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Feisty Married Couple Getting Off to Lola Together
“When are you going to publish something new?” asked Lola.
“For a nympho going through a dry patch, you sure have kept me busy with new material,” I responded.
“Dry patch! That’s the worst sort of insult you can levy at a nympho.”
“Well, I mean, you keep complaining that COVID is impeding your libido, but you have me wearing my fingers to the bone typing about you and MILF Meri, you and the brothers, you and your internet fans, you and your new dates, you and. . .”
“Don’t forget me and myself and I.”
“Your favorite three-some!”
“Well, why don’t you finger me and then we’ll bone. That sounds like more fun.”
“I thought you wanted me to post new stories.”
“It’s not me, Darling, it’s my fans. They are clamoring for more stories from the elusive, aloof, and elite author.”
“It’s not easy to keep up with the demand.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Do they want quantity or quality?”
“In my book, quantity is quality.”
“I’m talking about writing, not fucking. And furthermore, you know that’s not true, in your book or any other book.”
“Well, a little more quantity would help.”
“Are you talking about writing or fucking, Lo?”
“If I put your computer on my back, couldn’t we multi-task? You write while you fuck?”
“You’re absurd!”
“Absurdist literature worked for the Surrealists.”
“Do I look like a Surrealist to you?”
“More like Magic Realism.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“I’m the magic, you make it real.”
“You know our world is going through a cataclysmic upheaval, a clash of epochs, a seismic shift, and you’re complaining about not getting fucked often enough.”
“Or long enough. Or deep enough. Or passionately enough.”
“I think you’re missing the point.”
“I am! I am! Give me the point, Daddy! I’m missing it so much!”
“This is no laughing matter.”
“I’m not laughing, I’m begging. A quicky. A fast fuck. A finger fuck. Anything.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I said looking up from my computer.
“Yes, Daddio,” she said batting her eyelashes at me.
“I just transcribed this little conversation. I’ll post it today. No rewrite or review, no context or explanation.”
“Well, our readers might enjoy it, but what about my puss? Your words are not flesh, no matter how delusional you are about your godlike qualities.”
“Get in the bedroom, spread your legs, and I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Promise.”
“Solemnly swear.”
She stood up and, in a deep voice said, “Fuck.”
“What was that?”
“I swore solemnly. Now you’ll fuck me.”
Lo Pleases the Lady of the House
Blow with Lo
Naked Reading in February
Our Valentine’s Day promotional give-away fun continues! This week with Missy from the amazing blog Focused and Filthy! She asked for her free promo copy and got it. Now she’s reading it, naked of course (the only way to read the Match, Cinder & Spark series) and she sent us this amazing photo!
Missy of Focused and Filthy reading Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume III.
Here are some more of her sexy images from her blog. Check her out and tell her Lola & HH say hi.
Lola Down
If you want to get your free promo book for May is Masturbation Month, just write to us: downloladown@gmail.com
Masturbation Marathon
Lo and I were in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. She was looking at her phone. I sat with my laptop open, reading emails, when suddenly, up popped an email in our shared account. Unlike most of our fan mail, it wasn’t directed to Lo, it was addressed to me. And it had a few photos attached. Sexy photos. Of my female fan.
“What are you looking at?” Lo asked, never one to be unobservant.
“Nothing,” I clumsily lied.
“What do you mean nothing?”
“Just an email,” I said, telling the truth, trying to pass it off as nothing.
“Let me see,” she said, scooting over, closer to me, suspicious.
How does she do that? How does she know when something is amiss?
My heart was racing. She gets so jealous.
There was nothing to do but give in to the inevitable.
I showed her the email and the photos.
“Nothing huh? Who is she?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Just a fan. A connoisseur of fine literature. A grateful reader. A woman of exquisite taste in art.”
“You really don’t know who she is?”
“I swear.”
“She just wrote to you for the first time?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t carried on a correspondence with her?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“You like her?”
“What do you mean, like her?”
“You find her attractive?”
That is a very dangerous question. The female author of the epistle in question was, in point of fact, appealing. As her missive made clear, she was a wife and mother whose sex life had fallen fallow in the past few years as the children occupied more of her time and energy. But reading about my sex life with Lola had rekindled something deep down inside her and she just wanted to show me exactly where it was rekindled.
“She’s not unattractive,” I said, attempting to be as neutral as possible.
“Let’s play a little game,” said Lo. I was quizzical. “I’ll go through photos of our fans and you tell me if you find them sexy. But let’s do it in the bedroom.”
“What?”
“Yeah, just be honest,” she said as she walked down the hall.
“Are you trying to get me deeper in the hole?” I asked, following behind her.
“Depends on which hole you mean.”
GULP.
“Let’s start,” she said as she took out her computer and went to her special stash of emails and photos. She unzipped my pants and grabbed onto my flaccid member as she pulled up photo after photo. Honestly, I was too scared to get hard.
After about five or ten, she paused and looked at me a moment.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Lo, you know perfectly well what’s wrong. For years now, you’ve made the nature of our relationship clear. Now you want me to look at other women? I think that I’m being set-up.”
“No no no,” she said with a smile. “I’m just feeling like changing things up a bit.”
“You know, I could get just as hard looking at photos of men who’ve sent you cumtributes.”
“Well, maybe I’ll throw in a few of those as well. But don’t be bashful. Let’s keep on playing.”
