Category Archives: ass

Slap Shot

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

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I follow instructions.

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

“Off the elevator?”

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

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

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

“But you wanted more.”

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

“You did what?”

“You heard me.  A select five.”

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

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

“You did not!”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“I bet.”

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

“They were so kind and considerate.”

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

“And you loved it, I bet.”

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

“Loving?”

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

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

“Right?  Win-win!”

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

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

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

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

Pride Day

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Lola and I happened to be in the nation’s capital for Gay Pride Day.  It was a perfect sunny June day and we had just had brunch in our little B&B in the center of the city.  We looked over the events listed in the LGBTQ paper and had forged a rough plan for the day.  We began at Dupont Circle watching the crowd of ebulliently self-proclaimed “fags,” “dykes,” and “traps” congregate.  We wandered along with the flow of folks until the stream we were in grew to a mighty river of revelers.  The party and parade were in full swing and we were cheering on the costumed and carousing throng.

After a while of this, we grew thirsty and hungry and we wondered off the main route to some smaller streets to find someplace to replenish our energy.  As we walked about in a neighborhood we didn’t know, we saw two guys, obviously a couple, in their mid-forties or so and we asked them for a recommendation.  They stopped just long enough for one of them to say, “If you turn right down this alleyway, there’s a small bar with good food and cold drinks at the very end.  But,” he looked us over quickly and immediately concluded that we were a straight couple, “it probably isn’t for you.”

I took great offense at that, but Lo brushed it off or, more accurately, she took it as a personal challenge.

We followed his instructions and sure enough down a long alleyway, just wide enough for us to walk single file, we found a door.  There was no name.  There was nothing to announce that this was any sort of dining establishment.  Just a door.  There was nowhere else for us to go, so we went in.

On the other side of that mysterious door was a dark room full of men of all ages.  There were no windows so not even a hint of the glorious day filtered into this shady hole in the wall.  Guys were playing pool, others were sitting around the bar drinking beers, and some others, but very few, were at tables having lunch.

Instead of sports games on the various TVs in the bar as you would see elsewhere, there was a seemingly endless slideshow of naked and semi-naked men projected on every screen.  Each man was buff, handsome, and totally gay.  Lo was practically drooling looking at them.

“Hungry?” I asked her.

“You have no idea,” she said before snapping out of it and asking, “You mean, for lunch?”

“Lunch, or whatever,” I said back.

“I could do whatever.”

We sat at the bar and got a few odd looks from the patrons.  She was the only women in there and the fact that I was with her made it even more of a spectacle.

We ordered some food and two cold beers.  We were parched.

As we waited for the food to come, one affable fellow with less xenophobia than the rest started up a conversation with us.  He asked us where we were from, what brought us to D.C., how we were liking it, and our experience of the Pride Parade.  He was tall, about six feet, and easy going, as if from the south – or further south than D.C.  He had a moustache and a chiseled jawline.  He made us feel at ease and the fact that he was talking to us was a sign to the rest of the guys that it was ok.

After we ate and had about three beers, Lo was feeling like playing pool and so she challenged this gent to a game.  He laughed, as if Lo couldn’t possibly beat him, and accepted her offer.  Lo’s pride was at stake and she marched up to the table and racked up the balls.  She picked up the cue ball and said, “Do you want to break or shall I?”

“You can,” he said with a chuckle.

“What?” asked Lo, “You think I don’t know how to handle some heavy balls and a long stick?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, amused.

Lo bent over the table, revealing a bit under her denim skirt, and took her shot.  Nothing went in.

“You might be able to handle balls and a stick, but getting it in the pocket is the trick,” he said.

“Trust me,” said Lo, “I know how to get it in the hole.”

He laughed again as he took his shot.  It was an easy shot but he did it with the cool and confidence of a pro.  I was worried for Lo’s pride.

The game went on with his taking five shots to every one of Lo’s.  He quickly vanquished her.  But he was kind about it.  He offered to buy us both a drink to show no hard feelings.

“No hard feelings,” said Lo, as she took a sip of her beer, cheersing him, “but is anything else hard?” she asked.

“You got yourself a woman who really likes a challenge,” he said to me with a playful wink of his eye.  Then to her, “If you want to find out, follow me.”

He put down his drink and started to walk off toward an even darker corner of the bar.  Lo looked at me as her tongue ran its way over her lips, and she followed him.  They sat at a small, private round table in the shadows and from where I stood at the bar I could see them making out.  His big hands found their way up her skirt and I could see her convulsing.  She then repositioned herself, straddling her legs over his knee as she sat looking at him and kissing him, her right thigh rubbing up against his crotch.  I saw her right hand reach down between his legs and rub his cock while he buried his face in her breasts.

Though the others in the bar could see it if they chose to look, they simply ignored it.  Lo’s left hand was rubbing up and down the man’s right bicep.  Knowing Lo, I was sure that she was squirting all over the guy’s jeans.  Then there was a moment when they both froze, as if the movie was on pause.  Then they moved really slowly.  The guy went to the bathroom.  Lo sauntered proudly back to me at the bar.

“Did you pay the tab?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good, let’s go.”

“But you didn’t say goodbye to your new friend.”

“That’s ok.  He’s going to be a while cleaning up.”

And just like that we walked out, down the long alley, and back into the sunlit celebration of sexuality.

“Do you know what made me cum?” Lo asked.

“Rubbing his strong arms?”

“Well, yes, that, but also he said to me that he wished you would join in and he could suck your cock while I sucked his.”

“Did he now?”

“Yeah.  How do you feel about that?”

“Well, it’s too bad you didn’t tell me earlier.”

“Would you do it?”

“I guess we’ll never know since you took care of him all by yourself.”

“Well, why didn’t you follow me to the table?”

“You looked like you had things well in hand.”

“But you could have joined.”

“I guess,” I said, “but I like to be asked.  It’s a matter of personal pride.”

“Naked Brunch”

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“Lo!” I called from the bedroom into the bathroom through the closed door.  “LO!  What are you doing in there?!”  As if there were any question, really.

“Grrrrr, you’re not helping, you know!” came the response.  “This water pressure sucks!”

“Jim will be here in fifteen – no, ten minutes.”

