Category Archives: Anal Sex

The Perfect Coffee Table

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Someone Likes “Sexy Shorts”

            Friday and finally all my meetings were over.  I flew home that night.  I hadn’t heard from Lo since the previous night when she enigmatically told me that she had dinner with Robert.  I was eager to see her.  I was hard-up and aching for release.  On top of that, there was the tantalizing mystery of what happened on her “date” with Robert.  Just to make matters worse, fate so ordained it that on my flight home I was seated next to a young, attractive college girl wearing a tight fitting miniskirt and a low cut blouse.  Her breasts were full and, when placing her carryon in the storage compartment above, she stretched and revealed a delectable midriff and even some under-boob.  When we sat down, she saw that I was reading Fast Girl, the book by Suzy Favor Hamilton about her life as a high-end Vegas escort and her sex addiction.

Suzy Favor Hamilton

            “What is that?” she asked, naively, but with a hint of being in-the-know. 

            “It’s a memoir,” I said tersely.  Her interest made me nervous.  Her looks made me more nervous.  Her age made me simply petrified – in every sense of the term. 

            “I think I’ve heard of it.  It’s about. . .” her brow wrinkled with the struggle of recall.

            “A woman who leads a double-life as a devoted wife and mom and as a prostitute.”

            “Oh,” she said, shocked at my candor.  She quickly followed it up with a smile and, “Do you like it?”

Suzy Favor Hamilton

            There was a mischievousness to her question that indicated to me that she wanted to know what turns me on.

            “It’s my homework,” I said, as if that negated any pleasure I may derive from it.

            “Homework?” she asked.  “What class are you in?”  She wanted to enroll.

            “My girlfriend assigned it to me.  She said it would help me understand her better. The last assignment was Getting Off, about a woman addicted to self-pleasure through humiliation porn.”

            “Girlfriend?” she asked.  “Aren’t you married?” she inquired while indicating my wedding band.  Clearly she was interested in more than my reading material.

            “Oh that,” I said, “I wear it to keep the ladies away.”  My standard line.

            “Yeah right,” she said.  “Every guy knows that nothing attracts single women like a man who’s spoken for.”

            “You got me there,” I said.  She was attracted.  This would be a l-o-n-g flight.

            “I wish,” she said under her breath.  “So, your girlfriend – or whatever – is addicted to porn?”

            “I don’t know that she’s addicted to porn.  She likes porn.  But she definitely is addicted to pleasure.”

            “I know the feeling,” she said.

            “Is that so?”

            “Would you like to know the feeling?”

            “Look,” I said, “what’s your name?”

            “Kayla,” she said.  Of course her name was Kayla. 

            “Look Kayla, I’m already involved with a nymphomaniac.  It takes every ounce of my energy, focus, concentration, devotion, love, and chi to satisfy her. . . and still I come up short.  I appreciate your interest.  I really do, but I’m on my way back home to see her, and, well, to be honest, the beautiful batting of your eyelashes is very well and good, but I’ve got a perfect slut waiting for me at home.”

            If this attractive, flirty, young woman had been sitting next to me on the departure flight, when I was more mad at Lo than missing her, things may have been different.  Even then, the fact is, no matter how angry I am with her, I still love Lo.  And I know, no matter how attractive other women may be, the witty repartee that Lo and I have is inimitable. 

I tried to make my position clear.  She accepted the boundaries I had set.  But she switched gears and now asked me all about Lo.  I gladly told her.  It was probably my best in-flight conversation.  By the time we landed, despite our fight or because of it, I wanted Lo more than ever.  (I gave Kayla the blog address, just so she could see for herself how it’s done.)

            I got home and as soon as I walked in the door I knew I was in for trouble.  Lo wasn’t talking to me except monosyllabic words.  “Hi.”

            “How are you?” I asked.

            “Fine.”

            You get the gist.  But she was dressed in a pink sleeveless t-shirt and her black lace panties.  That’s it.  She pranced around with her hard nipples poking through the front of her shirt, her side-boobs bouncing and peeking out from the open underarms.  She.  Looked.  Good. 

Surf’s Up

            I was hard.

            I wanted her.

            I needed her.

            I had no idea how to approach her.

            So I took the direct approach: “You wanna fuck?”

            “Your seduction technique is so subtle, yet captivating,” she said. 

            I knew I was making good progress because captivating is four syllables. 

            “Yeah,” I said, nonchalantly. 

            “Then why are you still wearing your clothes?”

            I stripped and she pulled down her panties. 

            Her pussy was smooth, shaven, pink and beautiful.

            “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

            “This?” she asked, stroking her lovely mons pubis.

            “Yeah,” I said, “that.”  For a moment I was under the impression that she was anticipating my return and that she had shaved for me.  She disabused me of that notion right away.

            “I told you,” she said, “I was seeing Robert last night.”

            We were in the bed now.  I was looking down at her lovely body.  “You did that for Robert?”

            “Semper fi,” she said. 
            “Semper fi?” I asked, perplexed.

            “Yeah,” she said, “Always prepared; the motto of the marines.”

            “Semper fi means ‘always faithful.’”

            “Oh,” she said.  “Whoops!”

            “You can say that again.  So, were you faithful?”

            “Fuck me and I’ll tell you.”

            I was arched over her and I enjoyed looking at her beautiful body as her hand guided my protruding member up and down her wet labia.  “Come on, Daddy,” she said, “fuck me.  You know you need it.  Take it.”

            I penetrated her.  From the feel of things, she needed me as much as I needed her.

            Once I had fully engorged her, I asked, “So, what happened last night?”

            She was too busy enjoying my rod.  She came within seconds.

            I waited for her to catch her breath.  “Tell me,” I commanded.

            “I met him at his house,” she said in her breathy voice.

            “What were you wearing?”

            “A short skirt.  My leather boots.  A tight top.”

            “Go on.”

            “I met him there.  He kissed me hello.”

            “On the lips?”

            “Yes.”

            “Mighty forward of him.”

            “I made sure it was on the lips.”

            “Oh.”

            “We talked a little and then he drove us to the restaurant.  I think he liked being seen in there with me.  It looked like a first or second date, I’m sure.”

            “What did you talk about?”

            “Him, mostly.  His needs.  His wants.  His desires.”

            “Oh, so you talked about you.”

            “You could say that.”

            She came again.  Nothing excites her as much as she.

            “And then?”

            “We went back to his place.  He invited me in.  He offered me a drink.  We sat on the couch.  Before I finished my first drink, we were making out.  His hands were under my top, feeling my breasts, pulling my nipples.”

            Too much!  I came.

            As I pulled out of her and rolled on my back, she said, “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait to hear how the night ended.”

            “Uh-uh,” I said, “You’re going to finish this slut-saga tonight.

            “Only if you’ll fuck me again.”

            “Start talking.  You know what your words do to me.”

            She moved closer to me and her index finger twirled around my flaccid cock as she spoke:

            His fingers were running up and down my clit over my panties.  Within a couple of strokes, my panties were soaked.  He could feel it. 

‘Why have you held out on me all this time?’ I asked Robert as he was feverishly trying to slide my panties over my boots.

            He got them off and he was trying to remove my skirt, but it has a zipper in the back.  I kissed him and slowly stood up, turned around, and let him unzip it.  The skirt fell to the floor and he felt my bare ass with his hands and then he began kissing it. 

            ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.  ‘Even more beautiful than in your photos.’

            ‘Thank you,’ I said, turning around to face him.  He saw my silky smooth pussy.  He kissed it.  I came.  I came hard just from the light touch of his lips on my soft triangle.  I had to grab his shoulders to steady myself.  I pulled his head in to my tum and he kissed me as he slowly removed my shirt.  He sucked on my tits as I stood totally naked before him. 

            ‘Here I am, bare as the day I was born,’ I said, ‘and you have all your clothes on.’

