Mount Bliss: Tuesday’s Tale

Posted on March 25, 2020 by Lola Down

[Continued from the mini-series “Mount Bliss” and the story “The Invitation“]

True to her word, Lo did email me the next morning. Just before noon I received the missive. She said, briefly, that she and Lily had arrive around 1:00 in the afternoon the previous day and that the cottage is very cute. It’s a two bed, two full-bath place on a vacation destination lake, surrounded by woods. But, according to Lo, it is far from “a small cabin. We’re not talking Thoreau, here,” she said. Each of the bedrooms had its own fireplace and the bathrooms were as large as our master bedroom at home.

She said that she and Lily were greeted by Collin and his wife. Wife?! I had no idea he was married and apparently neither did Lo. Of course Lily did know, but she had never mentioned her aunt to us. According to Lo, Collin and his wife, Suzanne, have a strained relationship. More often than not, Lily would see Collin at family events and not Suzanne. There was always some plausible excuse, but Lily was never very close with Suzanne; Collin being Lily’s father’s brother. But she was at the cabin for this visit. Lo said she was nice enough, though neither Lily nor Lola knew she’d be in attendance.

After they arrived Monday, Collin and Suzanne had a large lunch ready for them and they ate outside. The weather was perfect – in the seventies, sunny, remarkably no mosquitos! After lunch, Collin showed them around the area. They took his Jeep and drove to town, up the mountain, and down into the little artist community nearby. Lily sat in front and Lo in the back until they stopped for ice cream at one of Collin’s little out-of-the-way places that only locals know about. It was about halfway up one of the mountains by a little lake and it had a great view of the larger lake below where the cabin sat.

After their ice cream – Collin’s treat – Lo sat up front. “Want to do a little off-roading?” he asked. The girls were up for a bit of an adventure. So they took the dirt trail down the mountain. “Hold on,” said Collin with a wide grin on his face.

The ride down the mountain was bumpy and Lo really thought they were going to flip the Jeep over. At one point, Collin reached out his large hand and, using the excuse of protecting Lo as they went over a big bump, he pawed her breast. She, in her excitement, grabbed his hand and held it tightly as it rested on her bare thigh.

When they got to the bottom of the mountain and back on the road, Collin turned to her and said, “Are you ok?” as he rubbed her smooth leg.

“My heart’s racing just a little,” said Lo. He kept his hand on her leg the rest of the ride home.

When they got back to the house, Collin brought in some wood from outside.

“Are you going to make a fire?” asked Lo.

“Later tonight,” said Collin.

“But it’s so warm,” said Lo who was in a crop-top and short-shorts.

“It will cool down tonight. We’re up in the mountains and the temperature has some dramatic swings.”

Suzanne made them all alcoholic beverages and they sat out on the lawn, in the waning sunshine of the day, sipping their tall, cool drinks and chatting before dinner. Suzanne is in her mid-fifties, younger than Collin, and in very good shape. She has shoulder length black hair and likes to wear tight jeans. They have no kids together, just a large brown and white dog, named Bandit, who was running in the yard, carefree, and a small black dog named Shadow who lay under the table in the shade.

Lo’s Short Shorts, Sexy Ass & Pussy

“Tomorrow, we’ll go out on the boat,” said Collin. Lo’s eyes lit up. She loves a man whose sole purpose is to entertain her.

They had a big meal inside and then Collin lit a roaring fire. They sat by it, but it made the girls sleepy and soon they were headed off to bed. It was a California king size bed that they were sharing. Once they were both in it and the lights were off, Lo turned to Lily and said, “Your uncle Collin is really something.”

“Yeah,” said Lily, “He’s always been a lot of fun.”

“But so handsome too. Men’s magazine handsome.”

“I’ll admit, I always had a bit of a crush on him,” said Lily. “Is that weird?”

“No, not at all,” said Lo, before turning on her back and silently stroking herself under the covers. “Do you mind,” asked Lo, “if I really quickly rub one out? I kinda need to in order to fall asleep.”

Lily didn’t mind. Lo, luckily, didn’t squirt.

Hallmark of a Happy Hotwife

Posted on March 19, 2020 by Lola Down

Lola helps her bf cum

Writing is a solitary act. Writing a sex blog is not. Almost by definition, writing a sex blog is an invitation for strangers to enter your bedroom and allow them easy access to, well, to your deepest, darkest, most mysterious parts of yourself.

“Are there pictures of you on your blog?” asked one fella who apparently got Lo’s email, but had not explored the website for himself yet.

Lo’s sarcastic and salacious response was, “Is there water in the ocean? Only one way to find out – dive in and get wet!”

After a couple sent us a photo of the two of them making love while simultaneously looking at Lo’s photos on the computer, she turned to me and said, “I guess I’m just a hopeless romantic. I love helping couples cum together.”

My Friend from NJ enjoying the stories about me.

A different fella sent Lo some sexy photos of himself hard for her and asked for some in return.

“If you keep it up, I promise you’ll get more,” she said, never shy of telling men to keep it up.

“What’s your name?” asked Lo of one admirer.

“Justin.”

“Oh, my man was ‘just in’ me!”

Her dad jokes are equal to her daddy issues.

“How are your book sales doing?” inquired a reader.

“Well, we have 5 books out. They sell fairly regularly, like 3-4 a week. The e-books do better – probably because a lot of married men don’t want some smut to show up on their doorstep for their wives to find. That’s my job.”

“What is?”

“To be some slut who shows up on their doorstep for their wives to find.”

“Which do you recommend, the e-book or the hard-copy?”

“I recommend you get it hard.”

“Do you like to get tribute pics?” asked one guy.

“Cum to me – big, small, sissy, straight – I like it all!”

One guy sent Lo a pic of himself getting off to her photos while his wife was sleeping naked in the bed next to him. She turned to me and said, “I love being the goto girl for married men. The only thing hotter than that is being the goto mutual masturbation material for couples.”

One morning, before Christmas, she posted a bunch of photos of her in a red dress, exposing her naked crotch.

“What are you up to?” I asked her naively.

“I’m just spreading the cheer,” she answered as she showed me the computer screen filled with her pussy pics.

“Do men just want to see your pussy?”

“No,” she said, “women do too.”

“I mean, are people only interested in that one part?”

She shot back, “They say that the whole is greater than the parts, but my hole isn’t greater than all my parts.”

“Let’s play a game,” I suggested.

“Oooo, what sort of game?”

“You spread your legs and I’ll pretend to be NASA and I’ll be the first to get a photograph of a black hole.”

“Funny, but no. Instead of photographing me, why don’t you bend me over the bed and fuck me?”

“I can’t, I have to get to work.”

“Just bend me over and fill me up.”

“It’s not a Quickie Mart. I’m not just gonna fill ’er up and grab a coffee.”

“Why not?”

I walked over to her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and spread them far apart. I touched her inner thigh.

“Are you mad at me, Daddy?” she asked in her little girl tone of voice, looking up at me.

“I want you to do what makes you happy.”

“Then I should be doing you. I wanted you last night,” she said.

“Yeah, well you didn’t say so.”

“You couldn’t tell from how I was stroking your cock?”

“You didn’t say you wanted me.”

“I didn’t know I had to use a magic formula, like ‘Open Sesame.’”

“I like to hear you say it.”

She grabbed my cock over my slacks as I stood at the side of the bed. She used her other hand to spread her pussy lips. “Get back in bed.”

“Why?”

“Cause I said so.”

“Why?”

“Cause.”

“What do you want?”

“Get back in bed and I’ll show you.”

I climbed back into the bed, still in my suit. “OK.”

She fondled me more. “Don’t you want me, Daddy?”

“I want to hear you articulate your needs.”

“Fuck me.”

Though it was a command and not a request, nonetheless, I pulled down my pants and got between her legs and said, “Open says me.”

“Oh, Daddy, you don’t have to say any magic formula for me. I’m always open.”

After she came, I got out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I have a lot of things to do. You were just first on the list.”

I went to work. It was her “work at home” day. Yeah, right.

When I returned, a little after one, for lunch, I found her in the same position I had left her: on the bed, computer open, legs open, fingers between her legs.

“I’m ready for lunch, Daddy,” she said. “Feed me.”

“What do you want?”

“Your meat.”

This was as close as a request as I was going to get. I got out of my suit this time and into bed next to her. I reached down between her legs.

“You’re sopping wet.”

“Maybe it’s because of my multiple orgasms.”

“What multiple orgasms?” I feigned shock.

“I jilled it this morning.”

“Without me?!” Again, faux-surprise.

“I got lonely.”

“Lonely or horny?”

“Both.”

“So you jilled it all morning?”

“Not all morning. It went into the afternoon.”

“And you still want me now?”

“Do you want me?” she asked, back to playing coy.

“Why don’t you just come out and ask for what you want?” I asked in exasperation.

“It’s as obvious as 2+2=4!”

“Then why don’t you just say ‘four’?”

“What do you think this is, golf?”

“I’m hoping for a hole in one.”

“Two in one hole would be better,” she said.

I was poised to penetrate her. She licked her fingers and put them down below to wriggle herself a bit. She moaned, “Oh yeah, that feels good.” Then, a little later, she moaned again, “I like that. Yes.” Followed by, “Mmmmm, deeper.”

I said to her, “Lo, I’m not even in you. I’m patiently waiting my turn to enter.”

“Just a little while longer,” she whispered, enchanted by her own ability to make love to herself.

After she came, I got out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To eat my lunch. That’s what I came home to do.”

“But what about me?” she whined.

“Darling, I’ve been at work while you’ve been home just sitting here twiddling your thumbs.”

“And diddling my bean!”

“Well, don’t let me interrupt your obviously packed calendar.”

“Don’t go!” she pleaded.

“If you want something, you need to learn to ask.”

“Get in the bed and fuck me.”

“See, you sound like a drill sergeant barking orders at privates.”

“I’ll bark at your privates alright.”

“That’s it, I’m going,” I said, actually pissed at her.

“Oh, don’t be mad Daddy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to fight.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“We’re not?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “The friction point between your feelings and mine – that’s called a relationship.”

“Well, come over here and let me grease up that friction point.”

I returned to the bed and this time her hands were between her legs, but not to frig herself, but to pull her pussy lips apart, opening her doors wide to accept my piston.

I slid in with a slurping sound and she whispered, “It’s a well-oiled machine.”

It was so well lubricated that I unthinkingly commented, “It’s lost in there like a needle in a haystack!”

“Is it my fault that you’re like a needle?”

“That’s it,” I said, pulling out. “I’m going to go out for lunch.”

I walked out of the room and she threw a pillow at the door.

I popped back in and looked at her.

“Unarmed?” I asked.

Another pillow flew at me. I quickly shut the bedroom door, blocking her attempt.

Opening the door again, I asked, “So, do you want me?”

“Well, on the one hand, I do, but on the other hand, I’m still mad at you.”

“Which hand wants me? – use that one. . . on yourself.”

I left and she yelled out, “Fuck you!”

When I got home later that day, I found dinner on the table and Lola running up to me at the door, giving me a big, wet kiss on the lips.

I pulled back a little and looked at her in the skimpy outfit she was wearing.

“That’s a beautiful, sexy sundress,” I remarked.

“It’s not a sundress. It’s a shirt.”

“Well, it should be a sundress. What an ass! You look great in that sundress!”

“It’s not a sundress!”

“Let me take a picture of you.”

“No. But I think it’s cute that you want to.”

“You look so good. Let me take a few pics. . . for posterity’s sake.”

When I said that, she turned around, bent over, and proudly displayed to me her posterity.

“Lo,” I said, “I think I’m allergic to you.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because every time I get near your naked body my penis swells up. Why don’t we skip dinner and get right to dessert?”

“Oh, Daddy, this isn’t for you,” she said apologetically.

“What?”

“No, I’m expecting Robert for dinner.”

“Robert?! Seriously?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I should have told you.”

“When did these plans happen?”

“Well. . . um,” she was stalling.

“Lo.”

“After you left. I was mad at you, so I called him and invited him over for dinner.”

“Looks like you’re expecting him to eat more than the chicken breast you made,” I said, looking again at the sexy little number she was wearing.

“Would you like a plate?” she asked, offering a consolation prize.

“No,” I said. “I’m tired and I’m hungry. I’d like to change out of my suit, sit at the table, and be waited on hand-and-foot.”

“That still might happen,” she said. “The night is young.”

“And I’m old.”

“You can say that again.”

“And I’m old.”

“I wish I could turn back time to when you were in your thirties.”

“You weren’t even born then.”

“But Daddy,” she said, pressing her tits up against my chest, “I’ll save my sinning for you. I’ll be a good girl, but I’ll be ready to be bad with you. You’re my sexual rebellion, my slut revolution, my love liberation.”

I looked longingly at the warm meal, meticulously laid out on the table.

Lo turned my head so I was looking back at her.

“I liked the picture you texted me,” I said, referring to a naughty text she had sent me while I was at work.

“Did you jack off to it at work?”

“No!”

“Well why not? You weren’t the only one I sent it to, you know. A lot of other guys did jack off to it at work. I’m beginning to think you don’t love me as much as they do.”

“Because I don’t jack off to you at work?”

“Precisely.”

“But I can fuck you at home.”

“It’s not the same.”

Just then the doorbell rang. Robert was at the door.

“Can we continue this conversation later, Daddy?” she asked.

“Where would you like me to go while you and your date have dinner?” I asked, defeated.

“Why don’t you get yourself a nice meal at your favorite restaurant and I’ll call you when we’re done?”

“Not longer than an hour?”

“Definitely not longer than two, promise.”