You see Jim, of the “doppelganger” couple, was to come over for brunch that Sunday morning.  Lilly, his girlfriend, was out of town for a week and he had called me and asked if I would have time to talk.  When I told him that Lo and I were free Sunday morning, he clumsily apologized and said, “Oh, I meant just you and me.  I’m going through something and I. . .”

He was clearly uncomfortable and I felt bad for my assumption.  I didn’t put him through having to explain it all on the phone, so I simply said, “No worries.  Come on over at eleven and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Well, now it was ten to eleven Sunday morning and Lo had been in the shower, no doubt sitting on the tub’s floor with the showerhead between her legs, for the better part of half an hour.  She was supposed to be out of the house by now and I was getting irritated by the lack of consideration.  When I presented the plans to her, in typical Lola fashion she took umbrage at not being the center of attention.  “What could he possibly have to say to you that I can’t hear?  Do you think he’s breaking up with Lilly?  Do you think she left him?”

“Lo,” I said, “I don’t know.  But I do know that he’s a friend in need and I will find out the whole story on Sunday.”

“Well,” she said, insulted, “I have two ears just like you do.  I’m a good listener.  I can dole out advice.  I’m a comforting soul.”

“All of that is true, Lo,” I said, “but, hard as it is to believe, maybe he needs to talk man-to-man.”

“Harrumph!” she said, dramatically, “I could have a penis too, if I wanted one.  I’ve got like four or five different strap-ons under the bed.  Maybe if I had a penis he’d want to talk to me.”

“Lo, most men want to talk to you most of the time – penis or no penis.  Can’t you accept that this one time a guy wants to talk to me. . . alone?”

I got her to promise that she’d let us alone for a few hours so that I could hear whatever it was that Jim had to say to me.  But now she was dangerously close to intruding upon that precious one-on-one time.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a plume of steam into the bedroom.  From within the cloud, the naked body of Lola appeared like the epiphany of a goddess out of heaven.  Under normal circumstances, this would be the perfect opportunity to bend her over the edge of the bed and get on my knees to worship her posterior.  But we had a guest – no, correction, I had a guest – scheduled to arrive in mere moments.

“You like, Daddy?” she asked, seeing me soak her visage in with my eyes.

“Lola,” I said in my Ricky Ricardo to Lucy voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a jiffy!”

I took her word for it and went into the kitchen to take out the ingredients for the brunch I was preparing.  The doorbell rang and I welcomed Jim in, explaining that Lo is just getting a bit of a late start.  He greeted me with a smile and a bottle of champagne, “For mimosas,” he said.

“Wonderful idea!  Shall I pour two now?”

“It is brunch time,” he said.

I went into the kitchen and popped the cork and poured the bubbly in two long-stem glasses with OJ.  The kitchen is half-way between the living room and the bedroom.  From where I was in there, I could hear Lo beginning to moan.  I hastily grabbed the two glasses and returned to the living room where I said, “Some music?”  I turned on a Sunday blues station louder than was necessary, exclaiming, “I love this song!”

“Oh, who is it?” asked Jim.

Truth be told, I had no idea.  I just wanted something to drown out the inevitable cries of pleasure that would reverberate down the hallway.  “I forget, but I haven’t heard it in a long time,” I said as I felt beads of sweat on my brow.

We sat in the living room talking in raised voices over the music, just catching up with each other since it had been a while since we last spoke in person.

“Refill?” I asked when I saw his glass was empty.

He passed me his glass and I went to the kitchen.  I went to refill his glass and quickly darted over to the bedroom where I peered in the door.  Lo was naked on the bed, Hitachi between her legs.  She looked over at me and whispered, “Sorry.”

“Are you done?” I whispered back, accusingly.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I closed the door and brought out the mimosas to the living room, turning down the music now.  We chatted some more and then Lola walked into the room wearing her thin, tight, black yoga pants and a crop top, exposing her midriff.

“Hi Jim,” she said, flirtatiously.

“Hi Lola!”

“Don’t mind me.  I’m just on my way to the gym for a yoga class.  I know you boys want your time alone.  I just have to get my gym bag.”  Though her gym bag was in the hall leading to the living room and she could have simply picked it up, she made a production of turning around, bending over, protruding her tail in the air and then picking it up.  It was a classic stripper move designed to provide the best view for Jim.

“Doesn’t that class start at eleven?” I asked facetiously.  “You’d better get a move-on.”

“I’ll hightail it there, D—”  She almost said “Daddio,” but stopped herself mid-consonant.  “Don’t worry about me,” she stammered.  She gave me a kiss goodbye and was finally out the door.

I observed with keen interest how Jim’s eyes followed Lo’s ass as she sauntered away.

When she was definitively gone, I got up and said, “Want to accompany me as I prepare the brunch?”

He followed me into the kitchen where I sliced and diced, fried and prepared the meal as he made some small talk.  We sat down, ate, drank some more mimosas, and then, finally, he got to that which was on his mind.

“You know that Lilly is in Miami now,” he said.

“Yeah, how’s that going?”

“Well, she’s been away for four days and. . .”

I thought he was going to tell me that they had broken up and she wasn’t returning back, even though – or perhaps because – they had just moved in together.  But that’s not where he was going with this.

“Well, you might not know this,” he continued, “but she and I are in an ‘open’ relationship.”  He made air-quotes around “open.”  No.  No, I had not known that.  Does he know about Lo and me?  I hadn’t told him.  Had Lo?  Why bring this up with me?  Had he found our blog?  So many things ran through my mind at that moment.

“Until now,” he continued, “it really was an understanding between us, an operating principle, but it wasn’t put into practice.”

“Ah ha,” I nodded, indicating my understanding.

“But she called the other night – it was the first night she was down there – and she asked if she could sleep with a guy she met at the bar.”

“Oh,” I said.  “And?”

“That’s just the thing – I was already asleep.  I didn’t get the message until the next morning and by then it was too late.”

“Too late?” I didn’t know if he meant the opportunity had come and gone or if the opportunity had cum and stayed.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?  Did she?”

He swallowed hard and admitted, “Yes.  She didn’t hear back from me and, operating on our understanding, she slept with him.  She did try to ask permission and she waited for a reply,” he said in defense of her before I even had a chance to react.

“How are you doing with that?”

“That’s just the thing, I’m doing horrible with it.”  The distress was clear on his face.

I still hadn’t figured out why he had chosen to confide in me about this.