            I began unbuttoning his dress shirt.  I got him out of it and out of his t-shirt.  I then got him to stand as I got on my knees and I undid his belt, his pants button, his fly, and slowly pulled down his trousers.  I could see his enormously long cock in his boxers.  I wanted it.  I pulled down his boxers and there it was, just as I remembered it.  It was beautiful, but it was as soft as you are right now.

            I was soft, but getting harder.  “He did tell us that he has a performance problem,” I said.

            “Yeah, I know,” she said.  “I sucked on it and gave it my best blowjob, but damn it all, I couldn’t get it hard.”

            “Really?!”  That was a first.

            “Yeah,” she said.

            “Please demonstrate,” I asked.  “Perhaps there is a problem with your technique.”

            That really pissed her off.  Never insult Lo’s skills in the bedroom, or any other room.

            She put her mouth on my cock and said, “I have impeccable technique.”  That she did.  She worked on my slack slinky and it slowly regained some rigidity. 

            As she lifted her soft lips off my stuff, she said, “He didn’t respond to my loving labia, so I got under him and opened wide, taking his huge balls in my mouth.  That he liked.  It got an immediate reaction.”

            “You are fond of instantaneous reviews.”

            “He then guided me to the bedroom where. . .” 

            “No, wait,” I interrupted, “let me get in you now.”  I was hard-up and wanted to hear the end of her story from a position that would allow me to gage her level of excitement.  I slid my arousal-meter inside her and she continued.

“We got into bed and, well, he was still having difficulty performing.  I asked him, ‘Do you want to look at some porn together?’”

“You wanted it bad, didn’t you?” I asked.

“I’m always up for porn,” she said, nonchalantly.  “And he was too.  He pulled up the blog.”

“Our blog?!”

“Yes.  What other blog?”

“OK.”

“And we scrolled through some pics together.  He settled on one of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.  And he got hard.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No I’m not.  I asked him, ‘You like his cock?’ and he said, ‘Yes.’”

“You wouldn’t put me on like that, would you?”

“I swear,” she said, sincerely.  “I asked him more about it and he told me that he thinks his problem might be that he’s gay.  He said he likes being with women, but he gets turned on by looking at guys.”

“So what did you do?”

“We looked at some more porn together, mostly gay porn, cuck porn, and swinger porn.  He eventually turned me over, doggy-style, put his laptop on my back, and fucked me from behind.”

“He used you like a coffee table?!”

“Well, if someone invented a cross between a coffee table and a fuck doll, then, yes.”

“Good idea.”

“And then he asked me if he could go in my ass.”

“The audacity of that man!”

“And I said yes.”

“You little slut.”

“Yes, Daddy.  Say it again.  You’re turning me on.”

“You skank.  You trollop.”

“He went in my ass and then he asked, very politely, if he could cum in me.”

“You anal whore.  I bet you wanted him to.”

“Well, I had cum so many times by that point, it only seemed fair.”

After she said that, I came, not in her ass, but deep in her, for the second time. 

“I’m glad you were able to be so charitable while I was away,” I said.  I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealously and, for a moment, I regretted not taking advantage of my opportunity on the plane. 

“Why didn’t you sleep over?” I asked her.

“It had been a long time since I had anal sex,” she began to say.

“Don’t I know it,” I added.

“And so I wanted to go home to clean up.  I’m sorry, but I may have made a bit of a mess on your car seat.”

“You mean, Robert’s mess.”

“Yes, Daddy.  Are you mad?”

“Lo, I can never stay mad at you.”

“But are you mad now?”

“No, Lo.  I’m actually perfectly content.” 

Sun-Kissed

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Beach Reading

            A July vacation at a beach house for a week can be the perfect antidote to all of your problems.  Unless that vacation is a family reunion and the beach house is for thirty people.  And among those thirty people are married dads in their forties and fifties who are in good shape.  And your girlfriend is Lo.  Then, you might have ninety-nine problems, but Lo is the only one you have to really worry about. 

            That was the case this week.  Every seven years or so my extended family decides that we should make a pilgrimage from all the corners of the globe, rent one enormous house on the beach with enough bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate us all, and stay under one roof for seven days straight.  We have been doing this for a few decades now, but we hadn’t had one of these since I started dating Lola. 

            She hadn’t met most of my family – only heard about them through various stories I told her and, to be fair, with thirty of them, I doubt that she really could tell one from the other without having met them in person.  But this week, right in the middle of July, we were all going to be up-close and personal with each other.  Foolishly, I hadn’t thought of warning her prior to our departure.  This was my family.  Did I need to warn her?  Apparently so. 

            You see, if I do say so myself, I come from a very good looking family.  My brothers and sisters and my cousins have certain family features in common – features that drive Lo wild.  I’d even venture to say that, of the lot of us, I am probably the least physically attractive.  My male relatives all have strong-cut jaws, expressive eyes, and the classic broad shoulder tapering to a thin waist.  They are very health conscious, for many of them were athletes even through college.  My female relatives share many of the same good genes that have preserved their looks into midlife.  And they are married to rather attractive spouses. 

            Throw into this mix of middle-age men – all walking around topless, biking, kayaking, swimming, cooking, and being dads to their respective kids – a twenty something nymphomaniac with daddy issues wearing a skimpy bikini and you have just brought all sorts of wrath down upon your head.  Such was my lot for a week. 

            It began innocently enough.  We were on the beach with a few of my cousins.  The sun was blazing and the waves were rough and tumble.  We had our boogie boards with us and, after a beer, Lo said she wanted to ride the waves with me.  We grabbed the boards and went into the refreshing water, waded out past the crashing waves and waited for the right moment.  As we were out there, Lo turned to me and said, “Daddio, I’m so wet!”

            “We’re in the ocean, Lo.  Of course you’re wet,” I replied.

            “I don’t mean like that,” she said with a devilish grin.

            Before I could respond, a wave came and soon she and I were soaring towards the shore atop the white crest of the surf.  Conditions were just right for multiple sorties.  She looked happy, like a little girl.  I had never seen her see so happy.  She was grinning from ear-to-ear.  What I didn’t realize, since I was next to her for most of the wet-n-wild rides, was that each and every time we caught a wave and were carried in atop the undulating surge, Lo’s bikini top would be pushed downward and, each and every time she stood up from the excursion, her breasts were popping out, wet and glistening in the sun for all my cousins to see. 

            I only found out about this later, when, back in the house, she got naked in the bathroom with me to take a shower.  “Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

            “Why would I be mad?” I said as I saw her perfectly tanned body before me.

            “Because of my ‘accidents’ at the beach.”

            “What accidents?” I asked, naively. 

            Then she told me about her struggles with keeping her top on her tits. 

            We got in the shower together and washed each other down with body-soap.   It was one of those large shower/hot tubs that had a comfortable seat to sit.  I told Lo to sit down below me and spread her legs.  She did so, mistakenly thinking that I was going to put my cock in her mouth.  She opened up to receive me, but, instead, I took aim and let lose, releasing the golden stream formed from the many beers I had had on the beach.  She relished in the warm stream I doused her in, covering her tits and tum, puss and feet.  When I was good and done, she pulled my hand down and reversed positions with me and, putting one foot up on the ledge, she took aim and allowed me to get it just as good as I gave it. 

            Then she got down on her knees on the floor of the shower and took my hard cock in her mouth, fondling my balls with her right hand as her left rested on my knee.  Her long, wet, dark hair bobbed up and down under the stream of the shower.  She wanted me to cum, that was clear.  She worked hard to earn my ejaculatory appreciation, but I denied her the satisfaction of completion.  Before she got lockjaw, we got out of the shower and dried off. 

She bent over the bed, her ass beckoning me.  It was my turn to get on my knees and worship her tumescent pussy lips with my tongue.  She tasted sweet and I wanted more.  I buried the tip of my tongue as deep as it would go in her cunt and then in her ass and back again and again.  She came multiple times, her cum dripping down the sides of my mouth and saturating my beard as it streamed down my neck onto my chest.  I delighted in making her so wet.  Due to the cramped living quarters, she had to bite her lower lip and swallow her orgasmic screams.  She buried her head in the pillow to moan and groan. 

