

Or, at least that’s what I understood her to say.  What she actually said was, “Do you want to cum-walk with me?”

“What?” I asked groggily.

“Cum-walk.”

“I don’t want to walk.”

“No, Daddio, a cum-walk.”

“What’s a cum-walk?” I asked, finally understanding what she was articulating.

“It’s like a walk of shame.  A stride of pride, a victory lap, the trek of triumph, the Something About Mary hommage,” she said with a French accent.

“Since when is that a thing?”

“Oh, old man, hurry up, get dressed, and I’ll tell you as you accompany my for a strumpet stride through the neighborhood.”

“Ok, ok,” I said, laughing, “You’re killing me with these colorful combinations of colloquialisms for cum.”

“Say that four times fast!”

“Where’d you learn all those?

“Eskimos have forty different words for snow and I. . .”

“Forget it.  I don’t want to hear what precipitated your poetic euphemisms.”

When I was dressed, we walked outside, arm-in-arm.  She was proud to have the origin of her adornments accompany her as she displayed her latest accomplishment.

She said hello in a flirtatious voice to the others who passed us by on the delightful spring morning.  Out of the corner of her eye, she tried to spy if they looked carefully enough to discern what was glinting in the sunlight on her cheek, chin, neck, and shoulder.

“So, when did this become a thing?” I asked again.

“It’s always been a thing.  I mean, remember the time at the nude beach when you came all over my face and tits?”

“Which time?”

“Oh, Daddio.  The beach with the geriatric gentlemen who genuflected at my altar.”

“Right.  Yeah, so?”

“Remember, after you rained your love down on me, we walked together, saying hi to the beachcombers.”

“Yeah, I remember, fondly.”

“And the time I met that very nice athlete in the park.”

“You mean the big black guy who came on you?”

“You have a good memory for an old man.”

“That’s why I write these things down – to keep your paramours straight.”

“Oh, straight is ok, but I prefer kinky paramours.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Anyhow, after he came on me and I walked up to you dripping with his jizz.  That also was a cum-walk.”

“I see.”

“Are you going to write about this one?”

“Of course I am, even if no one believes me.”

“They don’t believe you, Daddy?”

“Lo, you can understand that a lot of people find you unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

“Morning,” said a passerby.

“Hi,” Lo chirped back in a perky voice.  Her tits were perky too in her see-through white tank-top.

Lo’s braless top

“Getting a lot of looks,” I remarked to her.

“Yeah, but I made the wrong choice.”

“How’s that?”

“They’re all looking at my chest, not my face.”

“Ah yes, the age-old dilemma.  What’s the reaction you’re looking for?”

“I’d just like a tall, dark, and handsome man to give me a long stare that says, ‘I know what you just did, you slut.”

“I think you take too much pleasure in this.”

“Oh, Daddio!  The only thing more pleasurable is when it’s leaking out of my puss through my panties and shorts at the same time as it’s on my face.”

“Do you have a special name for that walk?”

“The Double-Stuff Strut, The Cream-Pie Promenade, The Spit-Roast Saunter.”

“I should have known.”

admiration

Abstract

I was sitting up in bed, my glasses on, reading silently.

Abstract painting

She was next to me, naked, legs spread, knees up in the air.  Her position reminded me of a frog stuck on its back, its vulnerable underbelly exposed.  Not a flattering juxtaposition, but that’s what went through my mind as I looked at her, caressing her spread, dewy pussy with her right hand, her left squeezing her left breast and then her right.  She was clearly trying to give herself the love and attention she wasn’t receiving from me.  Filling her pussy with her three fingers, pinching and pulling her nipples, rubbing her hand over her tum, licking her fingers.  Moaning.

“Don’t you ever tire of reading?” she finally asked, pouting.

“Don’t you ever tire of fucking yourself silly?” I retorted.

“Say what you will, I am a damn good fuck.  Better than most.”

“Present company excluded,” I added.

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

She was trying to get my ire up, or something up.

“What are you reading, anyhow?” she asked out of frustration.

“An abstract.”

“What?”

“An abstract.”

“Is that the title of the book?”

“No, but that would make a good title,” I said, pulling out my little notebook and writing the thought down.

nude

“Oh no, now you’re reading and writing!”

“An abstract is a summary of the contents of a book, a paper, a dissertation.”

“Then why don’t they call it a summary?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t make the rules.”

“Well, is that abstract so good that you wouldn’t have the full-color, complete package, right here in-the-flesh?”

“Darling. . .”

“You prefer the abstract over the real?”

“I. . .”

“Philosophers should come with a warning label!”

“And what, prey tell, would that warning be?”

“WARNING: Prefers to contemplate own navel over contemplating your anus!”

“You want me to contemplate your anus?”

Lo minimalism

“No, never mind.  I can do it myself,” she said, putting her knees behind her head and curving her torso forward while simultaneously grabbing her butt cheeks with her hands and pushing her ass toward her face.

“Nice parlor trick,” I said.  “You’ve been doing yoga while I’m at work?”

“No, I’ve been contemplating my anus.”

“And what have you discovered with all that contemplation?”

“That it is eminently fuckable and sublimely beautiful.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“May I fuck it?”

“Do you want it for real, or merely abstractly?”

“You know, there’s a branch of mathematics that is strictly theoretical.”

“Is there?”

“Yes.”

“So, what’s that have to do with my ass?”

Contemplation of the Anus

“I’m merely pointing out that even something as grounded and concrete as math can exist on a fictional plane.  People think that there is nothing more basic than one-plus-one equals two, that these numbers are based in empirical facts like stones or sticks.  But even the number one and the number two are abstractions.”