I let Robert in and, after a brief hello, I said I was just on my way out. “Enjoy your meal,” I said very sarcastically.

Two and a half hours, one meal, two beers, and an old fashioned later, my phone finally signaled a text from Lo: “Cum to me.”

I walked in and found her naked sitting at the dining room table. No Robert.

She was looking at her computer and showed me some photos.

One guy typed, “Got any more naughty pics?”

“If that’s not enough for you, then just google ‘mysexlifewithlola.’ You’ll get more pics than you can shake a stick at.”

“That’s funny,” she said to me.

“Shake a stick at?”

“Yeah.”

“Very droll, dear,” I said as I stood next to her. “How was your dinner date?”

She didn’t answer my question. She just undid the button of my pants and slithered me out of them.

She sat me down in the chair and positioned her body over me. She clearly wanted me to fuck her. But I wanted her to ask. She said, “You have to learn to intuit. Intuit! Intuit!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get into it!” I said as she spread her legs over my lap and pressed her tits into my face. Cum, Robert’s cum, slowly slid out of her spread pussy lips and dripped onto my hard cock.

She lowered herself down on me and I entered her slowly, like the filter of a French Press plunging intently into the warm, wet cannister.

A breathy moan.

She kissed me and after, she lifted herself up, turned around, and slid down, her back toward me.

She began typing on her computer as she rhythmically rode my pole.

“Lo, are you ever going to get off that machine?”
“I told you, Daddy, it’s my work from home day.”

“Well, I think you need to take a break.”

“I’ll get off of it, just as soon as I get off from it.”

“Can’t I get you off, vaginally, not virtually, you know, like in the old days?”

“It enhances the experience.”

I looked over her shoulder and saw that she sent to a guy a photo of herself with a little space for a caption to be written about her.

She typed, “Why don’t you fill in the blank.”

“I thought that was my job,” I said, meaning both filling up her cunt and my job as a writer.

She noticed my presence again when I said that and she let me look over her shoulder as she clicked on a picture of a guy holding up his phone with Lo’s photo on it while he fucked his wife. “I love that he’s is thinking of me while he is fucking her.”

“Such a sincere sentiment. It should go in a Hallmark card.”

“That’s brilliant!” she shouted, turning around to look at me.

“What is?”

“A line of Lola greeting cards.”

“Perhaps you could create them. I think you could use another hobby to focus all your creative juices.”

And at that, she lifted up just enough to release her climactic juices on me.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy!”

“It’s quite alright. Maybe one of these days we’ll get around to my orgasm. Or should I just go on-line and pose as one of your admirers?”

“I’m sorry!” she said again.

“It’s ok. I guess women can also have premature ejaculation.”

“It was hardly premature,” she said.

She began stroking my cock, now extremely lubricated by her and Robert’s emollient, as she told me that Robert went at her like never before. Her theory was that he liked being waited on hand-and-foot.

“And how was your dinner, Daddy,” she asked, as she continued to jack me off.

I couldn’t answer. I was too busy imagining her with Robert.

“Did you get a good meal? Did it fill you up? I was so full up,” she said.

I was speechless.

“Were you thinking of me, Daddy? Did you think about how he got his rocks off to me? Did you think about how we fucked in the dining room, right here, where you are now?”

“Did you show him your internet admirers too?”

“No, Daddy. We just fucked. He bent me over the table and fucked me. Then he turned me over and spread my legs and fucked me as I sat on the edge of the table. The windows were open and he fucked me hard as I screamed at the top of my lungs. I’m sure the neighbors saw, or at least heard it all. Then he grabbed my ankles and lifted them up high and pulled out of my pussy and slid into my ass. Back and forth, back and forth he went, filling one hole and then another. He asked where I wanted him to cum and I didn’t care. I told him I didn’t want him to cum yet. Fuck me! Fuck my holes! I said, but he came and came deep in me. He collapsed on the chair where you’re sitting now and I slid off the table and got on my knees, like I am now, and covered his cock with my mouth to lick him clean until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Then he put his clothes on and left, leaving me naked at the table.”

She saw that I was finally ready to explode and she dropped her dirty mouth down on to my dick, just like she described with Robert, and coaxed me to cum. And cum I did, forcefully and voluminously. So much that it came out of her nose. She was a hot mess, literally, when I was done.

“There you go,” I said, “the hallmark of a happy hotwife.” I chuckled to myself when I reflected that the original meaning of “hallmark” was “a sign of purity.”

Lola’s Christmas Card

A Report on the Nymphomaniac Condition

Posted on March 5, 2020 by Lola Down

“A Report on the Nymphomaniac Condition” first appeared in ENM (Ethical Non-Monogamy) Magazine, March, 2020 issue.

It was said by the renowned sex researcher, Alfred Kinsey, that “A nymphomaniac is someone who has more sex than you do.” It would seem that modern psychology has caught up with Kinsey’s insight. The dictionary of psychological disorders, the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM), removed nymphomania from its list in 1980. But does that mean Nymphomania no longer exists?

In popular culture “sex addiction” has been used as a catch-all for a number of “disorders” that have been named and described: hypersexuality, compulsive sexual behavior, erotomania, hyperfilia, etc. But the DSM puts almost all of these under one listing: Sexual Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. This heading is as ambiguous, amorphous, and as slippery as the subject itself.

However, let’s keep in in mind that no matter how something is categorized or listed, it’s not a “disorder” unless it is distressing to the person exhibiting it or has detrimental effects in one’s life. If the result of the behavior is a net negative, then it could be labeled a disorder. That net negative could be manifested psychologically, as in feelings of guilt and remorse, or could result in actual physical harm to oneself. Other net negatives could include weakening of relationships, loss of a job, or other harms external to oneself.

Fan, getting off to Lo at work

In modern European and American culture, nymphomania has as checkered a past as the women diagnosed with it. Even though there is a male correlate to it – satyriasis – the two labels have been employed in radically different ways. Historically, the ascription of “nymphomaniac” has been applied to women who, had their gender been ascribed to men and the behaviors described as those of men, rarely would they be described as afflicted with satyriasis. In other words, historically, women exhibiting the same healthy and robust sexuality of men would be diagnosed with a disorder while their male counterparts gained the praise and admiration of others as Don Juans.

But, in the last decade or so, with the rise of internet porn, the term “sex addict” has been increasingly utilized in less stereotypical and gender specific, patriarchal ways. Famous actors such as Rob Lowe, David Duchovny, and Charlie Sheen all have come out as being sex addicts, making it easier for others to do so.

Despite the DSM debunking the myth of nymphomania and our modern society’s willingness to embrace a more gender-neutral term applicable to men and women, the term “nymphomania” and its connotations continues to live on in the culture’s consciousness and the collective unconscious.

Fan, getting off to Lo

Nymphomania is a concept that has a history to it almost as old as civilization itself. In Jewish lore there was Lilith, the contemporary or predecessor of Eve, who refused to be subservient to Adam and, supposedly, insisted on taking the “top” position during sex. Her name is derived from the Hebrew for “night” and she is associated with other female night demons who seduce men. As such, she is a succubus. This tale probably has its origin in explaining men’s nocturnal emissions.

Throughout history, assertive women and sexually promiscuous women have been associated with the demonic. Accusing a woman of being a witch was one way of marginalizing or eradicating powerful and lustful women. In more recent times, diagnosing them as hysterical was another. Perhaps if we rewrote history as “hystery” (from the Greek, hyster, meaning “womb”) we would have different stories to tell. But, from the ancient Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh, in which the goddess of love, Ishtar, unsuccessfully tries to seduce the hero, and the temple prostitute, Shamhat, successfully seduces and thereby defiles the natural man of the wild, Enkidu, to Helen of Troy, whose face and unfaithful figure launched a thousand ships, to the Sirens and Calypso, all the way through to Gatsby’s fair Daisy Fay Buchanan, wanton women have been revered and rebuked by the West’s confused attitude toward female sexuality.

In the West, only Virgins, like Mary, and doting, devoted wives, like Penelope and Henry James’ Isabel Archer, get univocal approval.

(The East, by contrast, is not as uncomfortable with strong, sexual, and wise women. From Cali to Guan Yin, not only are they revered and worshiped, but even the gender ambiguity of Vishnu is given prominence.)

Even in the contemporary medium of myth-telling – movies – the nymphomaniac is never depicted as anything but pathological and her fate is always a morality tale told from the point of view of the negative exemplar. Lolita, the touchstone of our modern-day horny heroine, has been made into a movie twice: once in 1962 by Kubrick and once in 1997 by Adrian Lyne. Based upon the classic book by Nabokov, the films and the book stand in a league of their own. The ultimate fate of Nabokov’s Lolita (spoiler alert) is morally ambiguous. Clearly a letdown to the pedophile protagonist, Humbert Humbert, when he finds his life-long love at the end of the book, we are never given any insight into mature Lolita’s feelings of fulfillment in family or lack thereof. However, it is, perhaps, too hasty to say that there have only been two Lolita films made. One of the most popular tropes in porn is Lolita. In this way the myth of the nymph lives on and on.

Lola Down, 21st Century Lolita

Other films, such as Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac and Craig Brewer’s Black Snake Moan, put nymphomania front and center. However, in both, the female protagonist is depicted as pitifully damaged and pathologically in need of redemption. In the latter film, that redemption takes the form of Christina Ricci, dressed only in her panties and a cutoff t-shirt, being chained to a cast iron heating radiator by a strong black man (Samuel L. Jackson). As psychologically dubious as this “treatment” might be, it could be said that the film gets to some deep, underlying archetypical images and fantasies buried in the American collective unconscious by playing on race, gender, and slave tropes.

The former film, Nymphomania, as drab and sexually non-stimulating as it is, does get to some diagnostic characteristics. As Robert Weiss, founder of the Sexual Recovery Institute, has discussed in his “Thoughts on Nymphomaniac: Volume I,” in the Huffington Post, March 20, 2014:

Nymphomaniac: Volume I is “sex addiction accurate.”

Joe’s sexual exploits start out (rather early in life) as innocent and fun-seeking, but before long she’s using them less for enjoyment and more for escape. This is typical. Simply put, addicts of all types engage in their addictions not to feel better, but to feel less.
• Joe views men as objects — a means to sexual gratification — rather than seeing them as equals and potential partners in emotional intimacy. When her lies actually ruin one man’s life, she feels nothing for either him or his wife and kids. Nor does she change her behavior.
• Joe spends nearly all of her free time pursuing sex. She has no other interests or hobbies.
• Joe’s sexual activity escalates in both amount and intensity. She has more and more partners as her addiction progresses, and she engages in ever-more risky behaviors.
• Joe’s response to any sort of emotional crisis is sex. When her father is terminally ill in the hospital, she has sex with an attendant. Later, she experiences sexual arousal at his deathbed.
• Joe seeks a sense of control and power through sex. For instance, she ‘allows’ or ‘forbids’ certain activities. At one point she speaks to Seligman about ‘privileges’ granted to one of her regular sex partners. Using sex to feel ‘in control’ is common with sex addicts, especially with female sex addicts.
• Joe appears to have not bonded appropriately with her ‘cold hearted bitch’ of a mother, relying on her father for kindness and nurture. Her childhood flashbacks show that she learned ways to ‘please’ her father, and that doing so was incredibly important. Even though their relationship does not appear to have been sexual or otherwise abusive, it is clear that she learned early on that the way to get love from men is to please them. This type of dysfunctional childhood bonding is common in sex addicts of both genders.
• By the end of the film, Joe’s entire life (not just her sex life) has become ‘monotonous and pointless.’ She compares her daily movements to those of a caged animal. Everything she does is rote and repetitious, and nothing has any meaning — especially not the sex. At one point she says to a partner, during sex, ‘I can’t feel anything,’ and it is clear that she is talking about both physical numbness and emotional numbness.

Though Weiss points out in the article that female sex addicts are often ascribed “highly shaming labels” such as nympho, slut, tramp, and whore, “that society routinely attaches to women who have a lot of sex, regardless of whether they do so because they enjoy it” or not, he does not in any way discuss the possibility of a positive nymphomaniacal experience in which those labels are coopted into accolades.

The linguist Geoff Nunberg has pointed out that many one-time derogatory and profane words have been coopted and reappropriated by the subjugated, marginalized, and oppressed populations against whom the slurs were originally leveled. As he says about the term “slut,” “after a Toronto police constable told a crime prevention meeting that women should avoid dressing like sluts if they don’t want to be victimized,” “slut walks” served as a way “to protest the whole culture of slut-shaming.” He points out that, “it is hard to imagine ‘slut’ being reclaimed the way ‘queer’ was, as a respectable label for academic programs and cultural centers.” (“Slut: The Other Four Letter S-Word,” on Fresh Air, WHYY, NPR, March 13, 2012)

This sort of reevaluation of values is exactly what Lo is literally embodying, pushing psychology today to free itself from the prejudices of patriarchy. She wears the labels “slut,” “tramp,” “whore,” and yes, “nymphomaniac” proudly (and she often wears little else). Between us, we use the words “nymphomania” and “slut” as honorifics rather than stigmatizing terms. Every slur can be reclaimed and used subversively by the oppressed.

There is some evidence that lustful, liberated women are making inroads into the tyranny of normativity. Thinkers such as Rollo May have proposed a theory of the daimonic, hearkening back to the origin of “demonic” as coming from the Greek “daimon.” For the Greeks, daimon meant something more akin to a personal deity; a guiding angel, you might say, rather than a guardian angel.