At some point I heard the sound of a radio playing from the pool area outside our window.  AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” was narrating the scene. 

She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean

They sang as I licked the smooth mons pubis of Lo from behind.  She could take it no longer and she crawled forward on the bed like a wounded soldier out of the heat of battle.  She rolled over, exhausted already, and spread her listless legs. 

She was the best damn woman that I’d ever seen.

I slid in her pussy with my aching rod and, honestly, I couldn’t feel a thing.  Just wet.  So wet.  At the very instant of my shaft lodging deep inside her, she came in waves – waves like those of the ocean that we were riding just a little while earlier.  After her quick climax, she was suddenly filled with new energy.  She rolled me over onto my back and slid her wet slit down the length of my solid pole, kneeling on top of me as she pulled and pinched her nipples.  I grabber by her hips and rocked her forward and back, slishing and sliding over my hips.  

She had a certain size,

Telling me no lies,

Knocking me out with those American thighs.

She came again.  Again, all I could feel was wetness cascading down upon me.  

She dropped her head down to bite on my neck and then she slid off of my rod slowly as her tongue slid down my chest, over my abs, eventually resting at my cock.  She took it all in her mouth and down the back of her throat. 

Taking more than her share,

She had me fighting for air,

She told me to cum, but I was already there.

I filled her with my pent-up power.  But she wasn’t done – no, not by a longshot. 

She wanted no applause,

Just another course,

Made a meal out of me,

And came back for more.

Had to cool me down

            To take another round,

            Now I’m back in the ring

            To take another swing!

            She licked and sucked, bobbed up and down, and opened wide for my balls – everything and anything she could do to get me back up and hard again.  When she finally succeeded, she lowered herself slowly on me once more and grabbed me, letting her nipples gently touch mine as she let her body become enfolded in mine.  I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. 

Shower Time

From her state of delirium, she began whispering in my ear.

“You know,” she said in a hushed tone, “I think your family likes me.”

“I’m sure they do,” I said.

“I mean, especially your brothers.  They really like me.”

“I think they really liked what they saw.”

“And I liked what I saw.”

“What was that?” I asked as I felt her excitement increasing with the taboo things coming out of her mouth.  I slowly moved my hands from her back to her thighs, to her ass cheeks, and then I pulled them, spread them, and placed my index finger on her special spot.

“They’re so built,” she said enthusiastically, “so mature.”

“You mean old.”

“Not old.”

“Older than me.”

“Yeah, but in such good shape.”

“I see,” I said, knowing where she was going. . . and liking it.

“And so big.”

“Big?” I asked as I entered her ass with my finger.

“Their cocks.  Their balls.  Wearing a Speedo. . .”

She couldn’t finish her thought.  She was cumming and cumming harder than any of the previous times.  My finger was deep inside her and I could feel her clenching up on it and releasing multiple times. 

When she was done, all orgasms finally brought to fruition and her body exhausted, she said to me, “That last orgasm, it felt just like I was riding that boogie board.  It felt like I was riding that wave, topless, the sea carrying me, lifting me, thrilling me, covering me with spume and salt and sun.”

“Did you cum when you were out there?”

“I think I might have, a little bit.”

“You really are a nymph, fucked by Poseidon himself.”

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Orgasms

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The Red Dress

            My good friend John from Seattle and his three sons (ages twelve through eighteen) came over to visit while they had winter break.  They were in our town looking at colleges for the oldest and enjoying a bit of vacation – skiing, museums, historical sites.  I hadn’t seen John for a couple of years and I was glad that, instead of booking a hotel, he asked to stay with us for the four days they were here.  I suppose I should have known, however, that having all that testosterone under one roof would drive Lo wild. 

            It’s hard to keep Lo’s libido under wraps in the best of circumstances, but fill the house with four male guests, three of whom need to sleep in the living room, and, well, keep on reading.   

            One of the days that John and the boys were visiting, Lola came home from teaching her night class at the local community college where she has been guest lecturing on sex and sexuality in the Woman’s Studies department.  She walked in the door in her knee-high black leather boots with the tall heels and her hip-hugging tight red dress.  She looked. . . voluptuous.  She said a quick hello and then grabbed a glass of Cabernet and joined us in the living room where the boys were sitting, playing games or texting on their smart phones or iPads, and John and I were quietly talking. 

            “I’m so disgusted!” Lo began.

            “What?  What happened?  Did class not go well?” I inquired.

            “I know it sounds ridiculous for a woman in her twenties to say it, but honestly, kids these days!”

            “What happened?” asked John. 

            The boys turned their attention to Lo.  Or, rather, they had looked up from their blue-glowing technology the moment Lo walked in the door and now Lo had their rapt attention.  She sat on the couch and said, “Not that many years ago, when I was an undergrad, I wouldn’t have even thought of texting during class.  I mean, yes, I would be on my laptop and not always taking notes, but isn’t it a sign of disrespect to openly text during a class?” 

            “Don’t you have a policy against it or something?” I asked.

            “Yes, of course I do!  But these two guys in the front row – they are on their phones the whole time.  They’re texting and even passing their phones back-and-forth between them.  I’ve said something to them privately.  I’ve called them out before the whole class.  Now I’m done.  I’ll just fail them.”

            “It would suck to fail at sex,” John quipped. 

            “You teach about sex?” asked his middle boy. 

            “It’s more than just sex – it’s about consent, the media, law, intersectionality,” Lo began, but she lost his attention after the word sex. 

            We talked a bit more and then the boys asked if they could watch some TV.  To my great surprise, they wanted to watch “Gilmore Girls” on Netflix. 

            “Really?” I asked.  “That show was popular like twenty years ago.”

            “Let’s be real, it never was popular,” said Lo.

            “You used to watch it?” I asked.

            “On occasion.”

            “So why do you boys want to see it?  Isn’t it like a chick-lit show?”

            “HH, you’re so gender-conforming.  Not everything breaks down easily along gender-roles,” said Lo sarcastically, with a hint of irony in her eyes as she spoke to me. 

            “Why don’t you let the boys answer?” I shot back.

            “Haven’t you heard,” asked one of them, “they’re bringing ‘Gilmore Girls’ back.”

            “What?” I asked.

            “Yeah, like ‘Arrested Development’ and ‘The X-Files,’ it’s making a comeback on Netflix.”

            “Oh.” I said, learning something new, “but that doesn’t explain the appeal to you,” I said to the boys. 

            “It’s a good show,” they said as they clicked it on.  “Watch and you’ll see.”

            We watched a couple of episodes together as we ate some Chinese food we had had delivered. 

            Around midnight we went to bed and, in the bedroom, Lo removed her tight red dress revealing that all she had on under it was her bra. 

            “No panties?” I asked.

            “I can’t take the chance of panty-lines in this dress – not with a room full of students watching my every move.”

            “Don’t you think that that can be a bit distracting?”

            “What do you mean?” she asked as she slipped out of her bra and stood naked, looking at herself in the mirror. 

            “You know what I mean.  You’re just fishing for a compliment.” 

            She batted her eyelashes at me and asked, “Aren’t I just the sort of bait that would lure compliments?”

            “That you are.”

            “Well, what are you waiting for?”

            “Don’t you think that the class will be studying your every curve if you wear dresses like that?”

            “Like what?”

            “Let’s just say that a dress like that on a body like yours should be enough to distract anyone from their phones.”

            “I have no idea what you mean,” she said disingenuously. 

            “Haven’t you ever read ‘The Scarlet Letter’?” 

            “Yes.”

            “Well, that’s The Scarlet Letter of dresses my dear.”

            “So, you give my dress an ‘A’?”

            “Ugh.” 

            “What do you think of me without my dress?”

            “Can’t you tell?” I asked, displaying for her my member standing at attention.

            “Though your sign language is easy enough to interpret, tell me.  I like your words.”