“What, exactly, is upsetting you about it?”

Let’s be clear here, in most situations if a fella came to his friend’s house and told him that he just found out that his girlfriend had slept with another man, there wouldn’t be any question as to what, exactly, was upsetting about it.  But this wasn’t most situations.  He got that and I did too.

“When I agreed to an open relationship, I did so because I knew that that was what she was used to and what she wanted.  It was at the beginning of our relationship when you feel like nothing could derail the connection.  But. . .”  He took a deep drink of mimosa and I refilled his glass.  “But since then we’ve had some issues. . .”  Long pause again.  “Intimacy.  She says that we don’t connect sexually and spiritually.  She says she loves me in every other way, but. . . and this is really hard to admit, she’s just not satisfied with my performance in bed.  So, to hear about her with another man, it’s driving me nuts!”

I thought to myself, “You can either let it get to you or embrace your inner cuck and love your hotwife for who she is.”  I didn’t say that to him, of course.  I just lent a compassionate ear to his tale of woe.  I gave some worldly advice, perhaps revealing more about myself and my relationship with Lola than I had intended, but not stating anything explicit about my relationship with her.  I was eager to find out the root of their sexual disconnect, but careful not to pry.  I knew that, had Lo been there – had she been the Lady Confessor – she would have been able to coax it out of him.

No sooner had I thought this than in the door appeared Lo.  Jim put on his best smile and greeted her.  “How was the yoga class?”

“So good,” said Lola.  “How was your brunch?”

“We’re just finishing up,” said Jim as he cleared his plate and, as it seemed to me, hastily began to say goodbye.

As soon as he was out the door, Lo looked at me and said, “Did I scare him off?”

“I think you did,” I said, as surprised as she by the abrupt departure.

“Good,” she said, “now we’re alone.  Tell me everything!”

“First, young lady,” I said in a scolding manner, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Hearing my rebuking tone, she turned tail and said, “I’m sorry, Daddy, spank me!”  She bent over in her yoga pants and put her bum in the air.  I gave her a good, hard, thrashing with my flat, open hand.  It was clearly having an arousing effect upon her.

“Why are you spanking me, Daddy?”

“First,” I said, giving her bum a whack, “for jilling it in the shower.  Second” and another whack, “for being late out the door.  Third,” Whack! “for jilling it in bed.  Fourth,” Whap! “for walking out in those yoga pants.”

“You noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“I think you know.”

“Your cameltoe?”

“So you did notice?  I didn’t wear any panties under the yoga pants.  I pulled them up tight so that when I walked out my pussy, with all its clearly outlined folds, would be eye-level with Jim as he sat in the living room.”

WHACK!

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, licking her lips at the pain and pleasure.  “I was bad.  I purposely teased him.  Did you like that?”

I pulled down her yoga pants and spanked her bare bottom now.  “Fifth, for returning so early and teasing him again!”

“Take me in the bedroom and tell me what happened.”

I took her and told her the whole story.  She masturbated to each detail and then said, “Do you think he came to you because he suspects I’m a hotwife?”

“Yes,” I said, “and not only that, but I think that what’s really going on is he’s feeling threatened that Lilly will get all the action and he’ll get none.  I think his coming to me was his way of asking permission if it would be ok to fuck you, just so he can play too.”

“Really?!” asked Lo, very excited.  “What makes you think that?”

“Just my gut.  But I think he’s way too shy or uptight to actually come out and say it.”

“Do you think he has a small cock?  Or trouble getting it up?  Or. . .”

“Lo, I really don’t know.  I haven’t put too much thought to it, but I’m sure you could be the cure to whatever ails him.”

“Oh, Daddy, hurry up and get in me!”

As soon as I had penetrated her puss to the hilt, she came in waves, gushing all over me.  It took nothing more than that initial lance before she was convulsing upon my hard shaft.  When she was done, she asked, “Did he like your brunch?”

“I think he would have preferred to have your naked peaches and cream.”

Original art by Jo Koss

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

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It was one of those lovely summer days when you look out the window from your office and see everyone walking on the crowded street in t-shirts and miniskirts and you just wish it was the weekend and not Wednesday.  I had walked to work in the morning and, though I knew it would be a scorcher walking home in my suit, I couldn’t wait to get out of the office.  Finally five-o-clock arrived and I walked under the still blazing June sun back home, feeling the sweat soak the back of my shirt, but glad to be outside.  It was like some sort of primitive instinct.  We are sometimes more animal than human and this was one of those times that my body knew with greater intellect than my mind that we were not made to sit eight hours a day under florescent lights.

Walking up the street to home, I saw Lola sitting on the front stoop in her little blue Daisy Dukes and very loose-fitting tank top (no bra) talking with two young men.  As I got closer, I could see (without hearing the words spoken, just from their body-language) that the two guys were simply making small-talk in order to keep looking down Lo’s shirt.  I could also see that Lo was more than happy to let them, feigning complete ignorance of what was happening.

I got a little closer yet and now, even from the distance where I was, I could see Lo’s nipples through the white T.  She was smiling and saying something that I could just about hear.  Oh, that’s it, she’s complaining about how dry it has been and what it’s doing to her flowers as she crouches down to caress one of her prized plants.  This was just a rouse, of course, to allow them to see more of her breasts and to get her eyes level with their groins.

It was at that point that she spied me walking home.  She stood up and said, “And this is H.H.”  She nodded in my direction and added, “Like I said, he’s going to be away this weekend.”  I greeted the two young fellows with a handshake, and they introduced themselves as Roy and Gary.  “They live there,” said Lo, standing a bit on her tiptoes, pointing down the street.  “They just moved in a couple of weeks ago.”

The boys picked it up from there, explaining that they’re brothers and one of them just graduated high school, the other is a freshman in college and they just moved in up the street.  I introduced myself and Lo again said, “It’s too bad you’ll be out of town on business Friday through Sunday cause it’s supposed to be perfect beach weather.  I can’t wait to start my tan!  Maybe Friday, after work, I’ll lie out in the back yard.”  Though she was saying all of this to me, it wasn’t meant for me at all.  It was meant for the boys.  A transparent code for, “I’ll be alone this weekend and in a bikini (or less) and you should definitely come see me.”

The boys, big grins on their faces, knowing that they got away with something, made their excuses for having to go back home and said, “Nice meeting you,” as they left.