She scrolled through scores of sexy photos and, for each one she gave me a bit of backstory, telling me the names of each woman and a bit of bio.
“That’s Floss,” she said.
“Yes, I know Floss,” I responded as she went through photo after sexy photo of her.
Floss and Match, Cinder & Spark
“And this is Karla.”
“I know Karla too. In fact I wrote about her.”
Just Floss
“Yes, that’s right. Did you know her hubby, Chris, gets off to me when he has her at home?”
Karla and Chris
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“This is the author, Larry Archer’s wife.”
“Is she a fan?”
“I don’t know, but I’m a fan of hers. . . and his!”
“And this is. . .” The list went on-and-on. With each new set of photos that Lo opened from her password-protected fap file, she grew a little more excited. If she was a guy (and she sure acts like one), she would have had a raging hard-on at this point. I have no doubt that her clit was fully tumid. She was reaching for it.
Karla over the years
Karla’s husband Chris getting off to Lola
“Um, can you give me a minute?” she asked.
“What?”
“Here,” she said, passing me the Stoya Destroya vagina. “You can use this if you want to wank. But only use my photos.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna have me a wank too.”
“But you want me to leave.”
“Yeah, is that ok?”
“Um no. Not really.”
Larry Archer’s wife
“Just give me a little while.”
She got out of bed to escort me to the door as she got out of her clothes. She put her panties on the doorknob as if she had a paramour over, but it was just her and her fingers, toys, and binders full of women.
I went back to the living room, confused, carrying my vagina. Well, Stoya’s vagina. Carrying a vagina.
I returned to the bedroom and knocked on the door furtively.
“What?” she asked, not opening the door.
“Lube,” I said. “You didn’t give me the lube.”
The door opened a crack. I saw her standing naked. She looked good. Her arm extended, dropping the tube of lube in my hands.
“OK?” she asked, shutting the door.
Stoya front, Lola back
I walked away again.
Finding my way onto the couch, I began writing – this story.
Lo’s orgasmic arias were audible throughout the house. They rose and fell, crescendo, decrescendo. So many ups and downs I lost count. I looked at the vagina sitting next to me and said, “It’s bad enough she needs more from me. Don’t you just sit there and look despondent at me that she’s getting all the action. It’s not my fault you don’t have arms, hands, or fingers to help yourself out.”
Finally, I made use of Stoya, more for her sake than mine. She looked so sad there.
I came, one brief onanistic climax, looking at Lo’s photos on the internet while Lo, in the flesh, was having a grand old time fucking herself just down the hallway. I got up to do the proper aftercare cleaning of Stoya in the second bathroom and saw Lo’s panties still prominently displayed on the doorknob as Lo went at it.
I returned to the couch and took a long nap.
I was woken up by the feeling of Lo’s lips on my flaccid cock.
“What are you doing?”
“Cock-warming,” she said as she lay naked on the couch between my legs, looking up at me.
“You want something?”
“No, Daddy.”
“No?”
“I’m sore.”
“What the hell was going on in there?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I started off jilling to the women I was showing you, but then I was into the cumtributes I’ve been getting. I’m such a slut.”
“Agreed.”
“No, you don’t know why I’m saying that.”
“Do tell.”
“Well, I guess it’s bad enough that I am not faithful to you.”
“I don’t mind. . . usually.”
“But I have a sort of internet boyfriend.”
“What is that?”
“You know, like a work wife or a work husband.”
“You mean when people become overly chummy with people they work with?”
“Yeah, like that, but in my case, it’s with people I’ve met online.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I’ve been cheating on one of them with another guy.”
“I’m sure they don’t expect monogamy from you, dear.”
“Yeah, they’re both married themselves.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“That’s just it!”
“What?”
“Do you think I have a problem?”
“Other than being a nymphomaniacal, egomaniacal hotwife attention whore?”
“Yeah, other than that.”
“No, not at all.”
“Really?”
John Doe shrine to Lola
“If your biggest problem is that you’re sexting with someone behind the back of your long-distance lover while shutting me out of the bedroom so you can fist-fuck yourself because you’re turned on by your fandom, well, hey, we all should be that lucky!”
John Doe gets of to Lo
“I love you, Daddy,” she said, before returning to cock-warming me.
“Want to watch a movie?”
“Sure. What?”
Northerngentleman
“How about Boogie Nights? Have you ever seen it?”
Northerngentleman cums in his wife’s panties.
“No.”
“Oh, then you’re in for a treat.”
- Photos used with permission.
Grist for the Mill
Tanning while reading Match, Cinder & Spark
Strolling through the park on a bright summer’s afternoon. “What a glorious day,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said lasciviously.
I looked at her eyes and followed her line of sight. She was watching two sunbathers.
“Lo, what are you thinking about?”
“Nothing, Daddy, I just can’t wait to get home and bang you,” she said while biting her lower lip.
The female sunbather turned over, revealing that she was wearing merely a thong.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, accusatorily.
“Darling, the difference between you and I is that I am an aesthete.”
She rolled her eyes. “This again?”
“And you are a hedonist.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Quite so.”
“What makes me a hedonist for looking at the exact same thing you were looking at?”
“I was looking at the entire composition of the sun, the clouds, the green grass, the spatial relations of the various persons and trees upon the sward, the mathematical ratio of the low lying buildings to the rectangular outline of the park’s boundary. I could go on.”
“I’m sure you could, you pompous ass-thete!”