            “I think your breasts look pretty and perky.”

            “Go on,” she said as she pulled and twisted her nipples, running her fingers over them to make them even more erect. 

            “And your shoulders are incredibly strong and sexy.”

            “More.”

            This went on for some time with me complimenting the small of her back, her smooth legs, her elegant feet.  Then she said, “You haven’t even mentioned my butt.  I mean, even I want my butt.  If I could be with me, I would fuck my butt.” 

            Finally she got into bed and said, “Don’t you want to fuck my butt?”

            “That I do!”

            I got behind her as she was on all fours and she licked her finger and ran it round her special spot as if pointing out the target.  “Go ahead, Daddio, but be slow and gentle.”

            As I began to penetrate her, she moaned aloud. 

            “Lo, shhhh.  We have guests.”

            I ran it in deeper.  She moaned louder and said, “Gentle!”

            “Right.  Now Shhhh.”

            I lodged myself deep inside her extremely tight spot and she said, “Stay right there.  Does it feel good?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good.  Now let me do the work.” 

            I remained still as she lunged forward and back, slowly at first, but increasing in speed like a locomotive beginning to pull away from the station. 

            “You know, Lo,” I whispered, “I have a distinct image in my mind.”

            “And what’s that?” she said as she was slowly churning away.

            “Those two boys sitting in the front row of your class, showing each other the texts on their phones that you told us about. . .”

            “Yeah?”

            “I like to think that they found your photos on the internet and now they’re looking at them as you teach.”

            “RED!” she said, referring to our fantasy rule of The Raunchy Game.  Red means, nope, you just crossed a line.  “That’s my worst nightmare,” she said, “stop right there.” 

            Despite her words, I could feel her orgasm beginning to surface.  Not wanting to lose the moment, I said, “Well, I can also imagine them sitting in the front row surreptitiously taking your picture with their phones or their computers or something and then saving the pics for later and jacking off to them in their dorm room.” 

            Lo was coaxing the orgasm and sliding on-and-off my cock, forward-and-back.  “Yessss,” she moaned.  “Do you think they jack off to the pics together?”

            “I wouldn’t doubt it,” I said.  “I bet they do it every night after class.”

“My picture’s worth a thousand orgasms,” she said as she came, quite loudly. 

When she was done, the two of us were lying on our backs looking up into the darkness of the room.  “Can I ask you a weird question?” I asked.

“I love your weird questions.”

“When we were watching ‘Gilmore Girls’ tonight, did you sense something odd about it?”

“Besides the fact that it’s always Friday, the town has five people that live in it, Emily and Richard Gilmore are cliché cutouts of ‘rich people’ and that every problem on the show is a privileged white-person problem?” 

“Yeah, besides all that.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Rory has these two boyfriends, Jess and Dean, and what are they? – sixteen, seventeen?”

“I guess,” she answered, lying on her back, her eyes closed.

“And each of them keeps ending up in scenes alone with her mother, Lorelai, who’s all of thirty-two.”

“What are you saying?” Lo asked, her fingers clearly moving up and down under the covers between her legs. 

“I’m saying that I think there’s some subtext going on.”

“Fuck me and tell me,” she insisted, spreading her legs as she lay on her back. 

I got between her wet thighs and entered her.  I held her tightly and whispered, “Lorelai was a MILF before that term was invented.”

Never one to miss an opportunity to correct me, she said, “Darling, I think MILF was invented then.  You just hadn’t heard about it until much later.”

“Whatever,” I said, “the point is, that’s exactly what she’s supposed to be and then these strapping young men have all these one-on-one scenes with her in the house, alone.  Don’t you think they’re suggesting something?”

“I’d like to see that play out,” she said as her breath quickened.  “When I reach my thirties, I hope I’m a MILF.” 

“Darling, you don’t have kids and you’re already a NILF.  A nymphomaniac that I’d. . .”

“Do you think that’s how they see me?” she asked, ambiguous as to whom she meant, but it didn’t matter, she was already cumming. 

Successful in my duty, I gave myself permission to climax with her, but, sensing my imminent orgasm, she said, “No!  Don’t cum!”  She insisted that I save it just as I was about to reach the pinnacle of my performance.

            I kept on keeping on in her. 

            “I said no!” she yelled, pulling her body away.

            “What the fuck?!” I said in an angry whisper, very frustrated, very aggrieved.  Whereas I am frequently all for edging, keeping my Chi to myself, sometimes I need a release and releasing in Lo is the best release. 

            I turned over, lay flat on my back on the bed, tried to catch my breath as Lo, who had already cum twice, grabbed my member, licked it clean, and then kissed her way up to my mouth. 

            “Why can’t I cum?” I asked.

            “Don’t you know by now?”

            “No.”

            “I like you to stay hard because you never know when I’m going to need your dick again.”

            “Oh, I know all right.”

            “You do?”

            “Yes.  You always need it.”

            “That’s true.  So, keep it cocked and ready so that it is fully loaded at a moment’s notice.”

            Sure enough, she needed it again later that night.  She woke me from a sound sleep as she was watching some MILF porn on her phone. 

Mano a Mano

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            “Why don’t you just jack it like a real man?” she complained.

            “Because I prefer fucking your flapper to fucking my fist,” I responded.

            “But Daddy,” she said, in a nicer tone now, “don’t you know that I find it hot to see a man masturbating?”

            “Any man, masturbating to anything, or certain men, masturbating to you?”

            “I prefer men to masturbate to me, but seeing any man masturbating to anything still turns me on,” she said as she was rubbing her puss under the covers.  “Please, Daddy, just stoke it for me, over me, to me.” 

            “Maybe I’ll just get my Stoya Fleshlight,” I said, trying to arouse her jealousy so she’d give herself over to me completely. 

            “No!  If you do, I’ll get out my horse cock dildo and my Hitachi!”

            “That sounds fair. . . and fun!”

            “No,” she said, “I want you to use your hand and I’ll finger-fuck my holes.”

            “Fine,” I said, more willing to concede due to the prospect of watching her.  I pulled down the covers, got between her legs, grabbed my hard member, and pulled at it for her to see.

            “That’s it Daddio,” she said as she spread her legs wide, began inserting the fingers of her right hand into her puss and slid her left hand around from underneath her ass to penetrate her posterior place.

            “Did you make every man you were with masturbate for you?”

            “I didn’t have to make them,” she said.  “They volunteered.” 

            “Tell me about it.”

            “There are so many.  Which one?”

            “Tell me about Teddy.” 

            Teddy was her fuck-buddy in college.  A tall, lean, basketball player with an enormous cock. 

            “I’d lie in his dorm room bed and he’d stand over me with his huge black cock right over my face.  It was as long as my entire head.  He’d drop his balls in into my mouth and grab his rod with both hands.  Both hands!” she said with emphasis.  “He’d stoke it over me as I lay naked on the bed and then, when he came, he shot all the way down to my knees and covered me with his hot jizz up to my chin.” 

            I could tell that as she told me this story, she was on the verge of climaxing herself.  But she held back. 

            “Tell me about Gerald.”

            Gerald was also a college fuck friend.  The opposite of Teddy in every way, except Gerald was also an athlete – a bodybuilder whose bulging biceps attracted Lo until she found that he had a micropenis. 

            “He was so self-conscious about his size that, no matter how much I wanted to take him in my mouth, he was resistant.  My natural attraction for women made the prospect of licking that little clit so appealing, especially since he shaved it and his balls clean.  He wore a teensy-tiny speedo when he worked out.  It was like he was wearing panties.  I wanted to pleasure him with my lips and tongue all the time, since I obviously didn’t feel him in either of my holes,” she said as she fingered both of her holes more deeply. 

            “Did he jack it for you?”

            “It was the only way he could cum.  He’d pull that little pimple with his thumb and index finger as he stood over me, just like Teddy did, and then he’d ejaculate all over my face.  It was the only way he could feel dominant.”

            “How often did he do that?”