May uses the term “daimonic” to denote a drive that is not univocal in nature and, in one word, is akin to Freud’s dual Eros/Thanatos drives. As May says of the daimonic, it “has the power to take over the whole person. Sex and eros, anger and rage, and the craving for power are examples. The daimonic can be either creative or destructive and is normally both.” (May, Rollo, Love and the Daimonic, p. 123) It is worth mentioning here that, before May and Freud, there was a theory of human psychology in Judaism that posited two chambers in the heart: the yetzer tov and the yetzer ra. The former, “the impulse for good,” and the latter, “the impulse for evil,” worked in tandem and the rabbis believed that neither was “evil” (unlike the proverbial Christian good angel and devil on one’s shoulders), but that the yetzer ra was a force that propelled humans to creativity and sexual union, but it needed to be bent toward the yetzer tov in order to avoid its destructive tendency and be sublimated into socially acceptable expressions and activities that benefited society. One can easily see the parallels between that and Freud’s Eros/Thanatos theory. Perhaps “parallel,” is too benign. Maybe Freud was more plagiarizing from his own tradition. In line with this theory of complementarity, May has said, “The daimonic (unlike the demonic, which is merely destructive), is as much concerned with creativity as with negative reactions.” (Diamond, Stephen A., Anger, Madness, and the Daimonic: The Psychological Genesis of Anger, Madness, and the Daimonic, from the Forward by Rollo May, p. xxi)

In the nymphomaniac, the daimonic drive has been described as a propensity toward indiscriminate, compulsive, and often risky sexual behavior. To the extent that this is dangerous, harmful, and results in negative net results, it is “pathological.”

But that’s not the whole story.

As was mentioned above, the daimonic is also the engine driving creativity and the nymphomaniac can use her prurient powers for good, positive, “healthy” outcomes. As Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, the pioneer psychologist in the study of “flow” or “optimal experience,” has said, “One manifestation of energy is sexuality. Creative people are paradoxical in this respect also. They seem to have quite a strong dose of eros, or generalized libidinal energy, which some express directly into sexuality.” (Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, “The Creative Personality,” Psychology Today, 1996, p. 38) I believe that the reverse of this is true as well: One manifestation of sexuality is creative energy. Perhaps that is because, as Csikszentmihalyi also says, “a certain spartan celibacy is also a part of [the creative person’s] makeup; continence tends to accompany superior achievement. Without eros, it would be difficult to take life on with vigor; without restraint, the energy could easily dissipate.” (Ibid.) Of course, the nymphomaniac is characterized by her lack of “continence,” but that does not mean that her prodigal participation in pleasure isn’t also a creative, artistic, and perhaps even a performative act. Seeing sex and art as two separate realms is the fundamental error in this analysis. Sex can be every bit a creative endeavor, full of “flow” and genius as a Picasso or Pollock painting. The only difference being that the “results” are fleeting, ephemeral, perhaps even “dissipated.”

In my particular case, I would say that writing about Lola Down, my own personal high priestess of porn and beloved nymphomaniac, is also a result of the daimonic and the writing often flows of its own accord in peak moments, like autographia. According to Csikszentmihalyi, flow is the experience of intense concentration during creative endeavors. For me, that describes the act of writing. For Lo, that describes the act of fucking. For me, the restraint and “continence” is crucial to produce just the right amount of effulgent energy. But for Lo, her creative power may be more akin to “the woman who identifies with the archetypal role of Muse or femme inspiratrice, providing sexual love to artists.” (Diamond, Stephen A., “What Motivates Sexual Promiscuity?” Psychology Today, 2011)

This is not to say that Lo doesn’t have her own creative endeavors, her own talents, interests, and areas of outstanding achievement. Far from it! But she does love being celebrated as muse, not only by me, but by all the artists who have been inspired to draw or paint her, as well as those who have written lovely verse and prose to her and about her. In addition, she frequently hears from women and men and couples who credit her as an inspiration in the bedroom. Frequently these accolades are accompanied by “tribute” photos of the men, women, and couples cumming to her inspiring images.

As much as all this worship is proudly welcomed by Lo, it is also of concern how many people – mostly men, but some women – write in to lament that, for them, the nymphomaniac is akin to some sort of mythical figure, a unicorn, a phoenix, or the Holy Grail. These awestruck admirers cannot believe that one actually exists, in the flesh, as it were. They had heard rumor of such creatures, but had never met one or received confirmation of their reality. Lo, like the Holy Grail, is for them a receptacle into which they can pour forth all of their hopes and dreams (and bodily exuberances) and also a cup that runneth over, spilling forth for all who thirst for her baptismal water.

Is this perceived paucity of nymphos due to the stigma attached to the term, repression of sexuality, or a failure to recognize and reclaim the term in a positive light? I don’t have the answer to these questions, but one thing was clear early on in my relationship with Lo – I was unable to find anyone writing about their nymphomaniacal girlfriend and the great challenges such relationships entail. So I began writing about it in a public forum in order to inform others and also to find out if others could inform me. It’s been a fun and enlightening journey and I thank all of you for your words of wisdom, encouragement, and envy. But most of all, I thank Lo for opening me up to all new vistas of life’s possibilities.

email downloladown@gmail.com for more info

Birthday Sex

Posted on February 29, 2020 by Lola Down

After the fiasco that was our double date with Mark and Stephanie to see the play, In the Next Room, remarkably, we got an invitation to join them for dinner to celebrate Mark’s birthday. He was turning thirty-five and Stephanie had invited over three couples, including us. That made for eight people, including the man of honor and his lovely wife.

I saw Lola dolling herself up for the party and I said to her, “Look, I don’t want any shenanigans out of you tonight.”

“Can I have some shenanigans in me?”

“No!”

“Daddy,” she said in a sweet voice, putting her hand on my chest and rubbing it, “what are shenanigans?”

“Lo, don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Last time they were here, you broadcast your masturbatory movies over the speaker system and I had to make apologies to our guests. This time we are going to be their guests, so please just let it be an uneventful evening.”

“But that’s so boring, Daddy,” she pouted.

“Boring or not, I’m keeping you on a short leash.” I immediately regretted my choice of words.

Her ears picked up and her eyes opened wide, “A leash?! Yes,” she said, putting up her hands like a dog begging for scraps.

“We leave in five minutes,” I said, ending the exchange.

Eighteen and a half minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom wearing a sheer blouse and her cutoff denim shorts – cutoff a bit too short – high heels, and nothing but smooth, sexy skin between the shoes and the denim.

“You’re not actually wearing that, are you?”

She turned up her nose at me and said, “I certainly am! What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, if you’re dressed as Daisy Duke for Halloween. But this is a birthday dinner.”

Sheer Top

“Hrmph,” she grunted, defiantly. “It’s July and it’s hot and I’m hot and I’m wearing this.”

“But your shorts have holes in them,” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, my shorts have two holes in them, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get both of them filled.”

“That’s not what. . .” I gave up, exasperated.

When we arrived, around six, we rang the bell and were let in by Stephanie. She seemed very glad to see us and led us into the living room where everyone was congregated. We were the last to arrive.

To my great surprise, she hadn’t invited three couples. That, apparently, was my assumption. No. She had invited four other women and us. That still made for eight altogether, but it was six women, Mark and me. I was by far the oldest. All the women were in their thirties, except Lo, who was in her twenties. Mark and Stephanie had dropped their kids off with her parents and the only other member of the house was their dog who immediately took an interest in Lo, putting his snout in her crotch and sniffing as soon as we were in the door. My first thought was, “She’s not wearing panties under those shorts I bet.”

Short Shorts

We introduced ourselves and sat in the loveseat. Mark, the man of the hour, was seated in a large recliner. The other women and Stephanie were on the sectional couch. I immediately thought of an episode of “The Bachelor.” I felt like I was the T.V. camera viewing all these women vying for Mark’s attention. Apparently Lo wasn’t the only one with the hots for him. But why, I wondered, had Stephanie invited them all over? And why did she invite us?

Then I remembered what Stephanie had said to me the night she and Mark threw the Super Bowl party. With tears in her eyes, she said that she hadn’t had a sex drive since their second kid was born, but she wanted Mark to be happy. Was this a set-up for him? – Happy birthday, darling, have your pick of the women.

I could tell, just by looking at Lo and how she practically bared her breasts to Mark every time she reached for an appetizer on the coffee table, that she was mentally making the very same calculations as I. If that was Stephanie’s game, then Lo was keen on being the winner.

The conversation turned to the heat wave we were experiencing and Lo made some remark about how good the AC felt. As she said it, I could see her nipples clearly protruding through the thin white material of her blouse. Yep, she was cooling down alright, just as she was heating things up.

I was curious about these other four women. Who were they? I didn’t remember them from the Super Bowl party.

I eventually found out that Mark didn’t know them either. They were friends of Stephanie’s and new friends at that. Lo had an in; she was the oldest friend Mark had there, and also the youngest.

Stephanie brought drinks and Lo got more comfortable. She slipped out of her heels and I noticed that she had gotten a pedicure and manicure. Her little toes looked like shiny red candy, as did her fingernails.

Even with the AC on, the cold drinks had condensation dripping down the sides, and I suspect that that wasn’t all that was dripping.

Stephanie said she wanted to do presents before dinner and that we had to go outside for Mark’s gift.

We all filed out the front door except Stephanie. When we were in the front yard, we were all wondering what was going to happen. Suddenly the garage door opened and, voilà! Stephanie was standing by a Honda CG 150. “Ta-da!” she said.

Mark was super excited and he practically ran up to the bike and gave Stephanie a big kiss.

“Let’s go for a ride!” he said to her. But she declined, using getting dinner ready as an excuse. “Anyone?” he asked to us. Of course, Lola immediately volunteered.

Stephanie passed her a helmet and after Mark got on, she hopped on, swinging her right leg over the machine, practically exposing the two holes she had mentioned earlier. She slid up behind Mark, resting her hands on his broad shoulders.
“I thought you were terrified of motorcycles?” I asked her.

“I am. But I’ll just have to hold on tight,” she said, reaching around Mark’s waist.

Mark started the machine and revved it up and I saw how excited the sound made Lo. Off they went, the back of her bum peeking out of the top of her short shorts.

The rest of us went inside.

The other women went into the living room and I offered to help Stephanie with dinner.

“Hey Steph,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” she asked naïvely.

“The women, Lo?”

She put down the bowl of salad and turned to me. “HH, we had a talk last time you were here. You remember.”

I nodded my head.

“If he can’t be happy with me, then at least I can help him to be happy with someone else.”

“What do you mean not happy with you?”

“I see what’s going on. I know that he has needs that I just can’t fulfill. I see how he looks at Lo. I’m not dumb. I want him to be satisfied.”

“Sex is one thing,” I said, “but it’s not everything.”

“Right.” I couldn’t tell if that was a sarcastic “right” or just apathetic.

“So, he can be happy with you.”

“Well, I want to make sure that he’s happy with me.”

“I’m sure he is,” I said to her, reassuringly.

Meanwhile, on the motorcycle, Lo was holding on to Mark around the waist and, as they rode, her hands slid lower, little-by-little.

They turned down a road that drove down to a secluded lake in the woods. They hopped off the bike and took off their helmets.

“This is beautiful,” said Lo, looking out at the lake as the pink hues of dusk illumined the horizon.

Mark stood still, looking out over the equally placid lake. All that could be heard was the gentle rustle of leaves in the trees as the evening breeze filtered through the woods.

“You want to swim?” asked Mark.

“That sounds so good!” replied Lo as she began to slip out of her blouse and short-shorts.

She was naked before Mark even undid a button. “You weren’t kidding, were you?” asked Lo.

“Uh, um, no,” he said, “I was just watching you,” he said, a little startled, perhaps, at Lo’s eagerness and lack of panties.

“Well, come on then,” she said, helping him to undo his shirt buttons.

“How will we dry off?” he asked.

“On the bike,” she said. “Come on, it will feel good.”

She removed his shirt and then he undid his belt and slid him out of his jeans. He slowly took off his boxers to reveal to Lo the object of her fantasies.

“That’s it,” she said, biting her lower lip.

The two of them were naked and they went into the water.

“I just can’t get my hair wet,” said Lo as she led him in. “Mmmmm, it feels so good.”

They were in – Lo up to her belly button, Mark only up to his thigh.

She turned toward Mark and gave him a long, wet, open-mouthed kiss.

Mark didn’t resist. . . until the end. He then pushed her away.

“Lo,” he said.

“Fuck me,” she said.

“Lo,” he repeated.

“Fuck me, please.”

He was speechless. He turned and walked out of the water. Lo watched his sculpted back and buttocks as he did and then she followed him to the shore.

“Let me blow you,” she said, dropping to her knees. “Smack my face with your cock,” she said as she grabbed the hefty appendage and proceeded to use it in the way she described. It remained flaccid in her hands.

“Lo,” he said one more time, “I can’t do this.”

She looked up at him from below, her lips slightly open, ready, hungry, wanting to take it in her mouth.

“Lo,” said Mark, as his gentle hand encouraged Lo to stand up, “I love Stephanie. I know she’d be happy for me to have you or one of the other women she invited over.”

Lo pouted at the mention of them.

“But I can’t. I know I have flirted with you and led you on, but I just can’t. It would be wrong.”

He didn’t have to say any more. Lo knew that the game was over, though she stole lusty glances at his lengthy instrument.

They walked to the bike and Lo said, “Put the clothes over here. We’ll air dry.”

They both got on the machine naked. Mark started it up and they rode through the still evening air by the vacant lake. Lo couldn’t help but reach around and grab at Mark’s cock on the bike. He didn’t seem to mind.