“While you, my dear,” I continued, ignoring her invective interruption, “were simply thinking about the heat of the sun, the cool of the breeze, the tingling between your legs stimulated by the physical appearance of those two bodies over there, going home, fucking and eating. That’s what makes you a hedonist and me an aesthete.”
“You are unbearable!”
“Why do you take such offense?”
“Because you’re basically saying that I’m a simpleton with animalistic cravings and you are a cerebral demigod!”
“Darling, but don’t you see – that’s why we’re are made for each other. You admire that about me and I admire you for your primal desires. You wish you could be more like me and I wish I could be more like you. That is the law of attraction.”
“Primal desires?!”
“I don’t mean it in a value-laden sense. It’s merely descriptive. As the great philosophers of Utilitarianism – Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill. . .”
“Oh boy, here we go!”
“As the originators of that philosophy of pleasure, Bentham, in contrast to Mill, put no greater weight on the enjoyment derived from eating bonbons than that derived from reading Balzac.”
“If you could shut up for ten minutes, I’d love to eat your sword and fondle your ball sack.”
“Darling, when I said ‘sward’ earlier, it was with an ‘A,’ meaning a green pasture. And the Balzac to which I just now referred was to the French author Honoré de. . .”
“Please, please give it a rest!”
“All I’m saying is that the utils that you get from. . .”
“The what?”
“Utils. The unit of measurement of pleasure in Utilitarianism.”
“Oh, back to that are we?”
“The utils that you get from seeing a curvaceous and scantily clad female are no better or worse than the utils I derive from viewing a Kandinsky painting. I’m much more sympathetic to Bentham’s egalitarian theory than Mill’s hierarchy of pleasures.”
“Really? You? Mr. aristocrat himself?”
“If, by ‘aristocrat,’ you mean that I subscribe to a ranking of merit, then guilty as charged. But one can excel in merit while still deriving pleasure from the simplest of things.”
“You are such an asshole!”
“But if pressed,” I said, again overlooking her impulsive outburst, “I would have to admit that I do not subscribe to Utilitarianism at all.”
“OK, I’ll bite. What do you subscribe to?”
“I think Nietzsche understood that humans are not such simplistic beings as brute beasts, merely out to diminish pain and increase pleasure. Observation of any great artist shows that the highest exemplars of the human race make great sacrifices and endure terrible suffering for the sake of art.”
“Oh, and what sacrifices and sufferings have you had to endure?”
“The subheading of our blog is ‘the trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.’”
“I am the source of your suffering?!”
“The source of my art, and thereby, the source of the suffering that I go through for it.”
“What suffering is that? Having sex with a goddess multiple times a day?”
“No, no, no dear. It’s the, the, um, creative process.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like this conversation, for instance. It’s all just grist for the mill.”
“So, conversing with me is a source of suffering for you?”
“No, no. You take my meaning all wrong.”
“I really don’t see another possible interpretation.”
At this point, we were at our front door. Just as we arrived, a sun-shower began.
“What a weird season,” said Lo. “It’s wet like spring, hot like summer, and beautiful like autumn.”
“You just described yourself: wet, hot, and beautiful.”
Lola Down – Wet, Hot, and Beautiful
“What about smart?”
“Lo, you know how I admire your intelligence.”
“Do I? You just performed an oral dissertation about how I am a hedonist given over to carnal desires.”
“There’s wisdom in that.”
“What does that mean?”
“You are wise beyond words.”
“I know what you’re saying. You wish I’d shut up and you could simply enjoy my beauty without having to listen to me talk. You think you’re so smart.”
“No. I’m just wise beyond your years.”
“I don’t need your stamp of approval. I know I’m smart,” she said with a grin indicating just how content she was with herself.
“Then why do you get so upset when I talk?”
“Because you say the dumbest things.”
I must have looked mortally wounded by her words because she followed that up with, “I mean that with love.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“The dumbest things for someone so intelligent. That’s what I meant.”
Once we were inside, I sat down at my computer to transcribe this little conversation of ours. She was in the bedroom, naked no doubt. She hollered down the hall for me to join her.
“Can’t you see I’m writing? Why do you keep distracting me?” I called back.
“You think that life is just writing and that everything else is a distraction.”
I heard the quiet purr of her Hitachi start up, followed by her moans of pleasure.
When I had completed the reporting of our peripatetic discourse, I sauntered down the hall to check on her, following the sounds of her self-copulatory female vocalizations.
Her right hand held the mechanism between her legs as her left held her phone and scrolled through various images.
Lo’s Little Friend
I turned to leave.
“Hey,” she called to me, “where are you going?”
“It seems that you have matters well in hand,” I said. “You give no indication of needing assistance.”
“For many species, masturbation is the mating call,” she responded.
“Oh, so you want me?”
“If your superior intellect can deign to do me – a mere mortal full of base desires.”
“Like the immaterial Nous infusing the nether pleroma with its animating spirit.”
I had penetrated her as I spoke those words.
“You’re lucky I’m such a sapiosexual, or else I’d take offense at that,” she said, looking up at me. “But the mere fact that you not only know what those terms mean, but can use them when fucking turns me on. And, I might add, your emanation is hardly immaterial.”
Within moments she had reached the apogee of her venereal excitement.
I slowly removed my sword from her scabbard and stood over her recovering body.
“What?” she asked. “You’re not going to cum?”
“That was strictly for your pleasure, my dear,” I said.