“I’m interested in making one and one equal one.”

It took me a while to understand her mathematical metaphor.

She was still twisted in her pretzel shape.

“Can you lick it?” I asked.

“I’m working on it since at this rate, it’s the only cunnilingus I’m going to get.”

“You remind me of the ouroboros now.”

“What is that?”

“It is the image of a snake eating its own tail.  It became the symbol for infinity because it never ends.”

“Appropriately symbolic, for you never stop talking and start fucking.”

“And your desire is infinite.”

“Everyone’s desire is infinite.”

“I’m afraid you are generalizing from the specific.  Quite the no-no in logic.”

“Do you want my ass, or don’t you?” she asked impatiently.

“If you’re offering it, then sure I do!”

She released from the yoganidrasana pose.  “Well, you’ll have to use your imagination because that’s something you’re only going to experience on a fictional plane.”

“But. . .”

“Imagine it vividly and then you can write all about it.”

“But Lo, you know that I’m not a fiction writer.  Our readers expect accounts of my sex life with Lola!”

“What sex life?  It’s more like Lola’s sex life with Lola as H.H. exists on the astral plane.”

“Have you ever had sex in the astral plane?”

“No, I’ve had cocks in my ass and it felt divine.  And I’ve had sex on a plane (with myself).  Maybe one day I’ll have anal sex on a plane and be transported to that heavenly realm again.”

“The astral plane?”

“No, the anal orgasm.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“To hell you will.  I want you in my cunt.”

“Why won’t you give me your ass?”

“Because you simply don’t deserve it.  Make me cum in my cunt and then we’ll see if you graduate to the advanced class.  If you can get it up for one, you can get it up for the other.”

“Isn’t it more like, if you can get it up for two?”

“You know what I mean.  Do you want to spend our time in bed discussing nomenclature and numbers, or do you want to ram your cock hard in my cunt?”

“You wax poetic when you’re horny, you know that?”

She was done with language and she reached down to grab my member.  I was very hard by this point.

“Looks like you are ready to give me what I want.  I know how to excite you.”

“Your intellectual conversation of theoretical planes of existence was a real turn-on.”

“I bet it was, now get behind me and show me how deeply you love me.”

She rolled onto her tum and put her ass in the air.   I mounted her from behind and pulled her hair.  She instantly gushed like an overripe fruit, sensitive to the touch.

“Yeah, Daddio, that’s it.”

I delved deep inside her.  I could feel the tip of my rod touching the target, tantalizing and teasing that tender tuft of nerves that turns on the tap, unleashing a torrent.

Within mere seconds, she was flooding the bed with her happiness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” she repeated again and again, grasping the sheets and holding on for dear life.

I don’t mean to give myself much credit for any special sexual talent.  It really wasn’t very difficult.  She was primed and ready before I even penetrated her.  The time it took to bring her to climax was approximately half the time of our conversation about it.

When she had recovered her senses, she looked over at me and smiled.

I picked up my book again and said, “I’m glad I could please you darling.  Had I known it would only be a matter of a moment, I wouldn’t have protested so much.”

She simply said, “It was the talk about abstractions that turned me on.  You know I’m a sapiosexual.”

“Indeed,” I replied.

“What’s the abstract about, anyhow?”

“Abstract art.”

“Of course it is.”

The End

Sound

[This story, in case you don’t pick up on it, is dedicated to the incomparable, Jupiter Grant. You can find her work here, here, here, here, and here.]

“In physics, sound is a vibration that propagates as an acoustic wave, through a transmission medium such as a gas, liquid or solid. In human physiology and psychology, sound is the reception of such waves and their perception by the brain.”

Lola’s Tum

 

It had been a wet month.  The typical English spring attempted to outdo itself with unrelenting grey skies, showers, and sopping English gardens.  Jupiter Grant, or Jupi, as she likes to be called by her friends, had not gone out for weeks.  Her groceries had been delivered and her supply of wine was dwindling.  It had been months since she had seen her ersatz lover, H.  She referred to him only as H and thought of him as “ersatz” because he was a Husband to another woman and had a family in London.  Jupi was the proverbial “other woman,” the “mistress,” the “seductress.”  At least that’s the way the judging world would see her.  The judging world being the monogamous, heteronormative world.  Between Jupi, H, and H’s wife, there was an open understanding.  Still, that cozy relationship was of no use during the long COVID lockdown.

From Jupi’s point of view, she was the guest always late to the party.  She and H had chemistry that they both acknowledged.  Not just sexual, but spiritual.  They knew they were meant to be together, but their paths had crossed many years too late in life.  As a compromise to life’s cruel humor, they connected when and how they could; neither one demanding more of the other or disappointed by the other since they both knew that this was the best arrangement for all parties involved.  Yet Jupi was not late to the poly-party.  Thank goodness, she thought, that she lived in and was a part of the polyamory zeitgeist.

A Happy Fan

Yet the knowledge that they were two lost souls doing what they could to find joy in a largely painful and sad world provided little relief for Jupi when her deepest needs swelled up to fill her entire being with desire – desire to be held, touched, caressed, kissed, fondled, spanked, sucked, filled, and fucked.  At those moments, a quick fap merely whet her ferocious appetite.  She needed more.  She craved the comfort of H’s strong, firm flesh pressing down on her own soft, welcoming, warm body.

Unrelieved in her needs, she turned to compensatory pleasures and perversions.  Much of her sexual energy, she found over the years, could be diverted into creative power.  Writing erotica was her main outlet.  But lately she discovered a new medium into which she channeled her plentiful reserves of poetic and prurient lust and her craving to perform: her voice.  Through a series of happy coincidences, she discovered that not only could she narrate literotica, she could nail it with every ounce of sexy she felt swirling through her sensual spirit and her beautiful body.