“What was that all about?” I asked Lo when they were gone.

“Just being neighborly.”

“By letting them see your tits?”

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.  Does that upset you, Daddy?”

“Plan on throwing a little party for them while I’m gone this weekend?”

“I hope they’ll both come!” she said, running her tongue over her lips.

“I’m sure they will.  You’re very lucky that such good looking guys moved so close.  You could be their go-to slut.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Should I drill a couple of holes in the fence?”

“Oh, Daddy, you’re bad!”

“No, you’re bad.”

“Well, if you have time before you have to leave and it’s not too much trouble. . . ”

“Lola!”

“Just kidding.  Why don’t you go inside, take a shower, and then drill me.”

Cake & Bar – Interview with a Kinky Amateur Porn Couple

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

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

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

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

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

Q: How long have you been a couple?

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

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

A: Yes, we’re monogamous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HH & Lo: Thanks so much!!!!

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

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

 

 

Red-Handed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First, turn over.”

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

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

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

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

“You know who.”

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

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

“Yes Daddy.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck Noir

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It was one of those weeks when I was feeling low rather than feeling Lo.  A depression had settled in and, too depressed to do anything, I felt like trying to shake it was as futile as anything else I had tried to do in my life.  Dark thoughts.

Lo had been trying to seduce me all week.  “Fuck it out,” she’d say, “you’ll feel better after.”

“Lo,” I’d reply, “you know that depleting my Chi energy through ejaculation is a certain method for moving my mood from the ground floor into the basement.”

“Well, then just don’t cum.  I’ll cum enough for the both of us!”

Though I found her determination amusing, it did little more than evoke a wry smile from my lips.

As a direct result of my lack of amorous affection for her, Lo felt no desire to keep herself primed and ready for a good romp – with me or anyone – and she let her hair-down-there grow out.

Coming to bed one night, I saw her lying naked over the covers.  “Wow,” I remarked, unaware of the words escaping my mouth, “you’re looking very 1970’s!”

She immediately pulled the blanket up and over herself, saying, “I suddenly feel a cold draft.”

I can be cruel when in the throes of depression and so I responded with, “You shouldn’t be cold, you have a warm fleece.”

I climbed into bed and opened a book.  Beginning to read next to her, she turned to me and said, “With that facial hair you look like a movie villain.”

“You know, don’t you, that the villain of every story is the hero of his own story?”

“Yeah, well you’re the villain – even in your own story.”

“I can live with that.  You know that Milton’s great dilemma when writing Paradise Lost was that he had drawn the Devil in such a villainous way that he became the most compelling and interesting character.  God didn’t have a chance when the Devil was on stage.”

“Really?  Milton?  Really?  You are the most literary narcissist I ever did meet!”

“I take that as a compliment,” I said to her.

She reached over, more lovingly this time, and she said, “Daddy, you really do need to trim your beard.”  She rubbed my rough beard with her hand and tugged a little on it.

“When did you masturbate?” I asked.

She looked guilty and then said, “A little while ago.”

“When?”

“Just before you came into the bedroom.  How did you know?”

“I can smell you on your fingertips.”

“Well,” she replied, “if you’re not going to finger me, then someone has to.”  As she said this, she moved her hand down to my crotch.

Never one to miss a moment to spoil the mood when my mood is foul, I called out, “Why are your hands so cold?!  Were you giving the Ice Man a handjob before he cometh?”

She wrapped her legs around my bare legs and I felt her feet on my feet.  I followed my first question with another, “A foot job too?”

“The Ice Man has a warmer heart (and bigger dick) than you!” she said, rolling away from me and grabbing her phone.

I fell asleep to the tap-tap-tap of her texting with someone.

The next day was Saturday and it was a beautiful spring day.  Lo was up and about and I was lying on the couch in the living room.  Lola approached me like a puppy and said, “Come outside with me!”

“No.”

“Yes.  It’s so bright out there.”
“But it’s so dark in here.”

“Look,” she said, opening the blinds, “it’s the first beautiful day of spring!  Let’s get out and enjoy it!”  She proceeded to open all of the blinds and the windows to let the warm breeze flow through the room.

Like a vampire mortally injured by the light, I got up to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Are you going to come in the bedroom? – Because I’m going to take a nap.”

“I’ll probably cum several times. . . anywhere.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I said, as I went to the bedroom and locked the door.  She followed and was nonplused at finding the door locked.

“Let me come in!”

“No, no!  Go, go!”

“I’ll come in, you’ll cum in.  It will be even!”

“No.”

“Then at least come out.  Look, to get out of this depression you need to do something.”

“Well, I’m not doing you.”

“That was my first suggestion, but I’ll settle for going for a walk or to the gym.  Physical activity will help.”

I unlocked the door.  She entered the bedroom.  “Fine,” I said.

Getting ready for the gym, I put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“You’re not really going to wear that, are you?” she asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like a senior-citizen mall-walker.”

“And?  I’m just going to the gym, not a cocktail party.”

“And won’t you be hot?  Aren’t you going to break a sweat in that?”

“Oh, gosh, I certainly hope not!”

She was naked and sitting on the edge of the bed.  “Come here,” she asked seductively, spreading her legs and putting her hand between them, using her fingers to spread her pussy lips.

“No.”

“Don’t you want it, Daddy?”

“No.”

“But I want you.  I can see the outline of your big, thick dick in those sweatpants.”

“Lo, what are you going to wear to the gym?”

“Come here and I’ll tell you.”

“No.”

“Please.”

I gave in and walked over to her, convinced she wouldn’t succeed in her seduction.  As soon as I was between her legs, her knees clamped on my legs, capturing me and holding me tightly.

“Lo, you’re a human Penis Flytrap!”

“I think you must have Adult ADD.  One of the symptoms is relentless bad puns.”

“You’re saying I have AADD?”
“If you want to put it that way.”

“Sounds like my report card from high school.”

“You see, perfect example!”

“I heard once that among entrepreneurs there is an inordinate proportion of people with Adult ADD.  I heard that those entrepreneurs are good at multitasking and that they surround themselves with lots of competent people who stay on task.  That’s what I do.  I’m a captain and I have a lot of first mates.”

“Oh really?”

“Well,” I said more kindly, “my dear, you’re my first first mate.”