“You got nothing from it?” she asked, insulted.
“Your enjoyment gives me satisfaction. Now, back to my writing.”
“Good grief! You’re lucky you have me or you’d have nothing to write about except ideas!”
Cum-Covered
Later that day, a friend sent an email asking, “How are you two?”
Lo responded, “We’re doing fine. HH is writing. I’m masturbating. Once in a while he puts down his pen and picks up his penis and gives it to me. But mostly he gives me his stories to edit.”
I turned to her and said, “You know, my writing makes you immortal.”
“And my body makes you mortal.”
“Are you saying that without your body I’d live forever?”
“No, I’m saying that without my body, you wouldn’t even live once.”
Sound
[This story, in case you don’t pick up on it, is dedicated to the incomparable, Jupiter Grant. You can find her work here, here, here, here, and here.]
“In physics, sound is a vibration that propagates as an acoustic wave, through a transmission medium such as a gas, liquid or solid. In human physiology and psychology, sound is the reception of such waves and their perception by the brain.”
Lola’s Tum
It had been a wet month. The typical English spring attempted to outdo itself with unrelenting grey skies, showers, and sopping English gardens. Jupiter Grant, or Jupi, as she likes to be called by her friends, had not gone out for weeks. Her groceries had been delivered and her supply of wine was dwindling. It had been months since she had seen her ersatz lover, H. She referred to him only as H and thought of him as “ersatz” because he was a Husband to another woman and had a family in London. Jupi was the proverbial “other woman,” the “mistress,” the “seductress.” At least that’s the way the judging world would see her. The judging world being the monogamous, heteronormative world. Between Jupi, H, and H’s wife, there was an open understanding. Still, that cozy relationship was of no use during the long COVID lockdown.
From Jupi’s point of view, she was the guest always late to the party. She and H had chemistry that they both acknowledged. Not just sexual, but spiritual. They knew they were meant to be together, but their paths had crossed many years too late in life. As a compromise to life’s cruel humor, they connected when and how they could; neither one demanding more of the other or disappointed by the other since they both knew that this was the best arrangement for all parties involved. Yet Jupi was not late to the poly-party. Thank goodness, she thought, that she lived in and was a part of the polyamory zeitgeist.
A Happy Fan
Yet the knowledge that they were two lost souls doing what they could to find joy in a largely painful and sad world provided little relief for Jupi when her deepest needs swelled up to fill her entire being with desire – desire to be held, touched, caressed, kissed, fondled, spanked, sucked, filled, and fucked. At those moments, a quick fap merely whet her ferocious appetite. She needed more. She craved the comfort of H’s strong, firm flesh pressing down on her own soft, welcoming, warm body.
Unrelieved in her needs, she turned to compensatory pleasures and perversions. Much of her sexual energy, she found over the years, could be diverted into creative power. Writing erotica was her main outlet. But lately she discovered a new medium into which she channeled her plentiful reserves of poetic and prurient lust and her craving to perform: her voice. Through a series of happy coincidences, she discovered that not only could she narrate literotica, she could nail it with every ounce of sexy she felt swirling through her sensual spirit and her beautiful body.
Volume I
A manuscript had arrived: Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl. “Hmmmm,” she thought, “this could be interesting. Or, it could be a colossal waste of time. Thousands of words, hundreds of pages of driveling, second-rate, even third-rate pablum ‘poetry’ for pubescent boys.” She poured a glass of red wine and opened up the document on her computer. She began reading:
“Tell me,” she said, “tell me what I am.”
“You’re a slut.”
“Yes,” she said, encouragingly.
“A whore. A fucking sexmaniac.”
“Go on,” she moaned, biting her lower lip. But I was too occupied with banging her from behind. I needed to catch my breath.
“Tell me,” she demanded, “tell me what I am.”
“A cum-bucket. A little cum-hungry tramp.”
“Yes,” she screamed.
“A sex addict. A nymphomaniac!”
I slapped her ass hard as she screamed with delight. Her wet little snatch secreted her luscious, warm juices all over my hard cock.
After she collapsed into the bed of blankets, I reached around her from behind and whispered in her ear, “Good girl. That’s my good girl.” She purred like a little kitten.
Artistic Tribute Photo
She felt a tingling between her legs. She kept reading, taking small sips of wine as she felt her mouth watering. As she continued, she felt something else getting wet. She tried reading the words aloud, just to hear how they would sound in her voice. Could she do the male lines? It was narrated by Lola Down’s lover, H.H. Was she the right voice for that? Wouldn’t a man’s voice be more appropriate? She tried it out, experimenting with various octaves and tones. Clearly these two characters were American. Should I pronounce “ass” the American way, or as I would pronounce it – “arse”? Technical questions like these kept appearing, but she liked what she read. She liked it a lot. To her surprise, she especially enjoyed embodying the male narrator’s role. Yes, she thought, yes, I’ll take this on.
A week later she was in her tiny makeshift “recording studio” – actually a closet with a light, a microphone, and her computer. It was the most soundproof room of her flat. She was in the middle of recording a story, “NYC,” about Lo and her raconteur’s trip to a strip club in Manhattan:
She slowly eased her way down Lo’s body, pressing her perky breasts and nipples directly in Lo’s face. She took Lo’s hands and encouraged Lo to apply them to her body, caressing the dancer’s ass and legs. As she slithered over Lo, she inconspicuously pulled Lo’s strapless dress down over Lo’s breasts, exposing them so that they could rub up against her own. She then got down between Lo’s legs and gracefully pulled the hem of Lo’s dress up and up, rubbing her soft hands over Lo’s thighs and then sitting on Lo’s lap and rubbing her ass deep into Lo’s crotch. All the while, Lo licked her lips and ran her tongue over her teeth in that sumptuous way that indicates that Lo is hungry.