Volume I

A manuscript had arrived: Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl.  “Hmmmm,” she thought, “this could be interesting.  Or, it could be a colossal waste of time.  Thousands of words, hundreds of pages of driveling, second-rate, even third-rate pablum ‘poetry’ for pubescent boys.”  She poured a glass of red wine and opened up the document on her computer.  She began reading:

 

“Tell me,” she said, “tell me what I am.”

“You’re a slut.”

“Yes,” she said, encouragingly.

“A whore.  A fucking sexmaniac.”

“Go on,” she moaned, biting her lower lip.  But I was too occupied with banging her from behind.  I needed to catch my breath.

“Tell me,” she demanded, “tell me what I am.”

“A cum-bucket.  A little cum-hungry tramp.”

“Yes,” she screamed.

“A sex addict.  A nymphomaniac!”

I slapped her ass hard as she screamed with delight.  Her wet little snatch secreted her luscious, warm juices all over my hard cock.

After she collapsed into the bed of blankets, I reached around her from behind and whispered in her ear, “Good girl.  That’s my good girl.”  She purred like a little kitten.

 

Artistic Tribute Photo

She felt a tingling between her legs.  She kept reading, taking small sips of wine as she felt her mouth watering.  As she continued, she felt something else getting wet.  She tried reading the words aloud, just to hear how they would sound in her voice.  Could she do the male lines?  It was narrated by Lola Down’s lover, H.H.  Was she the right voice for that?  Wouldn’t a man’s voice be more appropriate?  She tried it out, experimenting with various octaves and tones.  Clearly these two characters were American.  Should I pronounce “ass” the American way, or as I would pronounce it – “arse”?  Technical questions like these kept appearing, but she liked what she read.  She liked it a lot.  To her surprise, she especially enjoyed embodying the male narrator’s role.  Yes, she thought, yes, I’ll take this on.

A week later she was in her tiny makeshift “recording studio” – actually a closet with a light, a microphone, and her computer.  It was the most soundproof room of her flat.  She was in the middle of recording a story, “NYC,” about Lo and her raconteur’s trip to a strip club in Manhattan:

 

She slowly eased her way down Lo’s body, pressing her perky breasts and nipples directly in Lo’s face.  She took Lo’s hands and encouraged Lo to apply them to her body, caressing the dancer’s ass and legs.  As she slithered over Lo, she inconspicuously pulled Lo’s strapless dress down over Lo’s breasts, exposing them so that they could rub up against her own.  She then got down between Lo’s legs and gracefully pulled the hem of Lo’s dress up and up, rubbing her soft hands over Lo’s thighs and then sitting on Lo’s lap and rubbing her ass deep into Lo’s crotch.  All the while, Lo licked her lips and ran her tongue over her teeth in that sumptuous way that indicates that Lo is hungry.

 

 

Jupi found herself breathless.  She couldn’t continue with the narration.  There in the narrow confines of the darkened closet, she reached down under her skirt and panties and her fingers fondled the fount of her effulgent creativity.  She read the lines again and again in her mind and switched roles in her mind from being Lo to being the stripper to being H.H. observing it all.  The dance of subjectivity stimulated her mind as much as her digits released her pent-up puissance by penetrating her pulsating pink pussy.

Browsing the Literotica section

Wave after wave of relief and gratitude poured over her as her legs gave out and she slowly crumpled onto the now wet wooden floor of the closet, panting and heaving.  She opened the door to let in more air.  She desperately needed more air.

Eventually, she was able to finish recording the story.  She liked it so much that she wanted to share it, prematurely, with someone.  No, not with someone.  Not with anyone.  With H.  She needed to know his opinion of it.  Was it any good?  Was she any good as a narrator?  But there were so many doubts that accompanied her wish.  What if he didn’t like it?  What if he thought she was weird for even producing it?  What if he was turned on by Lola?

Ultimately her desire for validation and attention outweighed her insecurities and she hit “SEND” and immediately wished she could unsend it.

An excruciating day, then two days, then three days went by without a word from H.  She couldn’t record another page before hearing back from him.  She was in a frenzied state.  Why hadn’t he called, texted, emailed, something???

But, just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, there was an unexpected knock at her door.

A visitor?  No.  Couldn’t be.  Probably just a grocery delivery.  She hastily put on her robe and furtively opened the door.  There he was.  H.  Unannounced.  Unexpected.  Un-fuckig-believable!  She was ecstatic.  Jupi threw the door open wide and let him in.  But then she remembered the recording.  Was he here to break things off?

“Hi,” she said shyly, her nerves shot.

“Hi.”

“I wish I knew you were coming.  I would have. . .”

“I didn’t even know I was coming.  But I’ve been. . . I’ve wanted to. . . I just started driving and I found myself here.  I’ve been listening to your recording on repeat.”

“And?”

“Your voice is so fucking sexy.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.  I’ve been hard-up for days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to.  But I wanted to see you and tell you.”

“Way to drive a woman crazy!”

“Who wrote this?  Who is this Lola?”

Suddenly Jupi felt nervous again.  She felt butterflies in her stomach.  “What if?” questions started forming in her mind like they did before.  Incessant, annoying, pervasive questions filled with self-doubt and fear.  Her anxiety ramping up again.  She needed to get grounded.

“Come on in,” she said, taking his coat.  “Want a drink?”