“I’m my own captain.  I’m no one’s first mate,” she said, putting her thumb to her sternum, pointing to herself proudly.

“Captain, eh?”

“That’s right, and I like to be surrounded by lots of semen.”

“And you say I have bad puns.”

“Give me some semen, Daddy, please,” she asked, pulling my cock out from my sweatpants and putting it in her mouth, to no avail.  Having failed in her attempt, she then got on the bed on all fours, flaunting her ass in front of me.  “What do you think?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Booty-full,” I said.

“Punny,” she said sardonically.

“Honestly, Lo,” I said, “I wish that I felt well enough to put my penis in your vagina.”

“Daddy!” she exclaimed, feigning shock.

“I’m sorry dear, I couldn’t think of a more poetic way of phrasing that.”

“That’s ok.  I like the direct route.”

“Are we going to the gym or what?”

“Yes,” she said, “because if we’re going to go to a nude beach this year, then we have to get in shape.”

“We?” I asked.

“Yes, we.  Us.”

“I’m in a shape.  In fact, I think I look flabulous.”

“Flabulous?”

“Yeah.  I might not have abs.  I might have flabs, but they look flabulous.”

“Well, then,” she said, “at least I feel like I have to get in shape.  I think I gained four pounds this winter.  Does it show?”

“Lo, you know that I would be happy if you gained forty pounds!”

“That’s nice of you to say but. . .”

“You know, there’s a kink out there called feederism, or something like that, where gaining weight is considered sexually arousing?”

“So, I have to get fat in order to get you up?”

“I’m not saying that.  I’m just saying all bodies are beautiful bodies.”

She rolled over on her tum and asked, “All?”

“Well, dear,” I corrected myself, “yours most of all.”

“That’s more like it.”

On the way to the gym, I remarked to her, “I was listening to Billy Joel the other day.  Some of his lyrics are just brilliant.”

“Like, ‘I heard about sex but not enough’?”

“Of all his lyrics, that’s the one lyric that you remember?”

“It speaks to me.”

“Well, I was thinking about the song, ‘I Go to Extremes.’”

“What about it?”

“It speaks to me.”

When we got to the gym, Lo wanted to start in the weight room.  Our gym is co-ed, obviously, and in the weight room there are lots of big, burly men who love to look at themselves in the full-length mirrors that surround the room on all the walls.  Lots of mirrors.  There are, of course, some women who, truth be told, also like to look at themselves in the mirrors.  They just don’t make as big a show of it as the guys do.

Lo likes looking at everybody, including herself, and, this particular morning, I found out in the worst of ways, she liked to be looked at as well.  She went right for the bench press and, asking me to spot her, she got on her back under the bar, her feet flat on the floor, her legs spread, and she asked with great deference, for my advice on lifting the twenty pounds (plus the weight of the bar, of course).

I gave her a few pointers and then stood behind her head, my hands cupped under the bar just in case she needed a little boost.  She looked up from the bench where her head was perched perfectly between my legs.  Had we been alone at home, she would have had a perfect angle for some fun play.  Her tongue ran across her sparkling white teeth and she mouthed the words, “Oh, Daddy!” as her eyes roamed to my crotch.

I rolled my eyes, but soon saw that some of the guys in the gym were stealing glances our way.  “Lo, try to get it up, will you?”  I honestly didn’t mean to say that.  I was talking about the bar, but it just came out that way.

“I’ve been trying all week,” she said.  “I think that with this good, hard, steel rod, I can make some progress.”  She went to lift the bar and lower it to her chest.  With a controlled exhale, she pushed the bar back up.  “That was good, right?!”  She was very excited by her accomplishment.

“Excellent!” I said, trying to be encouraging.  I looked up and noticed more guys’ eyes looking at her.  Was it that her legs were spread?  Was it that her face was down by my crotch?  Was it her breasts heaving as she lay flat on the bench?  I couldn’t tell what the interest was, but across the room the guys doing curls with free-weights, causing their already large biceps to bulge, were looking right at Lo.  It seemed like she was giving them inspiration.

After bench pressing, we did a few other strength exercises and we didn’t exact quite as much attention.  She told me that at the top of the hour a yoga class was starting and she encouraged me to join her in it.  “Yoga will be good for you.  It’s known to reduce depression.”  Reluctantly, I agreed.

In the yoga studio, the mats were arranged in five rows of four deep.  People gradually entered and chose their spots and began stretching out.  Lola took the front-center mat in the room and told me to take the spot behind her.  I did so.  I tried stretching.  Touching my toes was a challenge.  When the room was full, the instructor came in and she stood right in front of Lo.  We began easily enough and all was fine, until “Downward Dog.”  That’s when I figured out what the guys in the gym were looking at – Lo wasn’t wearing any panties!  Here little green yoga shorts were loose-fitting enough for her pussy to peek out when doing the bench press and now at yoga.  She looked over her shoulder at me when she came out of the pose and she knew that I knew what a bad girl she was.  Needless to say, part of my body was not as limber as it should be for yoga after that.  I think that I wasn’t the only one to notice my little slut’s slutty ways.  I played it off like I wasn’t with Lo.  Who?  Her?  That one in the front row showing her joie de vivre to the class?  Nope, don’t know her at all.  I’m just right behind her for the best view.

When the hour was over, Lo made it clear to the class that I was her man and she was my hotwife by grabbing my arm and congratulating me on getting through the entire class.  She looked down at the protrusion in my sweatpants and said, “I think you need to walk that off.”

I gave her a deriding look.

All the way home, she walked in front of me wiggling her little ass.

When we got home she said, “I’m so wet from working out.”

“I bet you are,” I replied.

“I’m going to take a shower.  Care to join?”

“No.  I’ll take one later.”
“Fine,” she said in a huff, “I was going to masturbate in there anyhow.”

“I figured.”

She was in there almost an hour.  When she was done, she walked stark naked into the kitchen and began slicing a tomato.

Hearing her futzing about, I came into the kitchen and asked, “Did you take a shower?”

“Yes.”

“Did you jill it?”

“No.  I made myself smooth.” She turned from the counter toward me and displayed her silky white skin of her mons pubis to me.

“Then why aren’t you bent over the bed?”

“Because I’m making you dinner.”

“Can’t I have an appetizer first?”

“Oh, now you want it?  What happened to your depression?”