            “Countless times.  It always left me unsatisfied, but I liked it nonetheless.” 

            “You never met a cock you didn’t like.” 

            “Don’t stop,” she said, looking at my cock as my stroking slowed.  I pulled harder, longer, faster.  “That’s it,” she said.  Her whole hand was almost fully submerged in her pussy and two fingers were going at her perineum.

            “Tell me about Tim,” I said.  Tim was her beau before college and, since he was older and Lo significantly younger, sex with Lo was off-limits for him.  That didn’t mean that Lo didn’t try.  Lo always finds a way. 

            “He’s probably the one responsible for my male masturbation mania.  The only way he got off was by masturbating.  I would be fully clothed and saying sexy, naughty, dirty things to him like I’m doing for you right now, and he would jack it until he came.”

            “Where’d he cum?  On your face?”

            “No.  He’d cum into my hands.  I’d hold them out like I was receiving an offering and then I’d lick them clean like a kitten licking a bowl of milk.  He loved that.” 

            That was too much for her.  She came and came hard.  Her pussy and sphincter clutching and contracting on her deeply driven digits before eventually dilating again.  When she recovered, she looked at me and said, “You didn’t cum.” 

            “No.”

            “That’s not fair, Daddy.”

            “I don’t think so either,” I said.  “Why don’t you give me a hand-job?”

            “Because I’m going to fall asleep now,” she said.

            “That’s fine, just position your left hand like you’re giving the ‘OK’ sign, and I’ll do the rest.” 

            She complied.  I lay next to her and inserted my cock.  She said, “You’re just using me as a sex object.”

            I didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily she followed up the comment with, “And I like it.  It’s so soothing.” 

            Reviewing in my mind’s eye the stories she told, looking at her naked body next to me, I came and came hard all over her.  She had drifted off to sleep.  I grabbed a washcloth, wet it with warm water, and gently cleaned her off.  I kissed her mouth good night and lay next to her thinking about what a good bad girl she is.

            The next morning I awoke to find her face bobbing up and down on my erect shaft.

            “Lo?” I asked.

            She popped off of my knob and said, “I’m sorry you didn’t cum last night, Daddy.  Let me make it up to you.” 

            I didn’t disabuse her of that belief until after she accomplished her mission.  When I did, she just said, “You dirty dog!”

            “What?” I asked, innocently.  “You told me last night you wanted me to cum.  Was that just lip service?”

            “No it wasn’t.  But what I just did for you was.”

Divine Destinies

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            As you, dear reader, are well aware, I am of a different generation than Lo.  That doesn’t keep us from having fun.  Frequently I find myself at parties surrounded by people twenty years or more my junior.  For the most part, I’m a good sport about it.  However, there is one activity that these younger folk engage in that I simply cannot stomach: Playing “Cards Against Humanity.”  Call it a delicate sensibility or a prudishness of a bygone era, but I find this particular card game to be repulsive.  Luckily for Lo, I’m a good sport and see that, like all things on this big blue planet, there is something to be learned from it. 

            Perhaps due to my generational difference, not only was I of a dissimilar temperament than those enthusiasts of the game, but I found that I was also ignorant of some of its terminology.  Late one night, while playing this perverse pastime, I happened to pull the card that read: Anal Bleaching. 

What?

            I found myself having to inquire as to what the hell this meant and I was informed by my young companions that this is, indeed, a thing.  Women, it turns out, actually bleach their anus in order that it have the proper luminescent halo around it.  Ass angels, I suppose. 

            Well, my dear reader, allow me to tell you that one of the first times that Lo and I were engaged in a prolonged, pleasurable, and piquant entanglement of bodily parts with the lights on low (and on Lo), one facet struck me as particularly impeccable about her body. 

Later, in the delightful afterglow of my memory, I mentioned it to her one night as we were on the phone and separated by distance, but connected by desire. 

            “Did you like it?” she asked of our last tryst, as if there were any doubt.

            “Very much so,” I responded, seeing her in my mind’s eye.

            “What did you like?”  She’s a glutton for compliments.

            “Everything.”

            “Be more specific,” she demanded, needing to hear each dissolute detail. 

            “You really wish to know what struck me the most?”

            “I do,” she almost whispered in a seductive tone.

            “It’s a little embarrassing to say, especially over the phone,” I said, modest man that I was back then before Lo thoroughly corrupted me.

            “Say it.  The dirtier the better,” she instructed.

            “That’s the irony.”

            “What is?”

            “That it’s dirty, but it’s only dirty because it’s so clean.”

            “I don’t follow.”

            “What I want to tell you about.  What struck me when we were together,” I stumbled, “The thing that lingers in my memory,” I stuttered, “What I can’t get out of my mind is how incredibly clean your asshole is.”  There, I said it!  I could feel my face blushing.  Poet that I am, I could find no more refined way to tell her. 

            “Really?” she almost squealed. 

            “Yes.  Is that, er, inappropriate for me to say?”

            “No.  Not at all.” 

            Mind you, dear reader, this was early on in our relationship.  I had not yet discovered quite how debauched my little Ms. Down was. 

            “Do you want to know how I keep it so?” she asked.

            “I think some things about a woman should remain a mystery,” I answered. 

Lola

            Well, dear reader, now many years on, I can tell you that it was certainly not through “anal bleaching.” 

Fap Gap

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Lola by Jerger65Jerry

            Fap.  Jill.  Vibe.  Flick the bean.  Solo time.  T.C.B.

            However you call it, Lo does it.  And she does it more than any woman I’ve ever met and more than most women whose rumored self-pleasure sessions have reached my ears. 

            That said, it came as no surprise to me when I heard. . . well, just sit down, get comfortable, and I’ll tell you.

            Lo had gone on her date.  I was home, alone.  At least she had had the courtesy to jack me off before leaving.  But what to do with my time?  You see, dear compassionate reader, when Lo goes off like that, it puts me in the greatest state of tension and anticipation.  If only I could be there on all of her dates, sitting at the bar, watching from afar. 

            But Lo needs, deserves, and wants her space.  I get that.  And, to be fair, the eager expectation is more than half the fun.  The other half is hearing her tell the tale to me in bed. 

            Still, that gap between her departure and arrival must be filled.  A hard, very hard task. 

            I can’t just go out with friends.  My mind would be preoccupied.  And what if I missed Lo’s return? 

            Reading is futile.  My every wandering thought is of Lo, and the thoughts wonder frequently, just like Lo. 

            Writing?  Well, sometimes that is a good pastime. 

            But on this occasion I got up to some mischief. 

            You, my faithful reader, are well aware from long ago that Lo is insanely jealous.  Not just of my attention, not just of other women, but of literally anyone who might remotely rival her in my eyes.  Hence, she was frequently frowning upon my watching Weeds, and especially Mary-Louise Parker, whose character, Nancy Botwin, not only intrigued me, but reminded me of Lo in a number of ways. 

Mary Louise Parker
Frankie Shaw fapping to MySexLifeWithLola – Can you believe it?!

            Somehow, during Lo’s late night adventures most likely, I managed to get through all the episodes of that series.  And for a good long time, nothing replaced it. . .

            . . . until SMILF came along with its very Lo-like star, Frankie Shaw. 

Frankie Shaw of SMILF – Lola’s Fantasy

            Lo and I had watched the first episode together, but when Frankie got down and dirty, Lo hit the power button and said, “Nope.  No more for you.” 

            “But. . .” I tried to protest.

            “But nothing.  If you’re getting hard watching, then I’m shutting it off and you and I can go to the bedroom and get fucking.”  And that’s just what we did. 

            Now that Lo was out, and most likely getting fucking with someone else, the image of Frankie Shaw on the “recently watched” option of the T.V. menu was calling to me and I thought, “This is ridiculous.  This is more than a double-standard.  This is cruel and unusual punishment.”  So I hit “Play.” 