After a quick drive, they returned to the clothes, got off the bike and got dressed in silence before Lo said, “Mark, I understand how you feel and I respect it, but it’s such a shame. . .” she trailed off.

Getting back on the bike and driving back to Mark’s birthday party, Lo held on to Mark, tightly, but above the crotch.

When they returned, we had dinner – a BBQ in the backyard. At one point, Mark and I were alone. Lo had informed me privately earlier about their exchange by the lake. I said to Mark, “You’re a lucky man to have a woman like Stephanie.”

“And you’re lucky to have a woman like Lo.”

“Oh, I don’t have her. She has me. That’s for sure.”

“Well, then you’re lucky she has you,” he said.

“Yes, I am.”

“I bet she is amazing in bed,” he confided.

I took a sip of my G&T and said, “You have no idea.”

“I’d like to have an idea,” he said.

So I gave him a little birthday gift. I told him, “When we fuck – and she likes to fuck often – she’ll lie on the bed and tell me how much she needs my cock. I’ll slide in her wet and wide pussy. She’ll slide her right hand into her puss until both her hand and my cock are snug in there. And then, with her other hand free, she’ll look at your pictures.”

“No!” he said.

“I kid you not.”

“Really?!”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. If I’m not mistaken, I think Lo got you an extra-special birthday gift.”

After the party was over and Lo and I were at home, I told Lo about my chat with Mark.

“I can’t believe you said those things about me!”

“Why not? They’re true.”

“Because,” she said with attitude, “when you write, your words are so much more poetic.”

“Sorry, dear, I read better on the page than in person.”

“That’s the difference between you and me,” she said, “I’m always better in the flesh,” she said as she bent over to show me just how short her shorts are.

“Well, he’ll just have to settle for the two-dimensional Lo,” I said as I slapped her ass hard.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, waiting for more punishment.

“You’re not fooling anyone, dear. I saw your wrapped present for him.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” she said, looking up at me from between her legs.

“Yeah, and it looked just like the latest Match, Cinder & Spark.”

She stood up and said, “Well, you’re wrong.”

“Really? What was it then?”

“It wasn’t just the latest Match, Cinder & Spark, it was both volumes: IV and V.”

“Feeling generous, were you?”

“When I’m the gift, there’s no point to being stingy.”

“Then why didn’t you give him volumes I-III?”

“I want him to come back for more. Now fuck me, Daddy. I’m way overdue for a good pounding. And if you are good, I’ll tell you the details about my ride with Mark.”

Naughty Schoolgirl & Her Daddy

Posted on February 16, 2020 by Lola Down

Happy Valentine’s Day!

It was the week before Valentine’s Day. Lo and I had planned a mini-vacation weekend to ski country. I had booked us a special room at a resort hotel that included a wood-burning fireplace, a kitchenette, and, at the central fitness area, there was an indoor/outdoor heated pool, an indoor hot tub and a second outdoor hot tub. We were right on the mountain – ski off/ski in.

We arrived at night and since Lo had been diddling herself and telling me sordid stories from her past the whole drive there, she immediately got naked as I unpacked and brought in the groceries we had bought for the weekend.

She lay on the bed, legs spread, saying, “Daddy, don’t you want this?” as she slapped her pussy lips with her right hand.

I glanced at Lo’s untrimmed triangle and said, “Lo, that bush is so hot it’s on fire!”

“The burning bush, Daddio, the symbol of God on earth.”

“You said it! Just give me a minute to get this fire going and I’ll tend to yours.”

I stoked the fireplace and got it roaring and casting flickering yellow light in a few moments. Then I began to remove my shirt.

“Slowly, Daddy,” said Lo, “I want to enjoy this.”

I took off my clothes very slowly for Lo’s entertainment and then climbed into bed with her. The heat in the room was already pretty warm when we got there and before long she and I were creating quite a sweat. It was like a Bikram yoga studio in there. Mid-coitus we both had to stop and open up the sliding glass door that led out onto the mountain. I swear I could see the snow melting as the warm air escaped our room!

Lo got up and went into the shower. I heard the water streaming, the steam flowing out of the bathroom into the hot living room where I sat reading a book, and out the door into the cool mountain air, illuminated by the full moon in the clear night sky. After almost an hour, I heard her shrieks of ecstasy as she came multiple times.

She finally walked out of the bathroom, naked, revealing that her previously shag-like pubic area was now silky smooth. “I’m ready for you now,” she said.

“Good water pressure?” I asked.

“So good.”

“Bend over,” I commanded. She bent over the couch of the living room and I saw her ass, illuminated by the dancing flames from the fireplace. Cool air rushing in, hot air rushing out, Lo’s wet body in front of me, the fire behind me – it was as if we were in the womb of the earth with the primordial elements swirling about us, performing the holy act of creation.

I spread the two half-moons of her ass and applied my tongue to the central pleasure point. She let out a moan. I got on my knees and licked from back to front and back again as she spread her legs in the widest upside-down “V” that she could. Now it was like a Tantra yoga session.

I turned around, sat on the floor with my back up against the front of the couch and Lola slid her inner thigh up and down over my extended tongue. She came and she squirted right on me as I sat under her! I lapped it up as best I could.

“Fuck me, Daddy!” she demanded as she now turned, bent over the coffee table and I got behind her. Within mere seconds she was convulsing again. When Lo gets this excited, she involuntarily contracts the walls of her vagina and, despite my best efforts, squeezes me right out. It happened like that as she fell to her knees and ejaculated on the carpet.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she called out as it was happening.

“Don’t be,” I said, watching her with bemusement.

I grabbed some paper towels from the kitchenette and cleaned up after her.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I feel like a puppy that needs to be housebroken.”

I laughed.

The next day we skied for a good few hours. We called it quits around three and then made plans for dinner.

We weren’t too far from a descent sized college town and Lo, foodie that she is, had already scoped out the best eats for a romantic dinner. She picked out my clothes for me saying, “This is a classy place. You can’t just go there in jeans, you know.” She followed it up with, “I wish you’d let me go shopping for you. All your clothes make you look like a stuffy old professor. Tweed? Really? Tweed?” She was referencing my dinner jacket. Nonetheless, she got me as presentable as humanly possible.

She, herself, was dressed to the nines. She loves any occasion to get dolled up. She wore a tight-fitting red dress that came down just past her knees and highlighted her curves. She wore strappy, flesh colored heels and to me she looked fabulous. The painful paradox about her amazing good looks and impeccable fashion taste is that as soon as she gets dressed up like that, I want to immediately rip off all her clothes and have her naked. The happiest solution to that paradox is to slip up her dress and do her from behind as she stands bent over the bed in her heels. But that was not to be on this occasion. She was too well put together for me to mess it all up with a wild romp before dinner.

When we got on the road it was still light out and I had recently got my hair cut shorter than usual. Lo looked over at me from the passenger seat and ran her hand through my hair and said, “Every time you get a haircut it brings out more grey.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean it in a good way,” she said. “You look hot with all that salt and pepper.”

“You sure you don’t just mean I look old?”

“Old and hot,” she said and then she leaned back, spread her legs, and grabbed my hand and placed it on her smooth knee. “Touch me.”

I caressed her knee.

“Keep going,” she instructed, meaning, keep working my way up her inner thigh. She pulled her dress up, spread her legs further apart, putting a foot up on the dash, “You know the drill.” I leaned over a bit in order to put my hand on her crotch and stroke. Just as I did so, we almost got hit by an oncoming car swerving into our lane. “Hey! Two hands on the wheel!” Lo called out, clamping her legs together.

“But he. . .”

“And drive the speed limit.”

“Sweetheart, that says Route 5, not 5 miles per hour.”

“Oh.”

We avoided dying a gruesome death on the highway and pulled into a quaint little college town nestled in the foothills of the mountains.

“Wow,” said Lo, “Look at that sign. It’s so retro.”

She was talking about a big sign over a diner that looked vintage 1950’s.

“I don’t think it’s retro, I think it’s just old,” I replied.

“No, it’s a classic.”

“Like me? Am I a classic?”

“No. You’re an antique.”

Soon we were at our destination. It was in one of the tallest buildings in town, a five story hotel. The restaurant was on the top floor. Lo and I walked into the lobby and got an elevator all to ourselves. Once the doors closed, she leaned up against me, kissing me and reaching for my crotch.

“Hey,” I protested, “there’s a camera in here, you know.”

“Even better,” she said as she pushed her breasts up in the tight dress for me to kiss.

The doors opened into a crowded bar that led to the restaurant.

Apparently, this was the only fine food in town since almost every table was full. Luckily Lo had called ahead of time to make reservations and we were seated next to an older couple (yes, even older than I by about twenty years) and because the tables for two were spaced in close proximity to each other, Lo and I politely said hello and smiled. The older couple was very gregarious and immediately started up a conversation with us. Lo and I quickly realized that they were under the impression that I was Lo’s father and I was visiting her here at her college. We did nothing to disabuse them of that notion and we played along with a secret maliciousness shared between us that excited us both. All through the conversation, Lo’s sexy foot was rubbing my leg up and down under the table.

The words that Lo usually saves for private, intimate moments were spoken freely and publicly, such as, “Thank you, Daddy, for coming. . . to visit me.”

“It’s my pleasure, little girl,” I responded, “I love coming. . . to visit. And I love it when you come. . . home to visit me too. I want you to come. . . more often.”

“Oh, Daddy, I promise to come as much as I can.”

This sort of silly banter gave us a perverse pleasure and I could see the desire in Lo’s eyes increasing as she played the role of naughty schoolgirl.

She was so eager to get back to the suite, that we skipped dessert. The older couple was having their (decaf) coffee after their meal when we got up to leave. We wished them a good night and they wished me a good visit. I politely helped Lo into her jacket, and then, as we walked out of the restaurant, I put my hand on her ass in a very possessive manner. We walked to the elevator, and in there she wrapped her body around mine and kissed me passionately. The doors opened to the lobby and I had to tap her to indicate that we were a spectacle to be seen by anyone in the lobby. She pulled herself off of me and straightened out her dress before walking into the lobby. I followed her and, to my surprise, she pulled me down a hall off to the right of the lobby.

“What? Where are you going?” I asked.

“Just shut up and follow me.”

Neither of us had ever been in this hotel before and so I wasn’t sure what she was doing. She opened up a door that led into a large linen closet filled with folded sheets and towels. She shut the door behind us and turned on the lights.

“Daddy, I can’t wait until we get home,” she said as her right hand unzipped my fly and reached in to fondle my cock and her left hand hiked up her dress, reached up and under it, and began rubbing her clit over her panties.

“Lo!” I protested.

“Shhhh!” she commanded.

“Lo, what if someone walks in here?”

“The maids only use this to make the beds in the morning. Don’t worry. We’re safe here for now. If you’d be quiet, this will only take a few seconds.”

She was pulling on my cock and rubbing her clit vigorously. She looked at my erection and I could see by the weakness of her knees that she really only had seconds to go before. . .

“Oh, oh, OH!” she called, biting her lip, trying to contain the volume of her orgasm. She let go of my member and fell back into the shelves on the wall. She leaned up against it for support as her fingers continued to rub out the orgasm to completion. I saw the panties transform from light pink to almost red as her ejaculate oozed through the material. Luckily she had enough towels for an army to soak up the wetness running down her inner thigh. When she was done pleasuring herself and drying off, she removed her soaked panties and wrapped them in a dry, white towel, putting them in her purse. She through the dirty towels on the floor so no one would mistake them for the clean ones and she straightened her dress, pulling it down by the hem, and asked, “Do I look ok?”

“You look great,” I said, trying to put my erection back into my pants with difficulty.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just a little flush in the face.”

I got my manhood to stand straight, but inside my boxers, and I zipped up my fly, tucked in my shirt and said, “I’m going to need a minute.”

Lo looked longingly at my crotch and said, “Oh yeah.”

Lo leaned in to kiss me full of passion.

“Lo,” I said, pulling back, “you’re not helping the situation.”

She and I stood awkwardly in the closet waiting for the emblem of my desire to subside.

A mere five or six minutes after we entered the linen closet, we walked out of it, apparently unnoticed.

We got into the car and she laughed at our mischievousness. Before we had even driven out of the parking lot, she had my fly undone, my cock out, and her face in my lap.

We got back to our little suite and, as she slipped out of the tight dress, I got the fire roaring and soon we were at it with her calling to me, “Daddy, fuck me! Fuck me, Daddy!” It took mere seconds before she was cumming again.

Flawless

Posted on February 10, 2020 by Lola Down

The Artist, Manu3l Beauty, Drawing Lo, as Drawn by Manu3l Beauty

In the first volume of Parerga und Paralipomena I read again that everything which can happen to a man, from the instant of his birth until his death, has been preordained by him. Thus, every negligence is deliberate, every chance encounter an appointment, every humiliation a penitence, every failure a mysterious victory, every death a suicide.

Jorge Luis Borges

Labyrinths, from the story, “Deutsches Requiem” p. 143

Ever since I first read Henry James’ The Portrait of a Lady, I knew what I wanted to write: the antithetical portrait. I wanted to write a response to the ever upright, ever virtuous, ever socially acceptable Isabel Archer. I was young when I read Portrait, still, it had a profound effect on me. I found it a struggle to read each and every painstaking page. The rectitude of the protagonist grated on me. Her compliance to social norms caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. Her pathetic powerlessness at the hands of the pervasive patriarchy outraged me.

By the time I had read Portrait, I had already loved and left my lusty slut to whom I had lost my virginity. Her nymphomaniacal ways were beyond my limited abilities to assimilate into my concept of the world at that tender age. But, as I read Portrait, I knew, with every fiber of my being, that I wanted to strip Isabel of her honor and her clothes.