Jupi found herself breathless. She couldn’t continue with the narration. There in the narrow confines of the darkened closet, she reached down under her skirt and panties and her fingers fondled the fount of her effulgent creativity. She read the lines again and again in her mind and switched roles in her mind from being Lo to being the stripper to being H.H. observing it all. The dance of subjectivity stimulated her mind as much as her digits released her pent-up puissance by penetrating her pulsating pink pussy.
Browsing the Literotica section
Wave after wave of relief and gratitude poured over her as her legs gave out and she slowly crumpled onto the now wet wooden floor of the closet, panting and heaving. She opened the door to let in more air. She desperately needed more air.
Eventually, she was able to finish recording the story. She liked it so much that she wanted to share it, prematurely, with someone. No, not with someone. Not with anyone. With H. She needed to know his opinion of it. Was it any good? Was she any good as a narrator? But there were so many doubts that accompanied her wish. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought she was weird for even producing it? What if he was turned on by Lola?
Ultimately her desire for validation and attention outweighed her insecurities and she hit “SEND” and immediately wished she could unsend it.
An excruciating day, then two days, then three days went by without a word from H. She couldn’t record another page before hearing back from him. She was in a frenzied state. Why hadn’t he called, texted, emailed, something???
But, just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, there was an unexpected knock at her door.
A visitor? No. Couldn’t be. Probably just a grocery delivery. She hastily put on her robe and furtively opened the door. There he was. H. Unannounced. Unexpected. Un-fuckig-believable! She was ecstatic. Jupi threw the door open wide and let him in. But then she remembered the recording. Was he here to break things off?
“Hi,” she said shyly, her nerves shot.
“Hi.”
“I wish I knew you were coming. I would have. . .”
“I didn’t even know I was coming. But I’ve been. . . I’ve wanted to. . . I just started driving and I found myself here. I’ve been listening to your recording on repeat.”
“And?”
“Your voice is so fucking sexy.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I’ve been hard-up for days.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to. But I wanted to see you and tell you.”
“Way to drive a woman crazy!”
“Who wrote this? Who is this Lola?”
Suddenly Jupi felt nervous again. She felt butterflies in her stomach. “What if?” questions started forming in her mind like they did before. Incessant, annoying, pervasive questions filled with self-doubt and fear. Her anxiety ramping up again. She needed to get grounded.
“Come on in,” she said, taking his coat. “Want a drink?”
She took out the wine and two glasses. She let her robe drop, revealing her bare body just beneath the sheer negligée she was wearing under the robe. It was sexy, but it was also comfy. He looked at her, soaking in her visage. She was a shy hermit full of inner life – sensual, spontaneous, artistic, creative, smart, witty, emotional, and most of all, madly in love with him. Seeing her filled him with passion, just as the sound of her voice speaking those salacious sentences had made him crazed for three days. Her flesh. He wanted it.
She sat down next to him at the small kitchen table and opened her laptop. She clicked on mysexlifewithlola.com and scrolled through the plethora of Lola’s porno pictures.
“Oh. . . oh. . . my,” he said slowly with long pauses in between exclamations. “Um, wow!” Images of Lola naked were replete on the screen. But not just naked – naked with her 12 inch dildo, with her princess plug, with pearls on a string streaming from her ass, with her man, H.H., sucking his cock, filled with his cum, overflowing with the cum of other men, and stretching herself wide with one of the largest replicas of a horse cock H had ever seen!
“Yeah, she’s a handful,” said Jupi, resigned to sharing H’s attention with Lola.
“She reminds me of you,” he said, looking up at her downcast eyes.
“What? Really?”
“Yes, if I had met you ten years ago. I think she’s the spitting image of you.”
“Ten years ago?” Jupi echoed.
“Oh, no. Come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You sure you don’t want some young sexy thing like Lo?”
“No, Jupi, I want you.” He leaned in to kiss her. Her stomach’s butterflies flew in a flutter, suddenly startled by the unexpected availability of his lips and everything else he brought to the table.
“I was just about to record another chapter.”
“Really? Can I listen?”
“I don’t think you’ll hear much. I record it in the closet,” she said.
“Which closet?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Oh. Well, go right ahead. I’ll just be lying on the bed. Maybe I’ll hear something.”
They got up to go to the bedroom. She took the computer and disappeared into the walk-in studio. “Wait here quietly,” she said before shutting the door behind her.
She was just finishing up the story, “Horsing Around.” She read loud enough for H to hear:
I was in jeans and I could feel my cunt getting totally saturated, soaking my panties through and through. I spread my legs and rubbed his cock back and forth until finally he exploded. It was a ginormous shot of cum over my head, but, as his cock slackened, he dripped some remaining cum down into my hair and on my face. I had to unbutton my jeans and pull them and my panties down as I got on my knees. As I sat under his dangling cock, I stroked my pussy till I too came in a giant puddle on the cement floor.
When Jupi was done with the story, she emerged from the closet. She found H lying on his back, his trousers down around his ankles, his massive hard-on clenched in his right fist which stroked up and down from tip-to-base and back again.