            My suspicions were borne out; Frankie Shaw is just like Lo.  When she frantically scrolls through the photos on her computer with one hand down her panties, it was a replay of a vignette I had seen so many times with Lo in the starring role.  In my mind, though, Frankie Shaw was fapping it to mysexlifewithlola.com, scrolling through all the desultory images of Lo fapping it to who-knows-what – probably to Frankie Shaw, if I’m being honest, since Lo loves to condemn with me that which she condones privately.   

            I only got through another two and a half episodes before I saw the headlights of a car out front stop and let out a passenger.  It was Lo.  I could tell by the swivel of her hips as she walked.  The T.V. was off before she was in the house. 

            “Hello,” she called from the door.

            “Hello,” I called back.

            She peered in the unlit living room.  “Sitting in the dark?”

            “It’s my best light and greatest comfort.”

            “Well, it can be dark in the bedroom too,” she said, walking down the hall, her leather boots on the wood floor sounding like seductive music to my ears.

            I got up and followed her and said, “You bring the light,” as I turned on the nightstand lamp to see her.  Upon reflection I added, “You know, that’s where Lucifer gets his name.”

            “What?” she asked, looking at me quizzically.

            “Lucifer, it literally means, ‘carrier of light.’  It is said that he, like Prometheus before him, had stolen the holy light of God and ferried it to humans.  Artists for millennia have understood that light to be metaphoric for creative inspiration, not literal light.  That’s what you are, my Lucifer.”

            “Well, get in bed if you want to fuck like the devil.”

            I waisted no time.  I hopped under the sheets as she stood next to the bed looking at herself across the room in the full-length mirror.  

            “Good date?” I inquired.

            She took off her black leather jacket and removed her shirt.  No bra.  She was wearing a bra when she left.  It must have been a good date. 

            She bent over, took off her boots, and then slid out of her skirt.  Still no panties. 

            Her naked body eased up next to me and she whispered in my ear.  “Did you miss me, Daddy?”

            “I always miss you when you’re gone.”

            “Did you wonder what I was doing?’

            “Of course.”

            “What did you do while I was out?”

            “I’m more interested in what you did,” I said.  (See what I did there?)

            “Slide in me and I’ll tell you,” she said.

            As I complied, she moaned and said, “I missed you, Daddy.”

            I guess I have a type.

            I entered her and, truth be told, all I could feel was how very wet she was.  It made me think of the scene from SMILF where Frankie Shaw is having sex with the tall, big, basketball player, surrounded by all the other guys from the team, and he says, “Am I in you?”

            Just as I thought that, Lo said, “Can you feel me, Daddy?  Am I loose?” 

            “So loose,” I said, “Like the opening of a tent flapping in the wind.”

            “Well,” she said, “you don’t have to be so explicit about it.”

            “I wasn’t explicit,” I said, “it was a simile.”

            “Here’s a simile: Get in my ass, it’s just like my pussy, only tighter.” 

            I laughed and followed her instruction.  She moaned. 

            “Your ass is a vice,” I said.  “That’s a metaphor.” 

            “I thought you meant that my ass is a vice, like gambling or liquor,” she said over her shoulder.

            “It’s that too, and so many other things.”

            “Oh yeah, what else?”

            “It’s the seat of my love for you.”

            “Look, Daddio, I want to get fucked good, hard, long, and hard.  I want cock, right now, not poetry, so get up there and give it to me.”

            “You said hard twice.” 

            “I want it twice as hard.”

            I gave her what she wanted and said, “And I want to hear about your date.”

            Once she was good and pumped, she began talking in between gasps for air. 

            “I showed up, looking slutty, smelling sweeter than cotton candy, and wetter than a flower in the rainforest.”

            “Who’s the poet now?” I asked.

            “Shut up and keep pounding.”

            “Keep cumming and carry on,” I said, feeling her gushing.

            “He was a perfect gentleman.  He stood when I approached him.”

            “I’m sure he stood at attention.”

            “And he had saved me a seat at the bar.  I sat down and after he got me my drink, I swiveled toward him and spread my legs so he could see, very clearly, what I was wearing under my skirt.”

            “As I recall, you weren’t wearing anything.”

            “That’s right, not even a merkin, as you had suggested.”

            “I still think the merkin was the way to go.”

            “Maybe next time, dear, but this time I was quite exposed.”

            “Quite the exposé.”  

            “But not quite the big reveal.  Not yet anyway.” 

            “I’m listening.”

            “Yeah,” she said, “but not fucking.  Deeper Daddio.”

            I grabbed on to her ass with both hands and spread her as far as she would go for maximum insertion.  She moaned deeply. 

            “Don’t get lost in your orgasm,” I warned, “I’m just as deeply invested in your story.”

            “I asked him if he felt like eating.”

            “The ambiguity of your question is delicious.”

            “He paid the tab and we walked out of the hotel bar.  I thought we were going to go to his car, but as we were in the lobby, we saw the guests of a wedding filtering into the ballroom.  He stopped me and said, ‘I have an idea.  You look too good not to show off.  Let’s go.’  And then he took me by the hand and we crashed the wedding party.”

            “Very impulsive.”

            “We danced for a good hour before the food was served.  He twirled me and dipped me, sweeping me off my feet.”

            “Giving great views of your gams, I’m sure.”

            “My what?”

            “Never mind.”

            “From there we went to the hotel room he had ready.”

            “Just for a nightcap.”

            “In the elevator up to the room, he kissed me passionately and his right hand began going up my skirt.” 

            “I bet the elevator wasn’t the only thing going up.”

            “In the hotel room he sat me down in the chair and asked if he could make a request.”

            “What was that?”

            “He wanted to watch.”

            “What?”

            “He wanted to watch me finger myself, with my clothes on.  He said that his wife has a fear of fapping.  She never does it.  And it’s one of his favorite fantasies – women masturbating.”

            “Well, he found the right woman, alright.”

            “That was no coincidence.  He had been reading the blog for a long time.  He tried to get his wife to read it, to open her up to new ideas.”

            “And, did it?”

            “He said it didn’t.  I told him, ‘Well, I’m wide open.’  That’s when he could resist no more and he fucked me good, hard, long, and hard.”

            “There you go again,” I said.

            “What?”

            “You said hard twice.”

            “Well, he was hard.  I was easy.”

            I couldn’t take it any longer and I ejaculated deep inside her. 

            “Lo, you are the poet here,” I said as I slowly pulled out.  “You pain such vivid images in my mind.”

            “And now that you’ve dipped your pen in my inkwell, I’m sure you’ll write all about it.”

            “I’m full of ideas.”

            “And I’m full of cum.  Get me a towel.”

Lo’s Lysistrata

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“No!” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“You know very well why,” she said, turning around, standing on her tiptoes and pushing out her naked bum.  “If you want this,” she added, slapping her ass for emphasis, “then you’re going to have to earn it.”

A little backstory here is in order.  We were in a fight.  Lo was upset with me.  She was more than upset with me.  She was furious with me.  I had recently hired a red-headed, buxom, bombshell of a woman to do Public Relations for my business.  The fact that she was a red-headed buxom bombshell was most certainly not the reason I had hired her.  She had an impressive résumé, impeccable credentials, and stellar recommendations.  She had found me via LinkedIn and had offered her services to me at just the time when I was thinking of expanding my business into a new market.  In short, there were very good and eminently rational reasons to hire this woman, none of which had to do with her looks.  But Lo couldn’t get beyond the surface appearance.

“A ruby red Jessica Rabbit?!  Really?  You just had to have a complete set, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“Your secretary is a blonde bimbo.”

“She’s not a bimbo.”

“Your PR person is a ginger.  And I’m brunette.  You’ve got all your bases covered.”

“Lo, that has nothing to do with it.  Sheer coincidence.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.  I’m not even attracted to redheads.”

“All three of your previous girlfriends were redheads.”

“Exactly my point.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“All my ex’s are redheads.  I broke up with them.  Clearly red is not my color.”

“Well, no sex for you until you fire her.”

“I can’t just fire her.  That would be a violation of her rights.”