The idea remained and germinated in my mind over many years. When, at a more advanced age, I had read the collected works of the Marquis de Sade, I thought at first that I was too late. Someone had written the great work I envisioned since reading Henry James. However, the more I read of Sade, the more I realized that no, this is not the work I envisioned. Sade is brilliant, imaginative, subversive, and powerful. He was an important voice for his time and, despite many detractors, he actually offers a harsh critique of religious institutions, monarchy, marriage, and all the other permutations of patriarchy. He spares none in his scathing evaluation of oppression in all its forms. But his protest is essentially a resounding No! That was important for his era, but what he lacks, probably because it was unimaginable at the time, was a heroine who could proclaim a resounding Yes!

All of Sade’s fictional female figures are victims. They may also be villains, but they are so only because they were first victims. Hurt people hurt people, as the saying goes. They were formed by the social, political, religious, judicial, and educational systems, hierarchies, and prejudices of their culture. What Sade was really up to is open to debate, but a charitable reading could be that he was shining a light on the gender injustices of his day and, even if his medium of doing so was “sadistic” (a term that was invented because of him), it also was sympathetic to the plight of women.

But I longed to write The Great American Novel that told a different story. Not the story of Justine, not the story of Juliette, and certainly not the story of Isabel Archer! I wanted to write the story of a sex-positive woman who claimed her own sexuality, her female form, her feminine facticity, her healthy desires, her sexual conquests, her orgasms, her self-pleasure, and her liberal lending of her labia as her own in a way that was not the result of victimhood and was not wielded as vindictiveness. In other words, I wanted a sexual heroine, not an anti-heroine, despite how some retrograde segments of our modern society might still view such a character.

Perhaps that deep-seated vision of a new dawn was responsible for drawing me into Lo’s orbit and then, ultimately, for my “drawing” her in my writings as the woman of my dreams. I cannot deny that Lo, when I met her, was not already without scars from the injustices of society, family, and past sexual partners. But she was not a victim. She was, even then, well on her way to inhabiting her own power. She was healing. Through obstacles, with love and support, encouragement and empathy, she (re)claimed her puss and her prowess.

Lo might not have escaped the perils of being born a woman, but she has transformed her trauma into a personal triumph. I endeavor to portray Lo not as a perfect portrait of feminine form, but as a realistic rendition of a flawed, fallible figure; made all the more beautiful by her unique imperfections.

I love Lola not because she is flawless, but because of her wabi-sabi character. I love her the way Woody Allen loved New York City of the ’70’s. Back then, the city was far from perfect. She had her many ugly sides. But he was in love with her and wanted to tell her stories to the world, to get the world to see her the way he saw her. To get the world to fall in love with her just as he had.

Writing about Lo is not only my love letter to her, but, as so many who have read about her have told us, her story is also a vehicle to help others become as daring, confident, and self-actualizing as Lo, because perfect people don’t perfect people, but healed people can heal people.

Happy Holidays Card

Posted on December 24, 2019 by Lola Down

To all of our fans, we wish you a very merry XXX-mas! We hope you’ll print out this holiday card and put it on your mantle (or bring it to bed).

Thanks for all your support!!!!

xoxoxoxo,

Lola & HH

Quiver

Posted on December 15, 2019 by Lola Down

[Continued from “Black Friday: A Juicy Story Before Brunch”

The day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. Miami Beach. Lo was on a mission. This was our third day in Miami. Seventy-two hours of glorious sunny days, short-shorts, and sex. And, in typical Lo fashion, she wanted more of all three.

“What’s for breakfast?” I asked.

“I thought we were having sex,” she said as she sat on the side of the bed wearing only her sexy tank-top T-shirt and spreading her legs.

“Sex for breakfast?”

“Yeah, we’ll call it ‘Sex-fest.’”

“But Lo, you just came twice.”

“That was all external stimulation. It just makes me more hungry.”

“Hungry for breakfast?” I asked, since I was starving.

“No, hungry for your cock in my cunt.”

“It’s not even 9 a.m. and you’re using that sort of language?!”

“It’s never too early to speak a Romance Language.”

“You forget, I was in the Romance Languages department at my college. They didn’t speak like that.”

“Illiterate.”

“We could discuss the nuances of philology all morning, but. . .”

“But I want you to fuck me. Please. Just a quick in-and-out is all I need.”

“Fine,” I said and I puled my shorts down around my knees.

The hotel room bed was only a full; much smaller than we were used to. I said to her, “There better be a spot for me in that bed cause I’m getting in it.”

“Oh, I’ve got a spot for you and you definitely are going to get in it.”

She turned over and scrunched up her body into a little ball on the bed, exposing her puss and ass to me.

“Just go right in,” she said over her shoulder, as if I needed some instructions.

“Top or bottom?” I asked.

“Top or bottom?” she was confused.

“Yeah, which hole?”

“Which do you want?” she asked seductively, surprising me.

“Top!” I said without hesitation.

“Well, fill the bottom first and, if you’re good, you can have the top.”

Lola & HH

Standing by the side of the bed, I slid in with ease and she moaned. She was drenched and dripping. “Stay. Right. There,” she commanded. I didn’t even move. I just grabbed her by her hips and lifted her a little then pushed her down a little. Up and down, up and down I slid her on my cock. My thumb moved its way to her top hole to press against it. Within seconds her cunt was gushing and clenching. I pulled her in closer by her hips to make sure I stayed in place; the tip of my cock up against her g-spot. She didn’t even scream. She just bit her lower lip and moaned. I could see her facial expressions and contortions in the mirror. In a few more seconds she pulled forward and, as I slid out of her, she squirted. I was careful to jump back and avoid getting splashed.

“Ahhhh,” she said, “that did the trick.”

She was splayed out on the bed now, breathing heavily. I stood next to the bed.

“This isn’t a coat rack,” I said of my erect phallus.

“What?” she asked, perplexed.

“You promised me the top hole, remember?”

“Oh, right!”

She scrunched up into her little ball again, wiggling her ass in front of me. “Can you hit the target?” she teased.

“Stay still and my arrow will fill your quiver.”

I grabbed her hips again and pressed the full head of my cock up against her sphincter. Her flower bud opened. Slowly I filled her. I could see her hands out in front of her clutching the bed sheets as she felt the pain and pleasure of my deep dive.

Again she commanded, “Stay. Right. There.” Her ass clenched down on me and her body turned the noun, “quiver,” into a verb.

Suddenly she lunged forward, just like she did before, leaving me hard up, standing by the side of the bed a second time as she caught her breath.

Turning her head over her shoulder, she said, “Amazing, Daddio!”

Then, noticing me pulling up my shorts, she said, “Aren’t you going to cum?”

“Darling, thirty seconds of standing behind you, rigid as a statue, while you got your rocks off was exclusively for your pleasure.”

“But I want you to cum.” She turned around, on all fours, facing me, or rather, my crotch. She looked up at me and asked, “Don’t you know what Cyndi Lauper says?”

“Cyndi Lauper?! You’re dating yourself dear.”

“Oh, I wish I could date myself. I’d be such a good fuck.”

“You’re getting distracted again. What does Cyndi Lauper say?”

“Oh, right. She sings, ‘Girls just wanna have cum. That’s all they really want – some cum.’” She sang the lyrics.

Girls Just Wanna Have Cum

“I think you might be taking some poetic license with that.”

“Whatever. Cum in my mouth,” she commanded as she took my cock into her open mouth and slobbered over it with her tongue.

“And spoil your appetite?” I asked, enjoying the sensation and the thought of what a dirty, slutty girl she is.

“It’s more of an appetizer.”

“No,” I said flatly, pulling out of her mouth.

She pouted.

“I’m starving,” I said. “If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to waste away.”

She rolled her eyes sarcastically – as if I was in any mortal danger of wasting away.

“What?” I asked. “Look at me,” I said, striking a pose, flexing my biceps, “One hundred seventy-five pounds of pure muscle!”

“One hundred and seventy-five?!” Lo exclaimed in disbelief, “Aren’t you a few pounds off there?”

“No. It is a hundred and seventy-five pounds of muscle. The other thirty pounds might be fat, but under it is the pure muscle.”

“Still a little shy of the mark, I think.”

“Well, the other ten pounds is brain, of course.”

“Of course,” she said sardonically.

I stepped on the scale and cursed it saying, “You lying sack of shit!”

Lo, naked but for her T-shirt, stepped on the scale after me and said, “It better not be lying, it says I lost two pounds!”

“It lies.”

“Does it? Or could it be that my diet and exercise and drinking plenty of liquids has caused me to lose two pounds?”

“It lies.”

“Why would it lie to me that I lost two pounds and lie to you that you. . . well, uh, you’re. . . ?”

“Because it likes the view it has of you from down there.”

She laughed. She almost never laughs at my jokes, but I suppose this one also appealed to her vanity. I love it when she laughs.

“Do you like the view?” she asked, bending over and looking at me from between her knees.

“I don’t know why they call it mooning when it looks as bright and pink as the sunrise to me,” I said. “But as pretty as you are, morning glory, can we please go get breakfast?”

“Sure,” she said as she slipped into her bikini bottoms. “How do these look?”

It was a very skimpy pink thong bikini bottom that she purposely pulled up extra tight.

I gave her a cat-call whistle and launched into a sing-song limerick:

Do your labia hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie ’em in a knot?
Can you tie ’em in a bow?
Can you throw ’em o’er your shoulder
Like a continental soldier?
Do your labia hang low?

“What?!” she asked, looking down between her legs.

“Look in the mirror,” I gestured.

She took a look and could see what I saw: her puffy pussy lips straddling the skinny g-string. She’s very self-conscious of her large labia.

“Ah, fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissing my concern. She walked up to me and, seeing that I had pitched a tent in my shorts, she sang back:

Does your cock stand high?
Does it reach up to the sky?
Does it droop when it’s wet?
Does it stiffen when it’s dry?
Can you wave it at your neighbor
With an element of flavor?
Does your dick stand high?

“Touché,” I said.

“Tushie?” she asked, turning around and showing me her bottom again.

I smacked it hard and said, “That’s for being tardy.”

We finally got in the rental car and I let Lo drive. Lo being Lo, she blasted the radio and “I’m Real” by Ja Rule happened to be on, pounding the bass of the speakers to the chorus:

-Cause I’m real-
The way you walk
The way you move
The way you talk
-Cause I’m real-
The way you stare
The way you look
Your style your hair
-Cause I’m real-
The way you smile
The way you smell
It drives me wild
-Cause I’m real-
And I can’t go on without you

Lo was contentedly squirming in her leather bucket seat to the beat of the music.

“Can you shut that damn music off?!” I complained.

“You know, you sound like an old man when you say that.”

“You know, I am an old man.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just sad to think about.”

“Well, if you want to break up with me, go right ahead.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“No. You said that it’s ‘sad’ to think about me being an old man.”

“It is! I mean, I’m not even at the great hump of my life yet.”

“I thought I was the great hump of your life.”

“I should hope not.”

“What?!”

“What I mean is, I’m not over the hill yet.”

“I should hope not.”

“What does that mean?”

“It simply means, that at twenty-something, you still have some great humps to look forward to.”

“And you don’t?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m looking forward to humping you in about five minutes.”

“Why so long?”

“So long? Is five minutes too much to wait for you youngins these days?”

“Five minutes is like two and a half news cycles.”

“Well, here’s some breaking news: the best is yet to come.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause I love cumming.” She pulled up to the curb. “Here we are. Where are you going to fuck me?”

“Well, I need nourishment first. Let’s eat,” I said as we got out of the convertible and went to the hostess stand on the sidewalk. We were seated at a quaint table outside with a view of Ocean Boulevard and the beach across the street. Pretty people were walking by and fancy cars were cruising slowly to see and be seen.

A tricked-out car drove by – shiny, sparkly, loud. Lo was clearly impressed.

She observed it closely and then commented, “The exhaust is merely cosmetic.”

“Just like yours!” I quipped.

She gave me a look of faux shock.

A musclebound fella walked by in a tiny speedo and a loose fitting tank-top.

“Lo, stop drooling. Or at least use a napkin.”

“What?! He’s a very beefy boy. . . and I’m a beefeater,” she said, taking a slow, seductive bite of her sausage.

After breakfast, we walked down the strip and Lo was window shopping, until she was actually shopping. I sat outside sipping my frozen drink. When she came back out, she gave me a t-shirt like the one worn by Mr. Muscles.

“I didn’t know whether to get you a large or an extra large,” she said.

“You should always get me grandiose.”

“To match your ego?”

We walked down to the beach and Lo pulled out of her oversized bag a sheet she stole from the hotel. She spread it out on the sand and then spread herself on top of it. I sat down next to her and began rubbing in the sunscreen on her shoulders. When I was done I said, “I’ll draw on your back with my finger and you tell me what I’m spelling.”

“OK. But where’s the top?”

“Here,” I said, as I scribbled up by her shoulder blades.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she asked as my finger went down between her butt cheeks.

“I’m just seeing where the bottom is. Oh! Look at that. I think I found the ink well.”

“Yeah?! You’re gonna have a broken nub if you keep it up!”

After a bit, she pulled out the deck of cards from her bag and began shuffling them.

“What are you playing?”

“Strip Solitaire.”

“Are you winning or losing?”

“I’ll take off my top and you tell me.”

I scanned the beach to see if any other women were going topless.

“Hey!” she said, “I’m over here!!!”