She took out the wine and two glasses.  She let her robe drop, revealing her bare body just beneath the sheer negligée she was wearing under the robe.  It was sexy, but it was also comfy.  He looked at her, soaking in her visage.  She was a shy hermit full of inner life – sensual, spontaneous, artistic, creative, smart, witty, emotional, and most of all, madly in love with him.  Seeing her filled him with passion, just as the sound of her voice speaking those salacious sentences had made him crazed for three days.  Her flesh.  He wanted it.

She sat down next to him at the small kitchen table and opened her laptop.  She clicked on mysexlifewithlola.com and scrolled through the plethora of Lola’s porno pictures.

“Oh. . . oh. . . my,” he said slowly with long pauses in between exclamations.  “Um, wow!”  Images of Lola naked were replete on the screen.  But not just naked – naked with her 12 inch dildo, with her princess plug, with pearls on a string streaming from her ass, with her man, H.H., sucking his cock, filled with his cum, overflowing with the cum of other men, and stretching herself wide with one of the largest replicas of a horse cock H had ever seen!

“Yeah, she’s a handful,” said Jupi, resigned to sharing H’s attention with Lola.

“She reminds me of you,” he said, looking up at her downcast eyes.

“What?  Really?”

“Yes, if I had met you ten years ago.  I think she’s the spitting image of you.”

“Ten years ago?” Jupi echoed.

“Oh, no.  Come on.  I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You sure you don’t want some young sexy thing like Lo?”

“No, Jupi, I want you.”  He leaned in to kiss her.  Her stomach’s butterflies flew in a flutter, suddenly startled by the unexpected availability of his lips and everything else he brought to the table.

“I was just about to record another chapter.”

“Really?  Can I listen?”

“I don’t think you’ll hear much.  I record it in the closet,” she said.

“Which closet?”

“In the bedroom.”

“Oh.  Well, go right ahead.  I’ll just be lying on the bed.  Maybe I’ll hear something.”

They got up to go to the bedroom.  She took the computer and disappeared into the walk-in studio.  “Wait here quietly,” she said before shutting the door behind her.

She was just finishing up the story, “Horsing Around.”  She read loud enough for H to hear:

 

I was in jeans and I could feel my cunt getting totally saturated, soaking my panties through and through.  I spread my legs and rubbed his cock back and forth until finally he exploded.  It was a ginormous shot of cum over my head, but, as his cock slackened, he dripped some remaining cum down into my hair and on my face.  I had to unbutton my jeans and pull them and my panties down as I got on my knees.  As I sat under his dangling cock, I stroked my pussy till I too came in a giant puddle on the cement floor.

 

 

When Jupi was done with the story, she emerged from the closet.  She found H lying on his back, his trousers down around his ankles, his massive hard-on clenched in his right fist which stroked up and down from tip-to-base and back again.

“Could you hear?” she asked, astonished.

“MmmmmmGrrrrrrrrrAaaaaahhhhhhh,” was all he could say as his member erupted like a spewing volcano sending its warm lava all over the surrounding countryside and dribbling down its sheer cliffs, covering his hand in goo.  “Fuuuuck!”

“Did I do that?” asked Jupi innocently.

“You have the most sexy voice,” he answered.

Though flattered by his visceral standing ovation, Jupi was at least slightly disappointed that she wasn’t going to get any of her man’s patronage that day.  Never one to miss an opportunity, she got between his legs and licked up the mess he had made.

“Can I get an advance copy of that audiobook?” he asked.

Jupi smiled, looking up at H from between his legs.  “Of course,” she said.

After he left, she sent the audio files to him via email.

A few days later he texted her and said, “Jupi, you have no idea how happy you have made me.  I know that we can’t see each other, but I’ve been listening to your recording in the car every chance I get.  It’s incredible.”

“Glad you like it.”

“I’ve even started listening to it in bed.  I told my wife that it’s just a guided meditation to help me sleep, but, in fact, it has the opposite effect.  After she falls asleep, I pull out my cock and stroke to your voice.”

A week later he was at Jupi’s flat again.  This time they had an actual date planned.  After a small meal, they went into the bedroom and, lying down on the bed, he asked, “Can we, uh, listen to the audiobook?”

“But I’m right here,” Jupi replied.

“I know, but it turns me on.”

She agreed.

He had another request.  “Can I have you doggy style?”

“Yes.”

“And. . .”

“And what?”

“Never mind,” he said as she got on all fours on the bed and he stood next to it, ready to enter her from behind.

“What?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Can I put your laptop here?”

“Really?”

“I mean, I won’t if you. . .”

“No, go ahead.”

He placed the computer on her back, opened it up to Lola’s photos, and, listening to Jupi’s narration, entered her wet and waiting pussy.

Not Jupi, but a fan photo

 

Lo picked up her head and said, “Stroke it again as I rub my pussy.”  Lo leaned back across from Bill in the back seat and spread her legs wide.  Her right leg was lying on top of Bill’s knee.  She still had her cute little heels on.  Bill stroked his cock as he looked on, salivating, at Lo’s spread pussy.  With her left hand, Lo spread her pussy lips wide and with her right hand she was fingering her clit and her cunt.

Bill was treated to a feast for the eyes.  Lo came and came again to her own digital manipulation.  She so love’s to see men jerk off, but the only thing she loves more than that is to see them jerking off to her.  This Bill did with enthusiasm and then he started asking Lo, “I bet you want me to cum on your pussy, don’t you, you whore?”

“Oh yeah,” responded Lo in her low, deep, sexy, guttural voice.

“You want me to shoot my load all over that hot pussy, don’t you?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, do it,” she said in response as she continued to spread her legs and finger-fuck her pussy.

He got up from the seat and almost stood over her, frantically yanking at his cock.