“I’m just asking for a small taste to whet my appetite.”

“Just a taste?” she asked, incredulously.

“Yes.  April is abstinence month.”

“Really?  Since when?”

“I just proclaimed it such.”

“Well, this month sure won’t last long.”

“I’m telling you Lo, it’s Celibate City for me.”

“Forget it, Daddio, it’s Vaginatown.”

Masturbation Monday: Creative Writing and Performance Art

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Creative Writing and Performance Art

 

I heard her typing as she sat across the couch from me, but I also heard her moaning.

“Lo,” I asked, looking over the brim of my book, “what are you up to?”

“Oh nothing, Daddy,” she said, but the biting of her lip that followed her response belied her words.

Now I looked more carefully.  Her hand was shifting from her computer keyboard to her crotch.  (She reclined on the couch in just her oversized nightshirt.)

“Care to share?” I asked.

“In just a moment,” she said, typing and masturbating in turn.

When she finally came – pressing her legs together tightly so as not to ejaculate – she slammed the laptop closed and then looked at me, blushing and panting.

“Yes?” I inquired.  “Can I help you?”

“You sure can,” she said, getting up and commanding me from her standing position to march into the bedroom.  She lifted the shirt that draped over her butt, revealing her sweet ass to me as she wiggled it enticingly.

I placed my bookmark between the pages and got up, knowing I was expected to perform.  Lo’s masturbatory exercises are more often than not just a warm-up for sex and her two or three orgasms that result from the sex are just a warm-up for her next masturbatory session.  In logic we call it a ‘vaginal-circle.’

Once horizontal in the bed, I asked her what this was all about as I aligned my cock with the opening between her legs and began to slide in.

“Don’t you believe in foreplay anymore?” she asked as she squeezed her tits and pulled on her nipples, extending them as far as they would stretch.

“What was your solo session on the couch just now if not foreplay?”

“Look,” she said, very demandingly, “look at these.”  She indicated her chest by taking her tits in her hands and squeezing them hard and pointing her nipples at me.  “Many men – and women – would love this rack in their face.”

“I see,” I said, impressed by her impertinence.  “And you too seem to enjoy them – enough for both of us!”

“Well, what are they for if not enjoying?  Here,” she said, pulling my hands to her nipples, “pinch, twist, pull.  Repeat.”

I humored her for a while as she moaned.  My fondling her breasts freed up her hands to pinch, twist, pull and repeat on her pussy lips – something that gets her very aroused.

“You may pet my ass now,” she said, rolling onto her tum and raising her bum in the air.

I slapped her ass hard and said, “That’s so you’ll come to your senses.”

“I cum to a lot of things.  Cumming to my senses is one, but cumming to your cock is more fun.”

“Then let me have you.”

“No.  Not just yet, Daddio.  Play with my ass,” she implored, grabbing her ass cheeks with both hands and showing me exactly the spot she wanted touched.  I obliged.  “Mmmm, yeah,” she cooed.  “I wish you could take a picture of that so I could see it.”

“You need one of those extension poles people carry with them nowadays,” I said, not knowing the proper terminology.

“It’s called a selfie stick.”

“Selfie stick?  Don’t you have a few of those under the bed?”

“Ha!” she chuckled, “Don’t make me laugh.  Not now.  I want to. . .”  She came, squirting downward on the bed.  The combination of the gentle caress of my finger rounding her target and laughing broke the dam.  “Finger me, Daddio.  Feel how wet I am.”

“Lo, I see how wet you are.  Let me feel you with my cock.  I’ll put in my dipstick and give you a more accurate reading of your fluids.”

“Oh, Daddy.  Why do you use such horrid metaphors?”

“Because, my dear, you’re like a BMW – it’s not the price, it’s the maintenance that will get you.”

“OK,” she said, flipping over onto her back, spreading her legs wide, looking up at me.  “How can I deny that raging rod?  Get in me and I’ll tell you what I was up to on the couch.”

She didn’t have to ask twice.  I was stem-to-stern in, our faces cheek-to-jowl.  She whispered in my ear:

 

Another hotwife found our blog and reached out to me.  She’s married to a fifty-year-old and she’s in her thirties.  She’s ‘very bi,’ as she says, and eager to be with a woman again.  And not just any woman, but a woman like me – dominant, sub, sexy, femme, who can give and take a giant cock.  She wants us to get together and I was just telling her how I fantasize it would happen.  After drinks in a hotel lobby, we’d go up to the hotel room.  Since her man is older than you (twice my age, in fact) and you’re older than she and she’s older by ten years than I, the three of you would marvel at me – this young meat.  You’d all be salivating, wondering who would get to have me first.  But I would have it all planned out.

In the hotel room I’d stand still in my heels, blouse, and short skirt.  I’d tell you that each of you gets to remove one article of clothing.  Only one.  We’d go in age order – youngest to oldest – and so she’d begin by slowly unbuttoning my blouse as I stood stone still.  One-by-one she’d undo the buttons until my blouse was wide open and then she’d slowly undo the buttons of the cuffs and ever-so-gently guide my arms out of the sleeves until I was standing in nothing but my bra on top.

Then it would be your turn.  You’d look me up and down and consider, ‘Shoes?  Blouse?  Bra?’  Generous guy that you are, you’d let them have the choice articles, so you’d go for unzipping my blouse and letting it fall to the floor around my feet.  I’d continue to be unmoving, like a manikin.

Then the older gent would have to pick – bra or panties?  Being a gentleman, he’d go for the bra and carefully unclasp it from the back.  His trembling hands would slowly, reverently pull down my shoulder straps and, thinking the bra would fall, he’d step back to watch his handiwork.  But I’d use my arms to keep it up so that he’d have to tug on it a bit to get it fully off of my torso.

Then it would be her turn again and she’d get on her knees and, using her long, delicate fingers, she’d pull down my thong little-by-little until it fell around my ankles.

I’d continue to stand still and say, in the same order, you may touch, pull, squeeze, grope, kiss – whatever you want.  It would all be very Marina Abramovic.  It would be your turn and so you’d come right up to me and kiss me on the lips, whispering, ‘I love you.’

Then it would be his turn and, thoroughly loving my young, perky tits, he’d cup them, caress them, hold them, squeeze them, pull on the nipples.  He’d step back, letting his wife approach.  She’d again get down on her knees and she’d ever-so-slightly kiss my pussy as her hands reached behind me and grabbed my ass.