She thought she saw me looking at some of the other sexy women on the strand.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, teasing her. “So I like looking at them. They’re like boats: I like how they look, but I don’t want to have one.”

“Oh yeah? Like boats? You better watch out that I don’t wash them away with my tsunami.”

“Are you squirting again? I didn’t even see you touch your puss.”

“I don’t need to with all this eye-candy.”

“Oh, so it’s ok for you to look, but not me?”

“Exactly. Next pair of sunglasses I buy you will be blinders.”

With that comment, she left her card game and sauntered into the water. Just at the water’s edge, she turned back to me and called, “Daddio! Aren’t you coming?”

“Not yet,” I called back, “but I will be.”

“What?!” she called.

“I’m not coming!”

She yelled back, “I’ll fix that!” She then turned tail and bent over, revealing her shoelace thin thong. She feigned finding a seashell, but she was just showing off. She eventually walked in the water, sticking out her tongue at me over her shoulder as the waves crested and fell over her hips. Then she dove in.

When she returned from the cool dip, she asked, “What do you think of my hair?” as it dripped from its curls down her breasts.

“You look just like Medusa.”

“That’s not a compliment. Wasn’t she so ugly that she turned anyone who looked at her to stone?”

“No no no, that’s not it. What the Greeks meant was any man who saw her got hard as a rock and that’s how I feel about you and your wild, curly hair.”

“Nice save,” she said with a smile as she laid down next to me, getting me all wet.

I had just got comfortable and was engrossed in the book I was reading, The Postmodern Condition, you know, your typical beach read, when she said, “Let’s go for a walk Daddy.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes, Daddio. I want to go find something nice.”

“To wear?”

“To fuck.”

“I’m still available, you know.”

“Available? No you’re not. You’re taken.”

“I’d never know it.”

“You had me this morning.”

“For thirty seconds to help you get your rocks off.”

“So, what the hell are you complaining about?”

“I’d like to get my rocks off.”

“Oh, are your rocks aching?”

“Yes. Yes they are.”

“Follow me. Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

We went for a walk through the dunes to a little wooded park, verdant with scrub pines, palms, and colorful flowers. When we found a little bench, she said to me, “OK, you go over there and just watch.”

“What am I watching for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

I sat diagonally from her, about thirty feet away. I watched as she sat there looking pretty. Guys walked by, mostly couples. But then one muscular black man in a skimpy bathing suit, bulging out of the itty-bitty stretchy material, stopped and asked her a question. She looked up, batting her eyelashes at him, smiling, licking her teeth with her tongue as she looked down, furtively, at his crotch. They began chatting. And then, within not so very long they got up and walked out of sight.

About a half-hour later Lo returned to the spot where I waited for her.

She approached me slowly, with a look of wily satisfaction and mystery about her.

“You can have me now, Daddy. He’s all done.” I noticed jizz covering her clavicle. She grabbed my hand and walked me to the secluded spot where she had just been with the tall, dark stranger.

“Lo,” I said, “What do you mean he’s all done?”

“Well,” she said, “do you want me to act out exactly what we did?”

“Sure.”

She laid down on the bench and began stroking her pussy over her short shorts while I stood over her and looked at her.

“Well, Daddio?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to take out your cock and stroke it? That’s what he did.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did you do?”

“What do you think? What should a good girl do when she goes to the park and begins masturbating over her shorts and a tall, dark, hung stranger appears pantless ready to fuck?”

“Did you get his digits?”

“All of them.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah, all of them, inside me.”

“Right here?”

“Right here.”

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, confused.

“To a bar. I need a drink.”

Truth was, it was hot. I was thirsty. I was tense. I was irritated. I was horny. And I wasn’t about to start fucking Lola right there in the barely concealed patch of public privacy.

“Wait!” she said. “I have to change first.” She spread her legs and showed me the dark spot covering the crotch of her denim shorts where she apparently squirted.

She popped into the public restroom and a moment later, she popped out wearing just her bikini top and a short skirt.

“Wow!” I said. “You’re like a superhero!”

“Super Squirt!” she pronounced, swinging her shorts around her finger, grabbing me by my arm.

We went to a fancy hotel with a rooftop deck, pool, and bar. This was a new hotel and the rooftop was pretty high up there and it even had a balcony with a glass floor.

Lo walked out and leaned over the railing and said, “Wow! Don’t look down!”

“I’m not,” I said, “I’m lookin’ up – lookin’ up your skirt, that is.” No panties. No bikini thong. Nothing. Just her perfectly shapely and shaved mons pubis.

We then went and sat at the bar where I ordered a Tom Collins. Lo apologized to the bartender for my unfashionable taste in drinks, saying, “I’m sorry, he’s old.”

The bartender chuckled.

For the middle of the day, on a beautiful beach day, the bar was pretty busy. But, I guess for the people who live down there, going to the beach every day loses its allure pretty quickly.

Lo asked me, “You want to see what I saw on the bench?”

“Sure,” I said, not knowing where she was going with this.

She pulled out her phone and pulled up a photo of her with her legs spread and a guy with an elephant trunk hanging down from his crotch standing over her.

The old pervert seated next to Lo at the bar – not me, the guy on the other side of her – looked over Lo’s shoulder out of curiosity.

“Nice shot,” he said.

“Not nearly as nice as when he came on me,” retorted Lo without missing a beat.

“Is that so?” asked Mr. Intrusive.

“Yes, that’s so,” said Lo, followed by, “Oh, how rude of me. HH, this is,” she said, as if introducing an old friend.

“Kip,” he said.

“Kip,” said Lo. “Kip, HH,” she said, introducing us.

I shook his hand over Lo’s lap and said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” he said.

He clearly had had a few already. He wore a festive Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, sandals. I’d say he was about 46 and beginning to bald. A bit overweight. Genial smile and friendly – midwestern friendly. Too friendly, you might say.

Lo was in a festive, flirty mood and so she teased and toyed with this guy, telling both him and me what happened with her mystery man down by the beach.

“How very slutty of you,” he said.

“I thought so,” replied Lo proudly.

The guy asked, “Will you be my slut?”

“I’m everyone’s slut. That’s what being a slut is.”

“I don’t know if you could handle me,” said the guy.

“Why not?” asked Lo, defiantly.

“My cock – it’s pretty big and has a lot of girth,” he said.

Lola pulled out her phone and found a photo of her horse cock dildo. “This is one of my toys,” she said. “I can handle any cock. Any human cock, that is.”

The guy was trying to play it cool, but I could see he was intrigued by Lo’s unabashed candor.

What about Lo? She was flirting and teasing, but was she actually into him? I couldn’t tell.

We had a few more drinks and continued chatting. The fella next to us was married, had adult children, older than Lo, and claimed to be in Miami on business. But it was Thanksgiving weekend. Who is in Miami on business?

Lola was waxing rhapsodic about how much she loved Miami – the ocean, the beaches, the restaurants.

The guy interjected, “The orgasms on the boardwalk.”

Lo squirmed in her barstool and pressed her knees together.

She looked at me, embarrassed. I knew what happened.

I said, “You could say, she cums with the territory,” as I feigned spilling my water.

“That’s the worst pun you ever made,” said Lo as she watched me clean up the mess she made under her stool from her perch.

“Really? I’m sure I’ve made worse,” I said, looking up at her, hoping she wouldn’t have another accidental squirting orgasm.

“I’m sorry,” Lo apologized to our new friend, “Dad jokes.”

“I’m a dad,” he said, “no need to apologize.”

Along one side of the pool there were semi-private alcoves with recliners made for two. Lo ordered another drink and suggested we take the one that was recently vacated before someone else got it. She picked up her bag and casually sauntered to her destination.

Mr. Middleage followed her, leaving me to grab (and pay for) our last round.

When I got to the little cabana, Lo was lying down with her Mr. Marriedman next to her. I handed Lo her drink and said I was going for a swim. Her antics were beginning to upset me, if I’m honest.

I got in the warm water and rested up against the side of the pool with my drink in hand, watching Lo and her beau.

She lay with her legs crossed under her skirt. She removed her bikini top. The guy ogled her. They were making small talk. I could practically read Lo’s lovely lips when she said, “That’s ok, you can touch.”

The guy put his hand on Lo’s hip and slowly caressed her. Lo turned over and he put his hand down under her skirt and I could see him touch her bum as she took a sip from her straw.

She rolled on her side, showing him her tits and letting her skirt open in front. She said, “You like what you see?”

He said something I couldn’t make out.

“Are you hard?”

Again, I couldn’t make out the words.

“Jack it,” she commanded.

He pulled a towel over his cargo shorts and reached down. Lo watched him intently.

She loves being the stimulant for sexually starving strangers, the sweet release for men and women who need a focus for their swirling smut-dreams like a mantra for meditation.

She was speaking softly to him, encouraging him, telling him dirty things about her, probably telling him about how she sucked my cock after letting me have her ass that morning.

His head dropped back and he became rigid for a few seconds before crumpling like a suit having all its starch sucked out in one magic moment.

Lo got up and came into the pool. Her skirt billowed behind her in the water. She swam to me and said, “Let’s go, Daddio.”

“Mission accomplished?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. My mission is to make you cum like that,” she said as she grabbed my cock under the water.

We got out and Lo put her top on, and we walked out, both dripping wet, but she in more ways than one.

She blew a good-bye kiss to the man with the mess in his cargo.

Back at the hotel, Lo could hardly wait.

“Did you like everything today, Daddy?” she asked as she lay naked on the bed.

“Most of it,” I said, thinking it over.

“Let’s take a shower,” she said, just as I got out of my clothes and was very ready and eager to have her.

“What? Now?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I got sand in my hoo-ha.”

“What did you say?”

“You know, I’m not interested in any pearls in the ole clam.”

“Only you, darling, only you,” I said, amused at her pornographic poetry.

The shower had a small seat built into the back wall of it. She sat on it, spread her legs, looked up at me, and said, “Was I a very bad girl today, Daddy?”

“Yes, yes you were.”

“Was I a dirty little slut?”

“Very much so.”

“Are you mad that I let a man cum on me in public?”

“No, darling.”

“Are you mad that I walked around with his cum on my body all day?”

“Proud of your accomplishment?”

“Oh yeah,” she said.

“Am I terribly disgusting?” she asked.

“Not to me,” I said. I can’t lie.

“Show me, Daddy, that I’m yours,” she said.

I wasn’t sure what she was after.

She reached out and grabbed my cock and held it in her hand.

“You drank a lot at the bar,” she said.

“Not too much. A few drinks.”

“Have you peed even once today, Daddy?”

Now I knew where she was going.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she said, a certain neediness in her voice.

I closed my eyes, relaxed, and let go.

She shook her tits and spread her legs wide as I drenched her in the warm stream from her chin down to her twat.

“That’s right, Daddy,” she said, “I’m such a slutty, cum-hungry, whore.”

I looked down at her, dripping wet, and said, “Ah, the Fountain of Youth!”

When I was done, we turned on the warm water and took turns washing and worshipping each other.

When we finally got in bed she said, “Use me, Daddy. Use me however you want. Treat me like your little fuck-doll.”

I had her on the bed just like I did in the morning. I slid in her puss only briefly and then went back to her other hole, filling her from tip to balls.

“Mmmmm, yes. Hold me down. I like that. Slap my ass. Slap my puss. Slap me. Hold me down. Hurt me. Make it hurt! Make me yours again, Daddy. I’ve been so bad today. I just want to be yours. Yours. Make me stop whoring around town. Make me good again. Make me so sore I can’t even walk. Make me stop searching for cock. Make me good again.” She went on like that the entire time I fucked her until I was nearly ready to cum – finally after a full day of teasing and edging, watching her degrade herself for me and for others, in private and in public. Finally, I was ready to explode with all that pent-up jealousy, desire, rage, ravage, revenge, lust, love, and “Lo!” I called out as I was about to erupt.

She quickly hopped off my rod and spun around, opening her mouth wide and accepting the offering I emitted like a parched nomad in the desert desirous of every last drop of life-giving liquid. She wrapped her mouth around my cock and sucked, encouraging me to continue cumming until I could stand no more.

I fell down on the bed next to her and immediately lost consciousness, falling into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Thank You Daddy

Black Friday: A Juicy Story Before Brunch

Posted on December 1, 2019 by Lola Down

[Note: Continued from the Thanksgiving Day story, Very Thankful]

“Do you remember what happened last night?” I asked her as we were getting dressed in the morning.

“Yes,” she said. She slipped one leg and then the other into her pink thong panties.

“Everything?”

“What are you talking about? We went out for Thanksgiving dinner and then we came back to the hotel.”

“Right. And then what happened?”

“We went to bed.”

“That’s all you remember?”

Now she was getting agitated with my questions and feeling at a disadvantage.

“Why don’t you tell me,” she said as she adjusted her bra.

“We came home. You were more intoxicated than I thought. I guess those after dinner drinks were strong.”

“They were. But I wasn’t drunk.”

“To hell you weren’t. You barely got up the one flight of stairs to the room.”

“Pshaw,” she scoffed.

“And then we got in here and you quickly got naked.”

“Nothing unusual there.”

“And you were lying on the bed fondling and fingering yourself, begging me to have you.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said, now buttoning up her blouse.

“But I said, ‘Lo, I think you had too much to drink. I don’t think you can consent.’”

“And?”

“Well, if you don’t remember, then I was right.”

“I’m just seeing if your recollection is the same as mine.”

“Yeah, sure. Anyhow, you were very insistent and very horny.”

“Did you want me?”

“Of course! I always want you.”

“Did you have me?”