“Could you hear?” she asked, astonished.
“MmmmmmGrrrrrrrrrAaaaaahhhhhhh,” was all he could say as his member erupted like a spewing volcano sending its warm lava all over the surrounding countryside and dribbling down its sheer cliffs, covering his hand in goo. “Fuuuuck!”
“Did I do that?” asked Jupi innocently.
“You have the most sexy voice,” he answered.
Though flattered by his visceral standing ovation, Jupi was at least slightly disappointed that she wasn’t going to get any of her man’s patronage that day. Never one to miss an opportunity, she got between his legs and licked up the mess he had made.
“Can I get an advance copy of that audiobook?” he asked.
Jupi smiled, looking up at H from between his legs. “Of course,” she said.
After he left, she sent the audio files to him via email.
A few days later he texted her and said, “Jupi, you have no idea how happy you have made me. I know that we can’t see each other, but I’ve been listening to your recording in the car every chance I get. It’s incredible.”
“Glad you like it.”
“I’ve even started listening to it in bed. I told my wife that it’s just a guided meditation to help me sleep, but, in fact, it has the opposite effect. After she falls asleep, I pull out my cock and stroke to your voice.”
A week later he was at Jupi’s flat again. This time they had an actual date planned. After a small meal, they went into the bedroom and, lying down on the bed, he asked, “Can we, uh, listen to the audiobook?”
“But I’m right here,” Jupi replied.
“I know, but it turns me on.”
She agreed.
He had another request. “Can I have you doggy style?”
“Yes.”
“And. . .”
“And what?”
“Never mind,” he said as she got on all fours on the bed and he stood next to it, ready to enter her from behind.
“What?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Can I put your laptop here?”
“Really?”
“I mean, I won’t if you. . .”
“No, go ahead.”
He placed the computer on her back, opened it up to Lola’s photos, and, listening to Jupi’s narration, entered her wet and waiting pussy.
Not Jupi, but a fan photo
Lo picked up her head and said, “Stroke it again as I rub my pussy.” Lo leaned back across from Bill in the back seat and spread her legs wide. Her right leg was lying on top of Bill’s knee. She still had her cute little heels on. Bill stroked his cock as he looked on, salivating, at Lo’s spread pussy. With her left hand, Lo spread her pussy lips wide and with her right hand she was fingering her clit and her cunt.
Bill was treated to a feast for the eyes. Lo came and came again to her own digital manipulation. She so love’s to see men jerk off, but the only thing she loves more than that is to see them jerking off to her. This Bill did with enthusiasm and then he started asking Lo, “I bet you want me to cum on your pussy, don’t you, you whore?”
“Oh yeah,” responded Lo in her low, deep, sexy, guttural voice.
“You want me to shoot my load all over that hot pussy, don’t you?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, do it,” she said in response as she continued to spread her legs and finger-fuck her pussy.
He got up from the seat and almost stood over her, frantically yanking at his cock.
“Come on, come on,” Lo encouraged, “cum on my pussy. Come on.” And then finally, in an explosion of cum that fell like rain all over Lo and her dress and her stomach and her pussy, he came and came and came and came some more. Lo was shocked by how much he came on her. She had never been drenched that much by a guy in her life. . . and she loved it.
As they listened to the story, they too came together. . . and loved it.
Lying next to each other, sprawled out on the mess of a bed, the computer screen still displaying Lo’s cum-covered body, H said, “You know, my wife has been listening to the stories as well.”
Lo Bathes in Beauty
“No,” Jupi said incredulously.
“Yes. She found me out. She discovered it wasn’t a ‘guided meditation.’ And so now, whenever she’s in the mood, she puts in her earbuds and listens with her computer open in front of her, while I go at her.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Jupi.
“I’m sorry. Does that upset you? I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“No, I can’t believe that little trollop.”
“Who?”
“You know who: Lola Down. She’ll be getting off all of London before long.”
“No, dear, you’ll be getting them off with your voice.”
Thank you Lola. Thank you Jupiter Grant. Thank you H. Thank you everyone who reads, listens, and gets off to these words dripping with love and lust, jizz and juices. Thank you.
The End
Illustrator Needed for Disney Damsel Lola Down
Belle’s Bestiality, Getting off to Lola Down together
“Daddy,” she complained, “diddling my bean is fine, but it’s not as much fun as when it’s diddled by someone else.”
“You want me to diddle your bean?” I asked.
“What I mean is, a surprise. A stranger. An unexpected diddle.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, “the serendipitous fappening that one finds unbidden upon the side of the road, in a bar, or wherever one may get one’s jollys jilled on a sunny spring day.”
“Without putting it quite so poetically, yes. After all, it is May. Masturbation Month. Hooray! Hooray! The First of May! Outdoor fucking starts today!” she sang.
“Sounds like you’re the poet.”
“Oh Daddio,” she pouted, as she continued stroking her smoothly shaved pussy on the bedside. “That’s older than you are.”
“A relic from Chaucer’s time then.”
“Maybe as old as Beowulf.”
Her climax was building until she shot a small stream sprinkling up through the air onto the tile floor, much like a shot from a water pistol.
“And what, may I ask, put you over the edge that time?”
“The thought of meeting Grendel in the woods.”
“Grendel diddles Little Lo’s pink riding hood. How literary.”
“Grendel, the Big Bad Wolf, I’d even take Gaston.”