“Come on, come on,” Lo encouraged, “cum on my pussy.  Come on.”  And then finally, in an explosion of cum that fell like rain all over Lo and her dress and her stomach and her pussy, he came and came and came and came some more.  Lo was shocked by how much he came on her.  She had never been drenched that much by a guy in her life. . . and she loved it.

 

As they listened to the story, they too came together. . . and loved it.

Lying next to each other, sprawled out on the mess of a bed, the computer screen still displaying Lo’s cum-covered body, H said, “You know, my wife has been listening to the stories as well.”

Lo Bathes in Beauty

“No,” Jupi said incredulously.

“Yes.  She found me out.  She discovered it wasn’t a ‘guided meditation.’  And so now, whenever she’s in the mood, she puts in her earbuds and listens with her computer open in front of her, while I go at her.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Jupi.

“I’m sorry.  Does that upset you?  I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“No, I can’t believe that little trollop.”

“Who?”

“You know who: Lola Down.  She’ll be getting off all of London before long.”

“No, dear, you’ll be getting them off with your voice.”

Thank you Lola.  Thank you Jupiter Grant.  Thank you H.  Thank you everyone who reads, listens, and gets off to these words dripping with love and lust, jizz and juices.  Thank you.

The End

Compersion Perversion

[As published in the October issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine, Lola goes on a date with MILF Meri.]

Lo Casually Masturbating

It was a Thursday.  I was at the office.  All alone again.  During this pandemic and sweltering heatwaves of the summer, working from the office alone actually provided both cool central air (as opposed to our poorly air conditioned apartment) and much valued quiet, alone time, conducive to creativity and, if necessary, work.  Ms. Gale was working from home.  My other employees were working remotely as well.  I was under the impression that Lo, too, was working from home.  That is, until I received an email from her.

It’s unusual for me to get an email from Lo.  Text, phone call, even the unexpected in-person appearance for a booty-call are all to be expected.  But rarely an email.  Unless something is wrong, or the landlady has written to her demanding the rent, asking for a favor, or passing along complaints from the neighbors about the volume levels, frequency, and inconvenient late hours of Lo’s orgasmic operatic arias.

But this email was different.

“Guess where I am,” it read, enigmatically.

“At home, doing work,” I replied, unimaginatively.

“Nope.”

“Is this Twenty Questions, or can I just ask, where are you?”

“I’m in the park.”

It was another sunny, hot as hell day in the city.

“OK.” I wrote back.

“I have my computer.  I’m ‘working remotely’ from here.  That’s why I’m using my email.”

“Why do you put ‘working remotely’ in quotes?”

“Guess who I’m with.”

“Bill Murray.”

“No silly!  Meri!!!”

“Oh, that’s why you put ‘working remotely’ in quotes.”

“Yeah.  She wrote to me this morning and said that she told her husband she can’t take being cooped up in the house with the kids any longer.  She’s going to the park to get away and work.  But she had invited me and so we’re both here, pretending to work, but doing a lot more suntanning than working.”

“Which park?” I asked.

“Guess.”

“Lo,” I wrote, in the tone of voice I take with her when she’s being naughty, “I actually have work to do.”  These multiple, terse emails were not conducive to getting anything done.

“Fine,” she replied, “the park next to your office.”

My office faces out onto the street, but my employee’s office, in the back of the building, looks out onto a small oval park in the midst of the other businesses.

“Do you want to come by the window and see what I’m wearing, or not wearing?”

How could I resist?

I walked across the reception room area where Ms. Gale has her desk, into the back office.  I glanced out the window and sure enough I saw my little Lo, ass up, her computer in front of her, her admirer behind her, seated about ten feet away.  There were streets hemming in the small sward, but full sun upon my nymph and her MILF.

Allow me to paint the scene for you.  Unlike the last time these two met in the park, this time Lo came prepared to bask in the sun.  She was lying on her tum, her legs bent at the knee and her feet dangling in the air.  She had her computer in front of her.

Behind her, sitting in a beach chair, was Meri, watching.  She sat, ostensibly reading a book, but she was really just spying on Lo.  The way the two of them were in relation to each other, it did not appear that they were together or knew one another.  And I was spying on both of them.  I don’t know if Lo or anyone could see me watching from above.  If Lo noticed my presence, she made no sign of it.

Lo was wearing nothing but a very tiny bikini top and a pink thong bikini bottom.  It literally was no more than a spaghetti strap covering basically none of her ass.  I was familiar with it because she had bought it on sale last fall and was so eager to wear it that she tried it on for me at home, pretending to be on the beach showing off.  A fun little game for both of us!

Lo’s Thong Askew

It wrapped around from her crotch and, when placed just so, concealed only the bare essentials of her letter ‘i’ – if you know what I mean.  From a distance, it looked as if she was wearing nothing at all on the bottom.  And I was not the only one to think that.  Sitting around the two of them on the shaded park benches were old ladies and moms with strollers and the occasional businessman out for air or a stolen glance of Lo’s delectable derrière.  I could tell that the lecherous men interspersed with a few lascivious women were all trying their utmost best to give the appearance of doing something, anything else besides what they were doing – watching Lo.  It takes one to know one, I thought.

Lo was keenly aware of her audience, but she was performing for only one.  Meri, for her part, sat slightly askew to Lo.  She wore heels, a pink skirt that stopped just short of her knees, and a grey tank-top that accentuated her large breasts, revealing lots of cleavage and that she was wearing no bra.  She wore a baseball cap and dark sunglasses in addition to her mask, as if she were a movie star trying to stay incognito.

Lo’s performance was exquisite.  Every once in a while she would reach back behind her and ‘adjust’ her bikini bottom, as if it was riding up her ass uncomfortably.  She would pull at it so nothing was concealed, at least not to Meri, and then let it go again with an audible snap.  Occasionally she would put sunscreen in her hand and run her index finger from her pussy over her balloon knot, as if to insure that those delicate parts wouldn’t burn.