This would go on for some time as each of you enjoy whichever part of me you wish.  Then I’d say, ‘Put me on the bed.’  The three of you would lift me and smoothly place me on my back on the bed.  I’d spread my legs and, since it would be her turn, I’d call her to me to place her face there and eat me out.

Next it would be your turn and you would go in, but only for a moment, before I’d say, ‘That’s all for you, HH.’

Then it would be his turn.  He would be allowed to penetrate me, but he’d have to wear a condom that his wife would put on – her hands pulling the ring down the shaft of his cock and pointing him right into me.  He’d have a good go at me for a while.

After each of you had a turn with me on my back, I’d turn over and get on all fours.  By this time she would have her strap-on fully in place and she’d fuck me good and hard from behind.  Then it would be your turn again, and finally his.  I’m sure I’d cum multiple times through this exquisite torture.  Finally, when I felt I couldn’t take it any longer, I’d flip over onto my back again and I’d have her get on her knees at the foot of the bed and eat me out while the two of you jacked it over my open mouth until you both came over me in unison.

 

The whole time she was telling me this story, I was barely moving inside her for fear of interrupting her lovely imaginings with my orgasm.  But that didn’t stop her from cumming and cumming again, each time having to take deep breaths before continuing her story.

“Is that what you were writing?”

“Yes, Daddy.  I know I’m bad.”

“And this admirer of yours?”

“She told me it made her cum a lot.”

“So, she wants to get together?”

“Yes.”

“And him?”

“I assume so.”

“And you?”

“I can’t wait.”

“So, this is your way of asking permission?”

“No, this is my way of telling you what’s going to happen.”

“So you want me to cum on your face.”

“Yes.  Badly.”

“Now.”

“Always.”

“That would prove difficult.  How about we start with now?”

“Yes.”

I pulled out and got on my knees next to her and she reached up, grabbed my cock, stroked it and it only needed one or two caresses of her hand before, seeing her open mouth, I shot like a bottle rocket.  The first spurt went clear across the bed.  She readjusted the aim and pulled my cock down towards her face and managed to get covered with the second, third, and fourth rounds.

“Had your fill?” I asked as she began to clean up.

“Did I ever tell you my bukkake fantasies?”

“Lo, I’m not up for any more fantasies tonight,” I said.

She grabbed my limp dick and said, “I can see that.  That’s why I have bukkake fantasies,” and she reached under the bed to pull out her toy box.

Sea of Porn

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Sea of Porn

It’s hot.  It’s humid.  It’s February and we’re on vacation – an escape from the winter wonderland of our northern home.  Lying out by the pool, I admire the scenery, much to Lo’s consternation.

There’s a DJ who’s also doubling as the MC for the spring-break crowd.  He has the limbo bar set up and is spinning “Limbo Rock” as the scantily-clad bikini babes and the sculpted bros do their annual mating dance under it.

Every limbo boy and girl
All around the limbo world
Gonna do the limbo rock
All around the limbo clock

“Enjoying the Bimbo Rock?” Lo asks me, her voice dripping with derision.  She glances at me as she asks, but I see her taking in the eye-candy as well.

Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick
All around the limbo clock
Hey, let’s do the limbo rock

Limbo lower now
Limbo lower now
How low can you go?

“They’re playing your song,” I say to her.  “They’re calling your name, ‘Hey Lo – how low can you go?”

First you spread your limbo feet
Then you move to limbo beat
Limbo ankolimboneee
Bend back like a limbo tree

Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick

“I’ll tell you what,” she says to me, looking over the rim of her dark sunglasses, “I’ll spread my limbo legs and you give me your limbo stick, and I’ll show you just how low Lo can go.”  As she says it, she spreads her legs wide on the reclining chair.

“That’s sounds great,” I reply, “but first, let’s just see who wins, ok?”

“Grrrrrrr,” she says in frustration at my intentional taunt.  “Get me a beer, Daddio,” she commands.

“Sure, do you want it in a glass?”

“Yes, please.  But pour it right!  I don’t want any head.”  She paused.  “I’ll be giving head later. . . in bed.  That’s the only head I want.”

“I can’t wait,” I reply.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she barbs back, “I’ve got my eye on a few likely candidates.”

Later, up in the hotel room, she asks me, “Did you have fun at the pool, dear?”

“Yes – I particularly enjoyed making you jealous.”

“Well, you do a good job of it.”

“It’s not hard at all.”

“It looked pretty hard to me.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” I say.

“Fine,” she says, turning up her nose at me since she apparently took my choice of shower as a snub of her.  But there she’s wrong.  I just like to be clean and fresh for her.

“You know Lo,” I say before going into the bathroom, “I only have eyes for you.”

Lo ignores this and simply looks at her phone.  “Oh, look at that,” she says to me, “A friend of mine just posted that he thinks that his girlfriend looks like Beyoncé.”

“So what?  He’s in love?”

“Aren’t you in love?  You say I remind you of Lucille Ball!”

“Don’t forget Bugs Bunny!”

“Bugs Bunny?!  Really?!  Why not at least Jessica Rabbit?”

“You talk like Jessica Rabbit, but you act like Bugs Bunny.”

“Great.  That’s love.”

I hop in the shower.  When I come out, I find Lo on the bed, naked, her legs spread, one hand holding her phone and one stroking her puss.

“Tell me what you want,” she says to me without even looking at me.

“No, you tell me what you want,” I respond.

This is a familiar game of ours, especially when she’s both mad at me and horny.

“Do you want me?” she asks, seductively.

“Do you want me?” I echo.

“Say it,” she demands.

“No, you,” I say, not willing to give in first.

“Tell me what you want,” she pleads, still stroking herself and pulling at her pussy lips.

“Not till you do first,” I protest.

“I want you to tell me you want me,” she says.

“There you go!  You said it!” I declare, victorious.

“Said what?”

“You said, ‘I want you.’”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“You know, Lo, I love you too much.”

“Why do you say you love me too much?”

“Because I let you off too easily and you get off too easily,” I say as I slowly slide inside her.  She’s dripping wet and very loose.  She moans as I slip in.  Her phone is still in her left hand and she looks at it as I hold her naked body tightly.  Her right hand is still over her clit and she rubs it as I thrust.