“I bet you would! Or all three, if you were in a crossover series.”
“I like that idea. A Disney fairytale staring Lola Down.”
“Would you be the villain or the princess?”
“Both.”
“Both? Disney stories are not that complex.”
“It would be the story of how Princess Lola Down is usurped from power by the effigies that are made of her in the city because they all depict her naked, like Lady Godiva, but they come to life, like Galatea, and strip Lola of her throne and her clothes. She wanders about the streets, a naked waif or harlot, until one day, through her own power of understanding, she relinquishes her claim to all the reproductions of herself, thereby releasing them from her true essence and allowing them to live on as mere likenesses. By giving up her hold on them (or the hold that she wrongfully believed she had on them), she deprives them of the power they had over her and thus they yield back the throne to her once more.”
Lady G.
Pygmalion and Galatea
“So, you’re victim, villain, and hero?”
“That I am. And you know what else I am?”
“What?”
“Horny.”
“Well, have fun.”
“What?! You’re not going to fuck me? Give me your sword!”
“I’m going to go write that down. You know what they say, the power of the pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Perhaps, but far more diminutive,” she said as she pulled out her huge dildo and held it up in the air as if commanding a great army to victory.
As I sat at the desk writing this story, she impaled herself several times with the wobbly weapon until, finally striking to the quick, she died a glorious death at her own hands. La petite mort.
The Art Cums Alive
Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE! Audio Sample
More Cumming Soon
If you have not heard the talented, seductive, incredibly sexy voice of Jupiter Grant, then just scroll down to get a sample that will make you swoon!
She has just completed the audio of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE! It’s even more steamy than the first volume.
Below is a little sample as well as an image of the cover with all the chapters listed.
You can purchase your copy HERE or, if you’re in the UK, HERE.
And be sure to check out Jupiter Grant’s blog and her other audio delights!!!!
Much Love,
Lola & HH
From the story, “H.H., You Slut!”
All the pent-up heat, heartbeat, and seductive sweets of Lo are expressed in one color as well: red. The red of her lips parted with a red tongue tip touching the white of her teeth tell the tale of love and lust, longing and life lived fully. A lush life filled with libidinous conquests. The red of her areolae upon her perky breasts, pinched and almost panting for attention and pleasure, pulled and protruding like little buoys beckoning to the passing sailors as they lift and heave upon the bosom of the undulating sea. The glossy red of her pained fingernails pulling at her red nipples, licked by her red tongue, lightly separating her red labia. Her pink pussy lips parted and revealing the lush red lining of her luscious labia minora. The fire engine red of her pedicured toes curling with tense expectation of love’s consummation. Lying there on the sheen of her red satin sheets, in her sheer red silk negligée, swaddled in the sea of red blankets, she brings herself to a shrieking climax. Like a siren singing from the darkness, her voice reverberates with pleasure up and down the octaves as her convulsing body rhythmically dances to the command of her virtuosic finger on her clit.
Red, the symbol of the forbidden district. Red, the enticing sign of danger and vitality. Red, the fruit’s color of poison and fertility. Red, the color of flame. Red, the color of caution and calling. Red is the apple tossed to Paris. Red is the sea – wet and parted to receive the host. Red is the sky in the night and morn. Red is the blood when the finger is pricked by the red rose’s thorn. Red is my Lo’s mind filled with diabolical thoughts. Red is the devil whose brimming brow spouts thorns. Red is life when it is born. Red is the cheek when it is warm. Red is my heart when for Lo it longs. Red are all things forbidden – from knowledge’s treats to vulgar porn. Red is the color of this song.
Lo, look at how you entrance me! How you bewitch me! How you have me in your spell! I have gone mad! I write my book of love and inscribe each page with your refulgent image. I sing your praises to Heaven’s foundations that the angels might find respite from their constant bliss and repent their having not been remiss.
Cover of the Audio Book with chapters
Match, Cinder & Spark, Vol. II – MORE! Now on Audiobook
To all of you who downloaded Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I: Nymphomania and the Single Girl and loved it, thank you!!!!
Cover of the Audio Book with chapters
It was, and continues to be, a big success, especially since the hard-copy book is so damn expensive. (We make almost nothing off the sale of that book because it was our first and we didn’t know that so many pages and glossy full-color images would have such a high base price. We’re smarter now.)
Well, BIG NEWS, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE! is out now on audio, narrated by the sexy and seductive Jupiter Grant!
Here’s a selection from the story, “H.H., You Slut!”
:
Every narrator is an unreliable narrator. No. Scratch that. A narrator can be reliable, but should not be identified with the author. The author is unreliable. Trust me.
Melville had his Ishmael. Ishmael had his Captain Ahab and Ahab had his Moby Dick. I have H.H. H.H. has the monomaniacal Lo and Lo has her dick. Yes, I just compared this to the greatest novel of the American canon.
Nick Carraway had his Gatsby and Gatsby had his Daisy. I have my Lo and Lo has her ladies.
Never since Melville discoursed on white has there been a passage in the English language that expounds in such poetically puissant tones the multivalent meanings of a color until Fitzgerald’s passage on Gatsby’s green light.
Nabokov had his Humbert Humbert. Humbert Humbert had his Lolita and Lolita had her Humbert Humbert. I have my H.H. and H.H. has his Lo and Lo has herself.
What Lo is to Lo has been hinted; what, at times, Lo is to me has remained yet unsaid.