From my vantagepoint, I couldn’t help but think that the sun shines from 94 million miles away for one reason only: to illuminate, warm, and tan Lo’s perfectly spherical double-orbed bronzed rear.  It was as if Helios himself was looking down intently upon Lo’s sexy little ass and the oppressive, powerful rays of light were his enormous erection aching to feel the pleasure of that posterior, but burning hotter because infinitely frustrated by the impossibility of a non-material substance’s concupiscence being quenched by the corporeal object of its affection.

Lo pretended to be oblivious to it all, typing away on her computer as if deeply engrossed by her work emails.

Even in my airconditioned office, I was growing warm from the sight.  Since no one is allowed to come to my office due to the pandemic, I don’t even bother putting on a suit anymore.  It’s strictly t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops for me this summer.  That’s not my office attire, that’s my everything attire.

I also was growing hard in my khaki shorts.  Seeing Lo nearly nude in the middle of the pedestrian and otherwise non-nude plaza, literally the center of attention in the circle of voyeurs, and me, up there, voyeuristically observing from on high, with who-knows-how-many-others lurking in the windows, was appealing to my compersion perversion.

Just when I thought the scene could not get any better, an older gentleman (I use the term loosely) wearing slacks and a button-down sky-blue casual long-sleeve shirt walked over the green grass directly towards Lo.  He squatted down to talk to her.  She turned her head toward him and then rolled over on her back, propping herself up with her elbows.  Then, for the first time I saw that she had on the bikini top with adjustable cups and she had adjusted them to a very narrow setting, exposing most of her breasts, her side-boobs bulging out.

She looked up at the man and struck up a conversation with him.  I could see practically her entire chest falling out from where I sat and I’m sure that that man had a close-up view of it.  I could see Lo smiling at him in her flirtatious way as he continued to engage her in whatever small talk they were pursuing.

I’m sure this gave Lo the triple pleasure of teasing the man while simultaneously making Meri jealous and me mad with admiration of her hotwife hospitality.  I could see Lo glance from her interlocutor to Meri, making sure that the latter was catching it all.  And I could see Meri watching with great interest.

As Lo continued to talk to the man, she seemingly absentmindedly spread her legs, revealing the tiny triangle of material covering her smooth mons pubis, and she thoughtlessly placed her hand down there as if adjusting the bathing suit or scratching an itch.  This allowed Meri a direct line of sight into Lo’s labial lodestar.

I guess Lo’s male conversationalist eventually ran out of things to say.  I saw him pass Lo something that looked like a business card and then say his adieu.  He walked away and I saw Lo smile like the scapegrace she is at Meri and Meri smiled back.  They were like two schoolgirls pulling one over the teacher.

Lo reached down between her legs and quickly pulled back the bikini bottoms for Meri to get an unobstructed view for a brief moment of bliss.  In return, Meri spread her legs and, though I couldn’t see it, flashed Lo a glimpse of her crotch, unadorned by any panties.  (I did later confirm this with Lo.)

From my perch I could comfortably enjoy all of the sexual psychological angles: between Lo and Meri; the older women on the periphery and Lo; the younger women on the sidelines and Lo, the men and Lo; as well as Lo’s basking in the attention of all of them just as she basked in the bright sunlight as if it were her spotlight on the stage.

HH – Hot & Hard

The psycho-sexual dynamics had me rock hard in my shorts and just as I was contemplating relieving the tension, I heard the faint sound of keys and then the turning of the lock on the office door.  Before I could scramble to see who was there (especially when no one was supposed to be there), in walked Ms. Gale wearing denim shorts and a gingham button down shirt, tied up in the middle to reveal her midriff.  It covered only her shoulders and breasts, though it was unbuttoned enough to reveal much cleavage.

“Ms. Gale?” I almost shouted in shock.

“Mr. H?!” she shot back.

I was keenly aware that I had a huge erection in my shorts and that Lo and her special lady friend were frolicking outside the window by which I sat.

“Why are you here?” we both asked simultaneously.

“This is my office,” I said, authoritatively.  Though, actually, I wasn’t in my office.

“I thought you put on the calendar that you were on vacation this week.”

“Oh, I had, that’s true,” I said, “but COVID put an end to our travel plans.  So, here I am.  And you?”

“It was too hot in my apartment to work.  I only have one window unit and with the temperatures in the hundreds, it doesn’t get much colder than about eighty-seven.  I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I thought that, since you were away, I’d work in the office and utilize the central air.”

“I see,” I said, still too hard to stand up.

“Why aren’t you in your office?” she asked.

“Well, I, uh,” I stumbled for a plausible answer.  “I got bored of the view,” I said.

“Oh, is the view from that window better?  I thought it just looked out onto the park,” she said as she moved toward the window to look out.  I desperately didn’t want her to do that!

She did and we both looked outside.  To my great surprise, there was no sign of Lo and Meri!!!

“It’s just a different view,” I said casually.

She looked out the window, bending over, displaying her round rear to me in the tight shorts.

“You like the view?” she asked, enigmatically.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.  “I rarely see it like this,” I said, looking at her ass.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.  “You should take more time to smell the roses.  You’re always working,” she added as she returned to standing in front of me.  Little does she know that more often than not, when she thinks I’m assiduously working on a legal brief, I’m actually writing this torrid encomium to Lola.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I said like a judge.  “But for now, I’ll let you have the office to yourself.  You know, we must be socially distant.”  I said it as if I were explaining to her that we need to be sexually distant.