“Keep listening and I’ll tell you. I again declined your offer, saying you were too inebriated, but you were your usual demanding self. To stall for time and to get ready for bed, I told you to wait for me while I brushed my teeth. When I came out of the bathroom, I found you asleep, naked on the bed, face down, ass up. I was naked at this point too and I got next to you.”

“Were you hard, Daddy?”

“Yes I was hard.”

“For me?”

“Don’t go getting yourself all excited and wet. We have a brunch date to get to.”

She pouted, sat on the chair and put her hand down her shorts. “Go on,” she said.

“I was next to you and you made a half-hearted attempt to grab my cock. You whispered, ‘Have me,’ before falling back into a slumber. I grabbed the moisturizing lotion from the nightstand, slathered it over my cock. I had every intention of jacking off to your naked body.”

Now she was rapidly fingering herself under her shorts and panties.

“I like where this is going,” she said.

“I began to do that, but you looked so good that I wanted to kiss you. I got on top of you. You were still face down, so I began lightly kissing your back, shoulders, and neck. As I was positioned over you like that, my cock found its way between your round ass cheeks. It was all lubricated and so I began sliding it back and forth, swiping it like a charge card through your tight buttocks. You hardly moved. I continued until I couldn’t take it anymore and I came on your back.”

As I told her this confession, she came, squirting through her panties and shorts, dripping down her thighs onto the carpeted floor. I got a towel for her.

“That was hot, Daddy,” she said as I, on my knees, wiped her up from her feet to her crotch.

“I had to clean you up with a warm, wet washcloth last night, much like I’m doing now.”

“You’re so good to me, Daddy,” she said as she slipped out of her clothes and into the shower where she went at it again, self-stimulating in the steamy mist.

When she got out, she sat naked on the bed and put on her sexy tank-top T-shirt. She reached over to the nightstand where she picked up the pack of cards that was sitting on it. She had brought it with her on vacation. Was she hoping to get a fun game of strip poker going? I don’t know. She pulled out the Ace of Spades and held it between her legs. She looked up at me with her mischievous smile and a glimmer of wickedness in her eyes and said, “You know what day it is today, Daddy?”

“No, Lo, I don’t,” I said, wondering where she was going with this.

“Black Friday.”

Lola Painted by Roman Doodle

Very Thankful

Posted on November 29, 2019 by Lola Down

mysexlifewithlola.com

It was Thanksgiving weekend and we had been invited to a family-friend’s house in Miami for the occasion. Our host’s apartment was in one of the tall high-rise buildings downtown and was not nearly large enough to accommodate all the guests overnight, so Lo and I got a hotel room close by. Being from up north, it took a lot of getting used to Thanksgiving without the brilliant foliage hues of warm oranges, deep reds, and brilliant yellows. Rather, seeing palm trees, blue skies, and beaches made this weekend feel like any other vacation weekend.

We had arrived on Wednesday, the most highly traveled day of the year in America, but despite my travel anxiety, the trip went off without a hitch. We got settled in our hotel early that day and then made our way down to Miami Beach where Lo slipped into her skimpy little bikini and we quickly made the transition from trudging through ankle high snow to gliding through soft golden sand and refreshing surf. My staying out of Lo’s crosshairs was next to impossible on this beach because no matter where I turned there was another scantily clad sexy woman walking, lying in the sun, swimming, playing volleyball, or applying sunscreen. Each time I looked up, I was in trouble with her.

Finally I said to her, “What do you want me to do, put blinders on?”

To my great surprise she smiled and said, “I’m just kidding. Look all you want. Go on the BP.” BP is our code word for “Butt Patrol.”

“What? Wait. Say that again. I think I have an inner ear infection. I thought you said, ‘Look all you want.’”

“That’s what I said. You’re not hearing things. There are too many beautiful women on this beach for me to be jealous of all of them.”

Well, this was certainly a change. At first it was a welcome change, but within mere moments of it setting in I became very disconcerted. Does this mean she doesn’t love me anymore? Has she lost interest? Is she less invested in me, my feelings, my love? A mini-crisis of faith descended over me and suddenly I lost all interest in any of the scenery.

We walked a little further in silence and then she added, “Also, I just feel fat.”

“Fat?!” I cried out. “Lo, you’re beautiful! Perfect! A goddess! A zaftig, sexy, siren.”

“Zaftig means fat,” she said flatly.

“No. Zaftig means pleasantly plump and juicy. You know that. That’s exactly what you are, you little squirt.”

Zaftig Lola

“Wouldn’t you prefer her or her or her?” she asked, pointing at different stick-skinny-blondes on the beach.

“If I did, I would be with her, her, or her.”

“Then why don’t you go with them?”

“Now you’re just fishing for more compliments.”

“No,” she said, “I’m serious.”

“Because I love you. I want you. I find you attractive. And so do a lot of other people, I might add.”

Her hand reached out to hold mine and we walked a little further, but the sun was beating down and it was soon far too hot to be out there in the direct light of noon.

We headed toward Ocean Boulevard and I thought we were looking for a cool – literally cool – place to have lunch, but Lo, of course, had other ideas. We had passed a strip club on the way to the beach and apparently she took mental note. She directed us right there and we ducked in to get out of the heat and into the steamy striptease. But, little did we know, Miami isn’t like New York or D.C. where they have performances all day, all night. No one was dancing. It was just another dive bar.

The bearded bartender asked what we’d have and Lo said, “I came here to have a show. Where are the dancers?”

“Oh, they don’t come on until eight or nine,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Fine, then make me a margarita and make it strong,” she demanded, visibly disappointed.

“I’ll have a piña colada” I said.

Lo was sitting with her elbows on the bar, her biceps boosting up her boobs in her bikini top. The bartender obviously enjoyed the view. He made conversation with her, almost ignoring me.

“Sorry the ladies aren’t on now,” he said. “But I know a few who’d like to put on a show for you,” he added. “And I’d like to see that.”

He asked us where we were from and so forth. Lo was flirting with him and rubbing my leg with her foot, but he couldn’t see that. Did she want him?

We each had our drink, cooled down and then, when we asked for the tab, the bartender said it was on the house. Lo smiled flirtatiously and I put down a healthy cash tip.

“What now?” I asked Lo, to see where her whims would take her.

“Let’s just fuck,” she said.

We went straight back to the hotel and Lo stripped out of what little she was wearing.

She looked pleasantly plump and juicy and I told her so.

“Show me how bad you want me,” she said.

I pulled down my bathing suit and revealed my incredibly rigid cock pointing right at her.

“Mmmmmm, good,” she replied, lying back on the bed.

I climbed on the bed and lifted her legs in the air. She had crossed her legs doing a little stripper move and I entered her as I held her up by her ankles. She moaned. Then I took her beautiful, soft feet, one in each hand, and gently rubbed her soles on my cheeks as I looked down at her, fondling her nipples. She held my head between her feet and I grabbed her hips.

“I want to fuck your round rump,” I said. I slid my hands up the side of her body to her tum and grabbed a handful of her flesh. I held her by her doughy roll and I loved it. “You know,” I said, “I find this part of you even more sexy than your tits.”

“Now you’re just making me feel self-conscious and fat,” she said.

“I love it,” I said to her.

“I don’t,” she said to me.

“Turn over,” I instructed. She complied.

I began going at her from behind as I smacked her lovely ass cheeks with my hands. She backed into me, ramming my pole deep into her. I could feel her intensity growing. And then she said, “Do you like my ass, Daddy?”

“Love it.”

“Do you like my fat ass?”

She was trying to get me to cum.

“Yes.”

“You like your fat little girl?” she asked seductively.

“I love my fat little girl.”

“Don’t you want to cum all over my fat, fat ass?” she asked and hearing her say that was enough. I gave her one last thrust before pulling out, and grabbing my cock and ejaculating all over her ass and back, shooting occasionally all the way up to her shoulder blades. Simultaneously, she began to squirt down on the bed.

“Pleasantly plump. Very juicy,” I said.

I removed the covers from the bed. We didn’t need them anyway. It was warm enough without them. After I cleaned us both up, we snuggled – big spoon/little spoon. My hands were around her and I was holding her breast with one hand and her tum with the other. But then I felt a warm liquid all over my lap.

“Did you just squirt again?” I asked her.

“Yes, Daddy,” she said simply before falling to sleep.

Sometime later, we both woke from our nap. What had been a blindingly hot day, was now slowly slipping into a cool dusk. I got up and took a shower. Lo was still in bed. Then I sat at the little desk of the hotel room and took out my computer. I was preparing to post on the blog. Lo was watching TV.

“What are you watching?” I asked.

“The New Girl.”

“The Nude Girl?”

“No, The New Girl.”

“Oh, cause I was watching The Nude Girl,” I said.

“Who?” she asked, jealously.

“You,” I said, showing her the pics of her on my computer screen.

“Oh, well, you don’t have to look only at the pics, you can have the real thing,” she said, spreading her legs and rubbing her puss.

“Lo,” I said, “Are you getting horny watching TV again?”

“When don’t I? Besides, Zooey Deschanel is such a MPDG.”

Zooey Deschanel

“A what?”

“You know, a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.”

“No. I don’t know. Explain.”

“A Manic Pixie Dream Girl is. . .” she was looking for the right words, “is Zooey Deschanel’s character on this show.”

Lola

“And what’s that?” I asked, not being familiar with the show, this Zooey woman, or the expression.

There are these three guys on the show. They’re sad, they’re lonely, they’re single. They’re roommates. And then comes along Jess who moves in with them. She’s bubbly. She’s cheerful. She’s good-girl-American-girl-cute. And she’s just what they need. And they all want to fuck her, secretly or not so secretly. That’s what an MPDG is.”

“Oh, so in addition to a MILF you also yearn to be an MPDG.”

“Oh no,” said Lo, “I’m both.”

“Is that possible?”

“Not for most women, but I can pull it off.”

“Yeah, you pull it off alright – you pull off your sweater and your bra and suddenly you’re every man’s dream.”

“Watch it!” she warned. “I still remember how you called me fat.”

“Me?” I cried. “You’re the one who. . .”

“Don’t even,” she said. “You’ll piss me off and then you’ll have to butter me up.”

“OK,” I said, “If you lie naked, I’ll get a stick of butter.”

She threw a pillow at me and said, “As fun as that sounds – treating me like a butterball turkey – I want to go out on the town tonight.”

“Yeah, tonight and every other night.”

“It’s not every night that we are in Miami,” she said, getting out of bed.

“Where do you want to go? Another strip club?”

“No no,” she said. “I’ve got a few places in mind.”

“A few places?!” It was a good thing I got that long nap in, because usually I am not able to keep up with Lo’s nights out.

She slipped into her bathing suit and, because it was still too early for the club scene, we went up to the hotel’s rooftop pool. We got a couple of lounge chairs by the side that overlooks Ocean Blvd. and the beach, but we sat facing west to see the sunset.

An older couple sat next to us and the woman removed everything except her bikini bottom. She looked at me as her obviously surgically enhanced breasts ballooned almost into my face. “Is she trying to seduce me?” I thought and I saw Lo look sidelong at us both.

Lo and I got in the pool and I swam up to her and whispered, “Lo, that totally was not my fault. She sat down next to me. She was trying to impress me. I didn’t know what to do, so I just smiled politely.”

“It’s ok,” laughed Lo at all my excuses. “I know. Besides, she’s got nothing on me,” she said, removing her own bikini top and putting it on the side of the pool. She and I swam in the pool together as if we were one monstrous fish with four appendages. I loved being next to her bare torso in the pool with others looking on from the patio. Then she got out like a goddess and sat in the lounge chair and I went to the bar to order us drinks. I watched admiringly as others were staring at my little nymph.

I brought her drinks and we enjoyed an indescribably colorful sunset. I felt as if everything was perfect.

As the pool area emptied out, we went back to the hotel room. After Lo showered and slipped on a sexy dress and slid into some very sexy heels, we were out and about at one of the city’s dance clubs. I am no dancer, but I love watching Lo dance. I ordered my drink at the bar and watched as she danced and flirted with the city’s diverse beauties. I really think that Miami is perhaps the best looking city in the US.

As I sat and soaked in Lo’s form under the twirling lights, I thought of the Don Henley song, “All She Wants To Do Is Dance.” Yep, that’s Lo. All she wants to do is dance. . . and fuck. And this night it looked like she was doing both out on the dancefloor.

Around two in the morning, she finally came back to me, all sweaty, and said she was ready to go because even though she was having a great time, her feet were killing her.

On our way to the hotel in the back of the Lyft, she pulled out her phone and was looking at something that made her excited. She already had her shoes off, but as she looked at her phone, she put her bare foot on my lap and said, “Massage it, Daddy.” She lifted up her other foot and asked me to do the same to that one while her dress revealed her commando crotch. She used her feet to flirt with my manhood as the driver made small talk, but I could tell that she was way too intoxicated to know what she was doing. When we got to the hotel, as we were crossing the quiet lobby, she said to me, “Come to the bedroom and fuck me.”

“Lola, I’ll come to the bedroom, but I’m going to sleep. It’s a quarter-to-three in the morning.”

“No it’s not. It’s sex-o’clock. Time for me to cum in the bedroom.”

“In that case, I’m not going to the bedroom. I’ll stay right here on the couch in the lobby.”

“I can cum on the couch just as easily as in the bedroom. Even easier, because here I have an audience.”

Realizing the futility of my rebuke, I made sure she got to the hotel room without falling.

I went right to sleep, but at some ungodly hour I woke to find Lo on her phone travelling down dark electronic alleyways at night.