“What about my rights?” she said, thumbing her chest.

“What about them?”

“Don’t I have the right to peace of mind, quiet enjoyment, not to mention, my conjugal rights?”

“Lo, I’m ready to conjugate right now,” I said, pulling out my hard cock.

“Phhhht,” she replied, “Not until Jessica Rabbit is gone.”

Just to be clear, dear reader, the new PR person was not named Jessica, but for the purposes of this story, we’ll stick with Lo’s derogatory name for her.

“I know you’re a jealous woman but. . .” I began, trying to restate my defense.

“What sort of PR professional posts pics of herself in a thong bikini on the beach on her Instagram page?”

“You looked up her Instagram page?”

“Of course I did.  And I know you did too!”

“I most certainly did not.  But can I see?”

That little attempt at humor was definitely ill timed.  Lo put on her panties and work clothes and walked out of the room in her heels as she lifted her right hand to flip me the bird as she slammed the door behind her and called out, “NO SEX FOR YOU!”

I know that Lola wasn’t thinking rationally because what sense does it make for a nymphomaniac to go on a sex strike in order to get her way?  Nonetheless, she was upset.  Very upset.  And somehow I had to make things right.  But I didn’t know how.  Would she eventually come around?  Would I have to dismiss Jessica?  Would they have a knock down drag out cat fight?  Who knows.

One thing I was confident about was that Lo wouldn’t last long with this protest of hers.  How could she?  Unless she was going to go out there and find someone else to bang, which was always a distinct possibility.

Two, then three, then four days (and nights!) went by and she stuck to her guns.  I wasn’t even allowed to sleep in the same bed with her, but I was subjected to her moans and groans of self-pleasure.  A tantalizing torture.

After the fifth day of this cruel and very unusual punishment, I could take no more.  I had come up with a strategy for winning the war.  I put things into place and two days later, Monday afternoon, my secret weapon arrived by mail in a non-descript cardboard box, about the size of a shoebox.  It had my name on it and I purposefully left it out on the dining room table for Lo to ponder like Pandora’s box.

Like clockwork, when Lo got home and saw it she asked, “What’s that?”

“Oh, just something for me that I ordered on-line,” I replied nonchalantly.

“What is it?” she asked again, picking up the box and shaking it.

“Don’t shake it!” I warned.

“Is it fragile?  Is it for me?”

“It’s really none of your concern,” I said, knowing how much that would piss her off.

“What the fuck is it?!  You’d better tell me right now.”

“Calm down,” I said.  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I’ll find out this instant!” she said, stomping her little foot.

“It’s just. . . just something to help me out.”

“Help you out?  How?  Is it a lifetime supply of Viagra?”

“Darling, I certainly don’t need any E.D. medicines.”

“That’s what you think.”

“But you are on the right track.”

“That’s it, I’m opening it up,” she said, making for the kitchen to get scissors.

She returned and violated the sacred law of the postal service – opening another’s mail.  And when she saw what was inside, she flipped out!  All going to plan.

“Stoya the Destroya Signature Fleshlight!”

“Yes,” I said calmly, talking the box from her hands.  “If you’re going on a sex-strike, then I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands,” I said.

“A surrogate pussy?!  You throw that thing out right now!  I will not stand for it!”

“Then get on your back and spread your legs for me.”

“No.”

“OK then,” I said, turning to leave with my pussy in hand.

“Where are you going?”

“To get laid.”

“The hell you are!”

I walked into the bedroom, removed my clothes, took Stoya’s pussy out of the box, read the extensive instructions and warnings, and began to follow the directions.  I was pleased to see that it came with its own small bottle of lube.

Lo walked in.  (I hadn’t locked the door.)

“You’re really going to fuck that thing?” she asked.

“Care to watch?”  (I knew that she wouldn’t or couldn’t resist.)

She sat on the side of the bed as I stroked lube all over my hard cock.  I then put lube on my fingers and began fingering Stoya.

“What are you doing?” she asked, perplexed.

“The instructions clearly say to lubricate the inside before use.”

“Wouldn’t you rather something that’s naturally wet?” she asked as she removed her panties.  She still had on her heels from work and her black dress.  She spread her legs on the bed and pulled at her pussy lips.

“Of course I would,” I said, “but Stoya is primed and ready for me.”  (I was purposefully being an asshole.)

“I’ve been primed and ready.  Wouldn’t you rather pump this,” she asked as she slipped in a couple of fingers.

“Are you really offering?”

“No.  You can’t have it.  I’m mad at you.”

“OK then,” I said as I penetrated Stoya’s soft and supple pussy.  I had two hands on the casing of the Fleshlight and I was sliding it on and off my cock as Lo fingered her own puss with one hand and then really upped the ante by fingering her ass and saying, “Is Stoya tight?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“As tight as my little ass?”

“I doubt it.”

“Do you want my ass?” she asked, fingering both her holes in front of me as I looked on hungrily.

I continued fucking Stoya, imagining I was fucking Lola.  “You know, there’s a Stoya anal Fleshlight as well,” I said.

“Then fuck that, because you can say goodbye to these!” she retorted as she turned around on the bed so she was lying on her tum, her head propped up by her hands.  I could still see her ass as her dress was flapped up over her waist.  I knew that something Lo loves is seeing guys masturbate.  She frequently requested that I jack it for her and she can never get enough since she can’t both watch me and have me.  That’s why she wants two men at the same time.

I did as she commanded and slid the pussy down and back on my rod.  I could see her grow visibly jealous of the device.

“What?” I said at her displeasure, “You have your Hitachi, your double-ended-dildo, your Remus, your. . .”

“Shut up and cum already,” she said.

“And you’re jealous of me because once, ONCE, in however many years I get a sex toy for myself?!”

“What about your sheath?  Your penis extender?”

“That was for you, not me.”

“Enough dialogue.  Fuck that pussy and cum if you’re gonna cum.”

“If you really want me to cum,” I said, “then hold it for me.”

“You want me to hold Stoya’s pussy so you can fuck her instead of me?”
“Well, are you willing to give me your pussy?”

She reached out and held onto the thick trunk of the sleeve.  I fucked more vigorously.  Her mouth opened.  At the crucial moment, I pulled out and, without warning, ejaculated the money shot all over her delighted face.  She was dripping in my cum when she said, “That. Was. Amazing.”

[p.s. – This installment of mysexlifewithlola was not sponsored by Stoya or Fleshlight, nor are we affiliated with them. (Though we’d love to be!  Hint hint.)

 

Slap Shot

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“Tell me about the hockey team,” I say.

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

“Oooohhhh, you mean the hockey team that I met on my trip.”

“Yeah, that hockey team.  Why?  Is there another I should know about?”

“There are a lot of hockey teams in the world.”

“And you’re just the gal for each of them, aren’t you?”

“If you say so,” she says, batting her eyelids.

“Just tell me about the hockey team you began telling me about the other night.”

She had begun telling me about it the night she returned from her business trip, but I was so primed and ready for our reunification that I didn’t last long enough to hear any more than the teasing preview.  Now a few weeks had gone by of my living in ecstatic mystery wondering about her little hints and jibes and I felt ready to hear the full-length tale.

“First,” she says, “get naked and lie on your back.”

I follow instructions.

She pulls out the massage oil and drips it over my cock.  She begins to rub as the starts up where she left off.

“I told you, I was on my way back up to my hotel room when I got in the elevator with a bunch of guys who had arrived in town for a hockey tournament.  I think they positively could smell how horny I was.  They began to make small talk with me and I flirted back.  They told me that they had the entire ninth floor of the hotel.  I told them I was on the eleventh floor and I asked if they were up for coming up.”

“Let me guess, they were all very hard-up.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, caressing my member with both hands.  “Just like you. . . only bigger.”

“And?”

“Well, they invited me to their floor first and so I got off.”

“Off the elevator?”