“You don’t have to go,” she said.  “I mean, you could just work in a separate office.  I don’t mean to push you out.”

I was eager to catch up with Lola.

I put away the files I had been working on before Lo’s email and headed toward where I thought I’d find Lo and Meri.  Five minutes into my walk, I was already drenched in sweat.  I felt like I was suffocating due to the high temperatures and humidity.  Making matters worse, I had to wear that asphyxiating mask!  But I was determined.

I walked up the busy street from my office and was about to despair of my loss, but then I spied the two women sitting in front of the ice cream shop.  They each were seductively eating their treats from cups.  I took a seat not too far away from my nymph.  I didn’t worry about being discovered.  I had on dark sunglasses and my bandana mask.  Very little of my face could be seen and, as an added benefit, Meri had never met me.  To the best of my knowledge, she had no idea what I looked like.

The two of them were engrossed in conversation.  I watched for as long as I could, but the sun was baking me.  Eventually, convinced that I wasn’t missing anything of great import, I decided to return home, take a cool shower, and await Lo’s return.

I was on the couch in the living room when I heard the front door abruptly open and close.  I heard Lo scamper down the hall to the bedroom and master bath.  She too hopped in the shower first thing, but not to engage in the usual self-pleasure that she frequently enjoys in there.  No, it was a quick rinse and then, from the living room I heard her masturbatory moans.

I quietly walked down the hall.  The AC was on in the bedroom and so Lo didn’t hear me.  I slowly opened the bedroom door and couldn’t believe my eyes!  Instead of pounding her pussy with a dildo of enormous magnitude, she was sliding my Stoya Fleshlight up and down her lower lips, pressing Stoya’s labia into her own, dripping her wetness all over the prosthetic pussy.  Her eyes were closed and with her free hand she was plucking her nipples.

“Lo,” I said in a gentle tone.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” she screamed as she jumped a mile.  “What the hell are you doing home?!”  It was almost an accusation.

“I’m sorry, Darling,” I said before explaining the surprise visit by Ms. Gale and then asking her, “What the hell are you doing with my Fleshlight?”

“I hate the COVID bullshit!” she lamented.  “I want a pussy.  I want Meri’s pussy.  I want to fuck someone who is not you.  No offence,” she said after realizing what she had said.  “I just want. . .”

“No offence taken,” I said sarcastically.  “How could that possibly be offensive?”

“You know what I mean.  Of course I want to fuck you too, but I also want to be able to fuck others as well.”

“You have,” I reminded her.  “The brothers.  Remember?”

Stoya Licking her own Pussy

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, putting Stoya back on her cunt.  “That’s for them, not for me.  They’re young men, full of testosterone and they need my sweet release, especially in this pandemic.  I spread my legs, they slip in my honeypot and unload.  That’s all for them.”

“Oh, you get nothing out of it?” I asked sarcastically.  “You’re just a simple orgasm donor?”

She laughed, “I get something out of it.  I mean, I cum, yes.  And it pleases me to be their goto girl, their flesh-and-blood Fleshlight.  I won’t deny, that turns me on.  I like being their easy access.  Their cum dump.  The thought of guys’ balls aching for my cunt and unloading into me because I can provide for them what they so desperately need is an incredible turn-on.  But I want a woman.  I want someone who will take time to pleasure me, give me what I want, know what I want.  Not just ram it in deep and hard to prove how big and strong they are.  I want Meri.”

She returned to sliding and pressing the Fleshlight’s lithe labia up against her own swollen and supple lips, causing a suction sound as her own secretions lubricated the point of contact.  She reached down with her free hand and began circling her clit with her index finger.  She did all this as if I wasn’t even there.  Oblivious to me and all else but her imagination and the feel of her pussy slip-sliding against another pussy, she was soon squirting a stream of climactic juices directly into the parted prosthetic pussy.  The receptacle, upside down, simply dribbled out the contents back onto and into Lo’s already soaked and dilated source.

She took a few deep breaths.  I stood silently awaiting her command, request, or even insinuation to fill her with my meat.  But, instead she reached for her phone.  She made a call and said, “Hi.  Yeah.  Another leak.  Can you come over and fix it right away?”

She turned to me and asked, “Will you let them in?”

“Who?”

Then the doorbell rang.

I walked down the hall and admitted the two brothers.  It was the same uncomfortable silence between us as it had been before.  Merely sheepish grins and a little nod of the head as they walked toward their destination.  They no longer needed to be shown the way.

They walked into the bedroom, saw Lola splayed out on the bed naked, Fleshlight beside her body, sheets soaked, and they immediately dropped their pants.  They didn’t even bother to take off their shoes or their shirts.  Kids these days.

Lola: “Fuck me.”

“Fill me, fuck me, pump me, pound me, use me, abuse me, whip me, worship me,” said Lo, spreading her legs further, bending her knees and slapping her cum-slathered pussy.

One of the boys pulled her to the edge of the bed and penetrated her.  She briefly looked up at me, her head upside-down, from the bed, before her eyes rolled back.  The boy was rock hard and eager.  His brother stood by the bed watching, cock in hand, stroking, and patient.  Within moments, the first reached his climax inside her.

Pulling out, he stepped aside for his brother to have his chance.  Lo rolled over onto her hands and knees, raising her ass for him to have her.  He easily slid into her soaking holes.  I saw her wince just a little as he entered the tighter of the two.  But soon he was alternating back-and-forth at whim.  Now the other brother watched and, to my amazement, grew hard as he did so.  What amazing recovery time!

Lola: “Fill me.”

After the more active brother drove his point home in Lo’s rear, he pulled out and they both watched as Lo oozed, cooed, and creamed.