When I awoke in the morning, a flashback of the evening crossed my mind. Lo was sound asleep, naked, next to me. I grabbed her phone and scrolled through her history. Just as I suspected, a number of photos and messages from her Tumblr fans. Naughty, dirty, taboo, fetish, and wildly NSFW messages and photos. Good thing we were on vacation and so were most other people for Thanksgiving. I’ve noticed that around holidays, Lo’s fans really step up. Loneliness sets in, I suppose, and they reach out. Lo, ever gracious, always compliments their dick pics and entertains their most depraved fantasies about her. Every once in a while she draws the line with them, if they disrespect her or disrespect women in general. Though she is into BDSM, she still wants to be worshipped as a goddess. It’s a fine line, but make no mistake, there is a line.

Lo’s Call for Tributes

I read a number of conversations that made me laugh. For instance, in response to one fan who asked, “What’s up?” Lo responded, “If you’re looking at my photos, then your cock.”

To another guy who sent a pic of himself jacking off to her photos, she said, “Looks like you’ve got things well in hand.”

Satisfied that her nocturnal communications were nothing but the innocent fapping fun of a nymphomaniac, I put her phone down and made myself a coffee.

Lo woke, groggy. She went to the bathroom and was in there for a while.

I had sat down to begin writing. I had my warm cup of coffee to my left and my notes to my right and I was gazing off to the middle distance contemplating the first line of the story when I heard, “Darling, can you come here? I need your opinion on something.”

I muttered under my breath, “She’s going to ask me how she looks in something and I will tell her and she’ll disregard my opinion and do whatever the hell she wants to do anyway. I don’t know why she claims she needs my opinion.” But I called back to her, “Yes dear,” as I got up from my comfortable writing perch and went to the bathroom.

In the bathroom I found her in a skimpy bikini.

“How do you like this top with these bottoms?” she asked.

“Nice.”

“Am I too fat?”

“Define what ‘too fat’ is.”

“Am I fat?”

“Honest answer?”

“Yes. No. Yes,” she said, confused.

“You’re just right.”

“But do I look fat in this?”

“Darling, you look perfect in it.”

“Is the bottom too cheeky?” she asked as she turned around and jutted her butt out.

“No. This would be too cheeky,” I said as I pulled the sides of the bikini bottom together to reveal most of her ass, followed by a spank.

“Mmmm, I like that,” she said.

“Me too. You’re welcome,” I responded as I began to return to my writing.

“Watit!” she demanded, “I’m not done,” she said as she removed her bikini top and grabbed another one. She put on the second top. “What do you think of this?”

“I think it’s too big.”

“Too big?”

“Yeah, it covers too much of your tits.”

“Well I like it,” she said.

“I don’t know why you say you want my opinion on things when you never act on it.”

“Fifty something years and you don’t know by now that when a woman asks your opinion on how she looks, what she wants to hear is a compliment?”

“No,” I said. “It only took fifteen seconds for you to tell me that. Now I know. Thank you. And, by the way, you look great in that.”

“I look even better out of it. Take me to the right beach and you’ll see just how good I can look out of it.”

It was an enticing prospect, but today was Thanksgiving and we had to be at our family-friend’s house by two for the big meal. That left little time for an excursion to a nude beach.

We were both hungry and we ordered breakfast to our room.

Room service arrived and Lo answered in her skimpy bikini bottoms, no top. She even bent over to rummage through her bag for a tip to give him. My guess was that her little show was all the tip he needed.

After he left, Lo began to pout. She had ordered a bagel with cream cheese. “The bagel’s not toasty enough and the cream cheese doesn’t spread.”

“You know what I like about you? You tell it like it is. There’s no beating around the bush with you.”

“I don’t have any bush to beat,” she said, pulling back her bikini bottom and showing her shaved triangle.

“That is true.”

“But you can beat my puss.”

I was only wearing my cut-off sweatpants-shorts and a T-shirt. As Lo sat in her chair, fondling herself, I grew noticeably hard in my shorts.

“Why do you resist, Daddy?” she asked. “I can see you want me.”

“I do, but. . .” Before I could finish the sentence, she put her legs up in the air. One on the desk and the other on the bed, and she really went at it.

“Jerk off for me,” she commanded.

“Do you want me to fuck you or do you want me to jerk off?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

I pulled at my cock, hoping that I’d be getting some of her puss. She teased me by pulling her pussy lips, by pulling her bikini bottoms into a micro-bikini with her pussy lips spilling over the thin thong. “Should I go onto the beach like this, Daddy?” she asked.

That was too much for me. I exploded in my shorts.

HH cums

“Nooooooo,” she called, seeing her hopes and dreams splattered all over my crotch.

“Sorry, Lo,” I said meekly.

“Damn it!” she said. “First breakfast was a disappointment, now dessert.”

“You’ll just have to take matters into your own hands,” I said.

No sooner had I said it than she swung around in the chair and opened the laptop computer to look at her Tumblr.

“Were you fooling around with my Tumblr account?” she asked me.

“No,” I said as I was cleaning myself off. “Why?”

There was no answer.

“Are you looking at all the messages from last night, er, earlier this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that was all you,” I said. “Don’t you remember?”

“I do now,” she said. I couldn’t tell if she was just trying to make like she hadn’t had that much to drink or if she was being honest. In either case, she began laughing. “I’m pretty funny,” she said as she masturbated to the photos she saw.

She got up and went on the bed where she shut her eyes and plunged her puss with her fist.

When she was good and done, I asked her what she was thinking about.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing? Really? You just came like a howling wildebeest to the thought of nothing?”

“I’m very Zen.”

“Lo,” I said, unamused.

“Well. . .”

“Out with it.”

“I was thinking of the woman from the pool yesterday.”

“Mrs. Silicon?”

“Yeah. But in my mind. . . . No I shouldn’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“If I say it, you might get the wrong idea. You might think that I want it and I definitely don’t want it.”

“Want what?”

“In my mind she was young, blonde, and natural. She was coming onto you, making me jealous. You took her down to our hotel room. I followed and then the soundtrack started playing, ‘Girl Crush.’”

“What?”

“You know, the song ‘Girl Crush,’ by Little Big Town,” she said as she put the video on.

I gotta girl crush, hate to admit it but
I gotta heart rush, ain’t slowin’ down
I got it real bad, want everything she has
That smile and that midnight laugh she’s giving you now

I wanna taste her lips, yeah, ʼcause they taste like you
I wanna drown myself in a bottle of her perfume
I want her long blonde hair, I want her magic touch
Yeah, ʼcause maybe then you’d want me just as much
I gotta girl crush, I gotta girl crush

I don’t get no sleep, I don’t get no peace
Thinkin’ about her under your bed sheets
The way that she’s whisperin’, the way that she’s pullin’ you in
Lord knows I’ve tried, I can’t get her off my mind

“I see,” I said after hearing the song. “We could make that happen.”

She threw a pillow at me.

After she got dressed, I asked her what it was she wanted to do in the few hours we had before we were expected for the Thanksgiving meal.

“I didn’t tell you?”

“No, no you didn’t. What?”

“We’re going fishing!” she said all excited.

“We’re doing what?”

“Well, boating or fishing or skinny-dipping. Whatever we want, but my friend has a boat and. . .”

“You’re friend? Who the hell do you know down here in Miami?”

“Darling, I have friends all over the world.”

“Tumblr friends?”

“When you’ve got assets like these,” she said, showing off her butt, “everyone wants to be your friend.”

“Good grief!”

“Anyhow, this friend of mine, or ours. . .”

“Ours?! I don’t even know him!”

“Whatever. That doesn’t matter. He knows you very well by now. He’s got a boat and he promised to take us out for a little trip today!”

Soon we were at the marina and, after a few wrong turns, we finally found the boat and Lo’s ‘friend.’ His name was Alan and he seemed nice enough. He was tall and lanky, he had some scruff on his face like he hadn’t shaved in three days. He was tan and looked like he spent his days in the Florida sun. I’d guess he was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight. He had a small motorboat and we got aboard and Lo stripped down to her sexy bikini while Alan steered and made small talk with me. Turns out, I was right about how he spent his days. He worked at the marina part-time and as a waiter the rest of the time.

Lo and I had a few beers and we had a great view of the city from off the coast. The sun, the gentle rocking of the boat, and the beer made me drowsy and I almost nodded off. But we stopped the boat and we all decided to strip down to our birthday suits and take a refreshing dip. Lo, who used to be on the swim team in high school, made an elegant dive into the deep blue sea. I followed and then Alan. I might add here that Alan’s schlong was quite long and I could see Lo looking up from where she was treading water, lusting after him as he pealed out of his tight shorts. When I was next to her, I said, “Lo, you sure are a good Catholic.”

“What?” she asked, perplexed.

“As Jesus said, ‘Be fishers of men, not of fish.’ Looks like you landed a real big one.”

“Oh Daddy. Do you think I didn’t know before how big he is?”

“I should have known.”

Then Alan jumped in. The water was refreshing and it was liberating to be so far out, swimming the way God made us. Lo was swam right up next to Alan. “I’m getting tired of treading water,” she said quite falsely. “Will you hold me a while?”

Alan gladly wrapped his arms around her torso and allowed his left hand to rest on her breast. I watched from a slight distance. I could see Lo gently guide his right hand down to her puss. He was clearly rubbing her clit and soon she was cumming. She loves to cum in the ocean.

After she came, she turned around, wrapping her legs around Alan’s hips, and she held onto him like an aquatic marsupial. They began to make out, but it was awkward because, try as he might, Alan couldn’t keep both of them afloat while simultaneously trying to have intercourse with Lo.

Soon we climbed up the boat’s ladder, Lo first, of course, followed right after by Alan, and I brought up the rear. We were all sitting in the boat, catching our breath and enjoying the invigorating breeze and sunlight for a while. Then Lo went to the front to tan naked. Alan and I put on our shorts and Alan began to drive the boat back towards the marina. We passed a few other boats that waived and blew their horns at the sight of Lo.

About halfway back, Lo got up, grabbed another beer, and then asked Alan if he needed anything. The way she said it, I knew exactly what she meant. Alan said, “No, I’m good.”

But Lo got down on her knees, beer in one hand, and took his cock in her other hand and began stroking it over his shorts.

She looked up at him and said, “You sure?”

He looked down at her and said, “Well. . .” and that was enough for Lo to pull out his cock and take the whole, long pole deep in the back of her throat. She sucked on it and then periodically took a sip of her cold beer. Apparently the contrast between warm and cool was very pleasant for Alan and soon his froth was mixing with the head of the beer in Lo’s mouth. She seemed gratified and proud of her accomplishment.

Alan zipped up and Lo put her bikini back on just before we were within sight of the folks on the dock.

We parked the boat and Lo and I said our goodbyes, apologizing for having to leave so early, but we did have a Thanksgiving dinner to attend.

As we were walking away, Lo, holding my hand, asked me, “Daddy, why didn’t you fuck me on the boat?”

“I enjoyed the show,” I said.

“But didn’t you want me?” she asked.

“I did, but honestly, with the beer, the sun, and after the swimming, I was completely exhausted.”

She rolled her eyes and replied, “You put the ‘old’ in ‘cuckold.’”

We were on our way back to our hotel when, along the way, we found a cozy little bar called “The Village Pump.”

Lola stopped to look in for a moment. “Isn’t that what they called you in high school?” I asked, making a Lola joke.

“I’m rubbing off on you,” she said sardonically, followed by, “Hmmm, that sounds like fun!”

She grabbed my hand to pull me inside. “But Lo,” I protested, “we have to get ready for Thanksgiving!”

“This place is so cute and the back patio spills out right onto the beach,” she protested. “Just one drink. I just want to experience it.”

“Fine,” I conceded as we walked in, to Lo’s delight.

We popped in, each ordered a drink, and we found our way to the beachfront seating in the way back of the bar. Lo looked lovely in her sun hat and her bare feet. She teased and tempted me as we sat there, suggesting all sorts of fun frolics with her feet and licks with her lips. We downed our drinks, paid the tab and then were off to get ready for the Thanksgiving meal.

Back at the hotel, we changed into our casual-formal attire. In Miami everything is casual. We had to change quickly because due to Lo’s epicurean exploits, we were running behind schedule. We got to our friends’ apartment fashionably late, but people were still having cocktails and eating some light hors-d’oeuvres. Lo took a flute of champagne and quenched her thirst with it and then she grabbed me by the hand to pull me aside.

“Follow me,” she said, as she took me to the master bathroom.

Before I even had time to ask her “What?” she was bent over the marble sink in front of the large mirror. “Mount me,” she instructed. She slipped out of her red dress and pulled her tits out of her red bra. I looked at the two of us in the mirror and penetrated her as she wished.

“What’s this all about?” I asked in a whisper.

A Quick Fuck Before the Thanksgiving Meal

“Shut up and fuck me,” she said as she pulled out her phone. She put it on the counter and turned it on. Over her shoulder I could see that she had just got an influx of pics from fans jackin’ it to her divine image. Apparently, they excited her. As she was scrolling through her happy holidays messages, I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick shot of the action – a sexy selfie of us mid-coitus. She came. I didn’t. I was a bit too distracted. But then, just as I was pulling out of her tight, wet slit, the clenching of her cunt on my cock was the little added stimulation I needed to put me over the edge. I came, unexpectedly, all over her ass like icing on a cake.

Hastily, I cleaned her up and then she pulled up her panties and pulled down her skirt.

We hadn’t yet had the Thanksgiving meal, but I knew what I was thankful for.

Lo smiled mischievously as we mingled with the guests. She was happy. I was happy. And our merry-making in Miami was brought to a very satisfying conclusion.

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

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