All the horror and evil of the White Whale was conveyed in its whiteness. All the goodness, promise, and fertility of Daisy beamed across the sound from the green beacon upon which Gatsby doted night after night.
All the pent-up heat, heartbeat, and seductive sweets of Lo are expressed in one color as well: red. The red of her lips parted with a red tongue tip touching the white of her teeth tell the tale of love and lust, longing and life lived fully. A lush life filled with libidinous conquests. The red of her areolae upon her perky breasts, pinched and almost panting for attention and pleasure, pulled and protruding like little buoys beckoning to the passing sailors as they lift and heave upon the bosom of the undulating sea. The glossy red of her pained fingernails pulling at her red nipples, licked by her red tongue, lightly separating her red labia. Her pink pussy lips parted and revealing the lush red lining of her luscious labia minora. The fire engine red of her pedicured toes curling with tense expectation of love’s consummation. Lying there on the sheen of her red satin sheets, in her sheer red silk negligée, swaddled in the sea of red blankets, she brings herself to a shrieking climax. Like a siren singing from the darkness, her voice reverberates with pleasure up and down the octaves as her convulsing body rhythmically dances to the command of her virtuosic finger on her clit.
Red, the symbol of the forbidden district. Red, the enticing sign of danger and vitality. Red, the fruit’s color of poison and fertility. Red, the color of flame. Red, the color of caution and calling. Red is the apple tossed to Paris. Red is the sea – wet and parted to receive the host. Red is the sky in the night and morn. Red is the blood when the finger is pricked by the red rose’s thorn. Red is my Lo’s mind filled with diabolical thoughts. Red is the devil whose brimming brow spouts thorns. Red is life when it is born. Red is the cheek when it is warm. Red is my heart when for Lo it longs. Red are all things forbidden – from knowledge’s treats to vulgar porn. Red is the color of this song.
Lo, look at how you entrance me! How you bewitch me! How you have me in your spell! I have gone mad! I write my book of love and inscribe each page with your refulgent image. I sing your praises to Heaven’s foundations that the angels might find respite from their constant bliss and repent their having not been remiss.
Shag Story Interview with Gabi Levi
We’re very excited to bring you this Special Report!
Most of you surely already know the wonderful Kayla Lords of erotic blogging and podcast fame, a.k.a. The Smutlancer. If you don’t, check her out. She has done amazing work and she continues to do something that all of us need to do more – build kink community!
She has teamed up with Gabi Levi – an artist and writer and, if you ask me, probably a great shag – to create a retro themed, art infused corner of the internet for erotic stories and images called Shag Story.
Gabi reached out to us to get our impression of the new site and we LOVED it! I (Lola) started chatting with her and soon enough, we just put together an interview. So, without further introduction, my interview with Gabi Levi:
Gabi Levi, self portrait
What is your background in art?
I went to the Gallatin School of Individualized Study at NYU and essentially developed my own major titled Art and Ethics. It was based on an amazing course I took that took a look at the ethical implications of art that maybe was a little bit risqué in a number of ways. It questions its value to society and I always took the stance that provocative art was incredibly valuable, so I started to make some of it.
Who has influenced you?
So many artists, but Magritte is a big one along with various pop artists, comic book creators, and pulp artists. I also love Playboy.
Rene Magritte – Nude Standing
Lola – Nude Standing
What attracts you about erotica or erotic art in particular?
I appreciate the beauty of sex, the human form, and pop culture. As someone who is both an artist and a writer, combining the art with erotica felt natural to me.
Tell us about this new venture, Shag Story (or shagstory.com), that you and Kayla Lords have started. How did you two come up with the idea? Who is your ideal audience? What sorts of stories do you hope to publish and why?
I wanted to start an erotica site that felt fun and incorporated art. I loved the 70s Playboy aesthetic, so decided to call it Shag Story as a way to allow for some retro art. In terms of audience, it’s anyone who enjoys erotica. Shag Story is a fun place to hang out, embrace eroticism, and enjoy erotic art and writing. I wanted to create a feel-good space.
Why the 70’s theme?
The ’60s-’70s were a time of sexual liberation and revolution. It feels fun, exciting, and like a party.
Who is writing for Shag Story?
Various writers! We always have an open call for submissions that are published upon Kayla’s review.
What is your role at Shag Story?
Along with being one of the founders, I am in charge of the art direction.
What are some of your favorite books and why?
I love Lolita and anything by Elizabeth Wurtzel. Lolita is another great example of a piece of art that is ‘morally corrupt’ but so beautifully written and flawlessly executed. It stirs up mixed emotions, which I think makes something great. 
Lola’s Playboy Cover
What are some of your favorite movies and why?
I love Natural Born Killers from an aesthetic and artistic perspective. It’s so jarring, interesting, and beautiful in a sense that isn’t traditional. The acting is also incredible. Watching it is a cathartic experience for me.
If you could meet one person, past or present, who would it be and why?
This answer might be silly, but I’ve always said Eminem. He’s such a genius, so uninhibited, and so talented.
Tell us your most recent or most frequent sexual fap fantasy.
It depends on the day, but most recently it was a fantasy/memory of a time with an ex in the back of his car during summer. Very hot and sticky ;).
I’m allowed one vanity question. One thing that attracts you about mysexlifewithlola.com?
It’s smart, candid, and sexy!! Who wouldn’t love it?
Lola & Shag Story created by Gabi Levi