Then the first returned to the pole position.

I could see that Lo, by this point, was almost bored.  Her head was resting on her hands and she looked up at me, unconcerned about what was happening beyond her shoulders.

“Daddio,” she said, “will you pass me my phone?”

Her phone was on her nightstand on the other side of the bed, by the boys.  I walked around the bed, past the brother who was slamming his shaft deep into my hotwife’s pussy at the time, past the other brother who was eagerly awaiting his chance for another deep dive in her, and grabbed the phone.  I walked back around to the side of the bed by the door and passed it to Lo.

She pressed some buttons, preoccupied with the phone and not at all occupied with the activities behind her, and looked up at me again.  “If I order a pizza, what would you like on it?” she asked in a quiet voice, as if the boys and her bum were in another room and she didn’t want to disturb them.

It seemed a most unusual question for the moment.  I must have looked puzzled.  “I’m hungry,” she added by way of explanation.

“Mushrooms and onions,” I said unthinkingly.

“Oh, hi,” Lo said into her phone.  At the very same time, the first brother finished, ejaculating in long shots on Lo’s back.  I guess Lo was put on hold briefly because she was quiet for a moment.

The second brother asked Lo, “Do you want more?”  He was clearly confused by Lo’s phone call.

Lo turned her head over her shoulder and said, “Go ahead.  You can have it.  Try to be quick.”

I heard a voice from the phone ask, “Yes, can I help you?”

Lo’s attention was back to her pizza order as the boy behind her grabbed her hips and pulled them towards his erect phallus.  “Yeah, could I get one sausage pizza and one with onions and mushrooms?”

Lo Placing an Order for Pizza

The boy behind her returned to his favorite alternating ass/puss, ass/puss plunging.  I could see him spreading her cheeks with both hands as he pulled out and pressed in.

“Medium,” said Lo into the phone and then looking up at me she asked, “Medium big enough for you?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, two mediums,” she said into the phone again.  “OK.  Yes.  Delivery please.  Great.  Thank you.”  She hung up and put the phone by her side.

Allowing her head to fall into the pillow, she reached back and pulled her ass cheeks apart, allowing her paramour to use his hands in other ways.  He reached under her and grabbed her doughy tum and squeezed.

“You going to cum?” Lo asked.

He grunted.

I guess she could feel him building.  “Come on.  You got two in you, don’t you?  You like my ass?  You like it,” she said.  She moved her fingers to her ass and felt him sliding in and out of her.  He was ready.  She was giving him a hand-job as he entered and exited her posterior.  Lo’s instincts kicked in and she turned abruptly and opened her mouth to receive his fill.  He grabbed his cock with one hand and her head with the other, pulling her mouth onto his shaft.  He began to cum and then pulled out of her mouth and sprayed the rest on her face.  She was drenched.

She looked up at him and asked, “Feeling better?”

The first brother already had his pants on.  The second, who had just finished, reached down to pull up his from around his ankles.

“Thanks Lo,” he said.

“Say hi to your mom,” Lo said.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he replied.

They let themselves out.

Lo fell backwards and, lying on the bed, she looked up at me and asked, “Will you get the pizza and tip the delivery guy?”

“Maybe you should.”

She contemplated that idea.  “Like I am?”

“Exactly.”

Lola Filled, but not full

When the bell rang, she walked to the door, dripping from the boys’ icing on her face and shoulders, and, opening the door, took the two pizzas in hand and gave a few dollars in tip.

I awaited her return in the dining room.

“What was his reaction?” I asked as she placed the pizzas on the table.

She laughed.

“What?” I asked.

“It was a woman.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“What was her reaction?”

“A cross between shock and disgust.”

“Too bad.”

“Why?”

“I thought you were going for shock, awe, and arousal.”

“I’ll take disgust.”

She grabbed a slice of pizza.  No plate.  She didn’t even sit down.  She stood by the table, naked, and ate it with fervor.  “Sorry, Daddy,” she said, mouth full.

“Sorry for what?”

“What I said before.  You understand, though, don’t you?”

“Yes Lo,” I said, sincerely, not sarcastically.  I felt love, compassion, and patience.  “But,” I added, “you need to clean up Stoya and the sheets.”

“I will,” she said, obediently.

I had a slice of pizza and cracked open a beer.

“Is there a reason you had the boys rather than me?” I finally asked.

“Yes,” she said, with no explanation.  She continued eating.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“I like to be used.”

“You didn’t even cum.”

“No, because I wanted Meri.  But, I’ll cum later to the thought of them and this afternoon.”

“With me or without me?”

“If you’re lucky, both.”

After dinner, she strutted to the bedroom to clean up.  I followed.

“What a mess!” she said at the sight.  “Isn’t it wonderful?!”  She dove into the bed.  “It smells like sex.”

“Just like you,” I said sarcastically.

When she got up to strip (the bed that is, since she already was naked as the day she was born) I asked her, “Who was that man talking to you in the park?”

“Oh, him?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Just a creep.  He just wanted a closer look at me.”

“You sure gave it to him.”

“You saw?” she asked, flattered that I took in her stunning act.

“Yes, I saw.  What did he give you?”

“His business card.”

“What sort of business is he in?”

“He says he’s a photographer and he asked if I would be interested in any boudoir photography done of me.”

“Really?  Where’s his card?”

She bent over by the side of the bed and dug through her little beach bag.  “Here it is.”

She gave it to me.

“I see,” I said, reading it.  “You going to take him up on it?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to?”

“Let me think about it.  Did you and Meri have a good time?”

“What do you think?”

“I think she’s at home doing exactly what you just did.”

“Eating pizza?”