“Stay deep.  Just stay deep,” she orders.

I obey.  Her hips slightly gyrate up and down as her fingers quickly pulse on her clit.  She cums within seconds.  Her thighs clench so tightly she squeezes me out unintentionally.

“Sorry,” she manages to whisper as she climaxes.

“You just used me to get off.” I protest.  “You just masturbated with me inside you.  I was completely incidental to your orgasm.”

“No, Daddio, you were instrumental to it.  Now flip me over and do me from behind.”

I obey.  Her phone is still in her hand in front of her now so that I can see what she’s looking at.  It’s a lesbian Tumblr page.

“Do you like them?” she asks me about the women I see on her phone over her shoulder.

“It’s like a sea of porn,” I say.

She immediately shuts off her phone.  “Not for you!” she says.

“Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink,” I say.

“You can have your fill of this all you want.  It’s plenty wet,” she says as her free hand now slaps her ass and then fingers her puss from behind.  Her other hand is still busy between her legs from the front.

Without warning, I cum and cum a lot, deep inside her.  Her pussy clenches on me, hungrily.  But when I’m done, she flips over and complains, “You didn’t wait for me!”

“What?” I ask, perplexed.

“Ladies first,” she reminds me.

“You did cum first.”

“Ladies first and second!”

I go to the bathroom to clean up.  When I return, I find Lo looking at the porn on her phone again, jilling to it.  I begin to object to this, but she holds up a finger to indicate that I should wait till she finishes.  I am polite and wait.  She looks up at me with a smile.  “Cum often, cum a lot.”

“The Lola Down motto.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” she says.

“I thought the saying was ‘Cum early, cum often.’”

“That too.  As well as, ‘Cum one, cum all.’”

“I thought that was the motto of all your blog fans.”

“That’s not their motto, that’s their modus operandi.  I cum and then they all cum.”

“You know, Lo, sometimes our relationship really surprises me.”

“How’s that, Daddio?”

“Sometimes I feel like you’re the guy and I’m the gal.”

“Sounds like fun.  Tell me more.”

“I mean, you get off on those prurient pics, but I. . .”

“Oh no, here it comes!  Spare me your highbrow criticism.”

“I was just going to say, I like a good story, not just T-and-A.”

“Porn stars and women are human too, you know.”

“Really, women are people?  Is that so?”  I asked, facetiously.  “Even you?  I thought you were a goddess.”

“You sound like you’re making an object out of me.”

“Darling, you are first and foremost, a subject – the subject, in fact, of reams and reams of pages I’ve written about you.”

“Now you sound as though you’re fetishizing me.”

“Really?  You think so?” I ask, even more facetiously.  “If you haven’t noticed by now – NEWSFLASH! – you are my fetish.”

“Good grief!  Freud would have a field day with you.”

“Lo, you’re all the porn I need.”

“All I’ve ever wanted to be was a good amateur.”

I lie down next to her.  “You’re the best,” I say as I immediately begin to fall asleep.  She complains that I’m uncomfortable to sleep on.  “Your big barrel-chested torso is impossible to lie on.”

“It’s a big bed in a big room in a big hotel in a big city. . .”

“With a big jerk right in the middle of it!”

As I fall asleep, I can hear and feel her going at it again for that magic number three.

Subspace: Pleasure Spiked With Pain

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Subspace: Pleasure Spiked With Pain

“No!” she said firmly, “I’m not calling him.”

“OK,” I said, not putting up any argument to her decision.

“I mean, he didn’t bother to call on my birthday,” she went on to explain her reasoning, “or to even ask how I’m doing when I called him for his birthday.”  She paused, and I could see now that her lower lip was trembling a bit and she was allowing her mind to feel all that pain again, the way one presses on a bruise just to be reminded of how much it hurts.  “So, fuck him!  Maybe it will give him some much needed silent time to self-reflect about what an asshole he is.”

To be fair, she really had only touched on the tip of this iceberg of harm, neglect, and self-absorption.  All her life he had been a palpably present absentee father.  By that, I mean, he was there in body, but his mind was eons away alone on a raft floating in a sea of vodka.  And in the past few years – the years she had been with me – his very active passivity had ramped up in ways that had caused serious damage to just about everyone around him.  Like Jonah, sleeping in the hold of the ship while his choices caused the ship’s crew to risk life and limb in a tempest, Lo’s father was a whirlwind of destruction cycling around a ghost of the shell of a broken man.

And now it was Father’s Day and unfortunately Hallmark doesn’t make cards that say, “You didn’t try.  You didn’t give a shit.  I tried.  I keep on trying.  You lie and you keep on lying and I’m sick of it and so you can go to hell.  Happy Father’s Day.  Better luck next year.”  So Lo didn’t get a card.  She didn’t go to visit.  She didn’t get a gift.  And she sure as shit wasn’t going to call him.  Yet, that decision put her into her own personal torment with the guilt of imagining her father alone on Father’s Day.

I held her for a while as she cried her eyes out.  Perverse as it may be – I can’t help it – I find her crying and holding me arousing.  She felt my barometer rising and she held me tighter.  Tears were dripping down her cheek onto my shirt.  Her hand slid down under my pants and grasped my shaft, holding it firmly.  We began to kiss and our bodies danced horizontally of their own accord as our minds were locked on each other’s thoughts.

I entered her as she whispered in my ear, “I love you, Daddy.”

“Who do you love?”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

She repeated it again and again, each time with a slightly different inflection as her hips rose and fell and pulsated and clenched.

My hand was behind her head, cupping her.  I grabbed a tuft of hair.  She reached up to my hand and tugged on it.  She brought it to her cheek and held it there a moment.  Then she pulled it back and forced it toward her face.  I knew what she wanted.  I gave it to her.  Once.  Again, harder.  A third time, even harder.

Then she said, “Make it hurt, Daddy.  Take away the pain.”

I opened my hand and threw it down with a whap.

“Again” she pleaded.

This time I used my left hand against her right cheek.

“Yes.  Make it hurt.”

I continued with ever greater force and intensity until she was screaming, squirting, shaking, and then quietly breathing in a mind-state beyond consciousness.

I caressed her cheeks softly.  I stroked her hair.  I held her until she muttered, “I love you. . . Daddy” one last time.