“Well, I got off on my floor, went to my room, got myself off, freshened up, and then went to their floor.  All the doors were open on their floor and everyone was coming and going like in a dorm room.  I flitted here and there and some of them were changing or walking around with their shirts off and a few had just gotten out of the shower and had nothing on but a towel around the waist.  They were all gorgeous.”

“I bet.  I bet you didn’t even see their faces.”

“Oh, no.  I saw their faces and their arms, their chests, their lovely sculpted legs.  I saw just about everything.”

“But you wanted more.”

“More is my favorite amount.  So I invited five of them down to my room.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me.  A select five.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that.  How did you select them?”

“I had the whole team stand at attention in a row naked and I selected the five longest cocks.”

“You did not!”

“No, but a lady can dream, can’t she?”

“Anyhow, I selected the five nicest guys and we went down to my room and I told them a bit more about me before slipping off my panties.  I had my little black cocktail dress on and I bent over the side of the bed and let them take a look under it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  And I encouraged them to pull out their cocks and jack off behind me, which they did willingly.”

“I bet.”

“And then I said, ‘Go on, slap it.’  And one of them gave me a good, solid whack.”

“They were so kind and considerate.”

“I thought so too!  My fingers were down between my legs, caressing and pulling my long pussy lips.  They could see as they took turns slapping my ass.  First they were timid, but then they grew more confidant as I moaned and said ‘Yes.’  Then I asked who wanted to be first in.  One of the guys immediately got behind me and began thrusting as hard and fast as he could.  It was rough and manic like a jackhammer horizontally placed in my cunt.”

“And you loved it, I bet.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong.  But he came so quickly, deep inside me.  I crawled up on the bed and let the next guy in.  He was slower, more loving.”

“Loving?”

“Well, more gentle.  I turned over my shoulder and said, ‘You can do better than that,’ and his friends encouraged him.  They each had their puds in their hands, except for the guy who had just cum in me.  But guy number two couldn’t finish.  I guess it was a lot of pressure.  He pulled out and a lot of cum from the first guy dripped out of me.  One of them snapped a photo of me from behind just before the third guy went in me.  After that, I sort of lost track of who was where because then one of them got under me and entered me so that they were double penetrating my pussy just like I always wanted.  And later one was fingering my ass and then he let himself in there, cumming deep inside while a different guy was under me in my puss.  I have no idea who came where or how many times I came.  One of them even got in front of me and came in my mouth and on my face.  In the end, let’s just say that everyone had scored at least once.”

“Who says that hockey is a zero-sum game?”

“Right?  Win-win!”

“Any chance I can get a shot on goal?”

“It’s wide open,” she says as she gets on top of me and slides her puss down my pole.

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

“Smoother than ice, and a whole hell of a lot warmer.”

Markings On Rear

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Markings On Rear

 

“If you could have me anyway you want me, how would you have me?”

“I think you know.”

“No, I don’t.  Tell me.”

“You know.”

“Please, Daddio.  I want to hear you tell me,” she said seductively, pulling at her nipples as we lay in bed naked, next to each other.

“There’s one way that I really like to have you.”

“In the arms of another man?”

“Well, that too, but that wasn’t what I was thinking of just now.”

“Tell me.  In the arms of another woman?”

“There’s that as well, but. . .”

“The arms of another man and another woman!”

“My my, is this your fantasy or mine?”

“Well, it’s yours, but for my pleasure.”

“Isn’t it always for your pleasure?”

“No!” she protested, “I do things for your pleasure.”

“Only when my pleasure brings you pleasure.”

“That’s true.  But stop beating around the bush and tell me.”

“Interesting turn of phrase since the way I’d like to have you is. . .”

“Ooohhh!  I know what you want.  You want my ass, don’t you Daddy?”

“What gave it away?” I asked sarcastically.

She wiggled her ass in the air and said, “Well, you can’t.  Not tonight.”

“You say ‘Not tonight’ every night!”

“That’s not true.”

“Well, tell me something.”

“What’s that?” she asked, excited.

“Did you used to give up your ass more frequently than you do with me?”

“MmmmHmmm,” she said with a smile and licking her lips.

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, before you, with some of the fellas I dated in college. . .”

“Dated?” I interrupted.

“Well, fucked.”

“That’s more like it.”

“I used to take long, hot, steamy showers while they lay on the bed.”

“I bet you did.  And I know what you did in those showers too.”

“That’s right.  I’d cum and cum loudly about two or three times while I got myself all nice and clean and him all nice and hard.”

She stopped to pull on my cock and feel how hard I was at the time.

“You like my story, Daddy?”
“Oh yes.  Go on.”

“Well, when I was done, I’d come out of the shower and into the bed and I’d lie on my tum while my ass was in the air, like this.”  She put her cute bum up so she looked like a little inchworm.

“And?”

“And then I’d motion to my lover-for-the-evening to grab the body oil from my nightstand and give me a good massage with it.  He’d rub it into my calves and my lower back and I’d keep on putting my butt up in the air and I’d direct him where to go.  If he didn’t find his way, then I’d put my hand back there like so.”  She moved her hand over her ass cheek and began massaging her special spot.  “And then I’d finger myself until I came and then ask him – whomever he was – if he wanted to do the same.  I’d instruct him and direct him until he got me all revved up and then I’d tell him to get behind me and I’d make sure he slid into my puss first to get him nice and slick and then I’d direct him right. . . there.”  She let out a moan as she fingered her special spot even deeper.

“I remember those days when you used to go crazy – demanding that you wanted A to P and back again.  You’d even go A to P to M!”

“Ah, young love.  How romantic of us.  Right?”

“Why don’t you do that anymore?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”  The truth was, I was afraid of her answer.  But I still wanted to know.

“Well, Daddio, I’ve never had anyone as thick as you.”

“Come on!” I protested in disbelief.

“No, really.  I’ve had longer, but never thicker!  You stretch me till it hurts.”

“I thought you like that.”

“Sometimes.  But I need a lot more practice.”

“Well, let’s get to it,” I said, pulling her little princess plug out of her toy drawer.

She took it from me and put it in.

“Fuck me,” she begged.

“No,” I said.

“What?”

“I said no.  You have to be punished for all your sins.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said.

She got on all fours and as I spanked her bottom, the lyrics of the song “Take Me to Church” played in my head:

Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life

 

She delighted at each open-handed smack of her bottom and I could feel her getting wet.

“Have me now, Daddy,” she pleaded.

I flipped her over on her back and spread her legs.  I worshiped her like a dog, using my tongue and lapping up her sweet nectar.

I reached below the bed and pulled out her Remus as another verse of the song chimed in my ears.

Drain the whole sea
Get something shiny
Something meaty for the main course
That’s a fine looking high horse
What you got in the stable?
We’ve a lot of starving faithful

“No, Daddy!” she pleaded.  “I want you.”

“First I’m going to fill you up.”

She accepted her sentence like a proud princess on the rack.

When she was stuffed beyond a reasonable amount, I pulled out the lengthy and thick dildo and replaced it with my hard rod.

“Fill me up, Daddy,” she whispered.

“I am,” I said.

“Oh.”

She had already cum twice and now I was slipping and sliding inside her.  I could feel the princess plug protruding from below.  I flipped her over again so that she was on her hands and knees and I was thrusting behind her and with each thrust my torso pushed the princess plug in a bit deeper.

“I’m cumming!” she called, “I’m cumming in my ass!”  Oh, how I longed to hear those words.  I thrusted with greater speed and more intensity until she collapsed, falling forward on the bed and, with both hands between her legs, she tried to prevent her flood gates from bursting, to no avail.

The sheets soaked, she asked me, “Did you cum?”

“No.”

“Do you want to cum?”

“Yes.”

“Well, too bad.”

“Why?”

“Because abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Darling, I am hardly abstinent.”

“You’re hard alright,” she said, looking at my member.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I like that when I’m good I get spankings and when I’m bad I get more. . . a lot more,” she said, looking at the Remus horse dildo lying next to her on the bed.

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