Category Archives: bdsm
Protected: Passive, Loose, and Open
Protected: Anything but Straight
The (Not So) Secret Life of Lo the Nympho
5
Lo’s kungfu Grip
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
That wasn’t Lola firing off those five fucks in a row, that was me. Lo had just used her left hand, filled with moisturizing cream, to get me off in my pajama bottoms. This has become an almost nightly routine for us now. We get into bed – she naked, me in my pajama bottoms – and she says, “Do you want me to milk you Daddy?”
I almost always say yes.
On the rare occasions that I ask her if I can have her, to fuck her, you know, the old-fashioned way of intercourse, she usually just reaches down between my legs and squeezes her cream-filled hand around my hard rod. I am powerless to protest. She strokes to climax – always my climax – and then I fall off to sleep in my cum-filled pjs, too spent to change.
This nightly ritual has spurred me to purchase five or six more pajama bottoms in order that I have something to wear the next night.
What Lo does after my dissipated desire allows me to nod off is a mystery.
But recently I have gained a glimpse into that dark, hidden recess.
After hearing from Ginger and her transformation from housewife to hotwife, Lo became curious about the legalized brothels of Nevada. Apparently, she had been doing internet research on her own late at night.
Fit Ginger Hotwife
Fit Ginger Hotwife
“Daddy,” she said one day over breakfast, “it has been a long time since we went on a vacation.”
“True,” I said, sipping my coffee. “What do you have in mind?” I knew she was up to something nefarious.
“Well,” she began, looking off into the middle distance to conjure her vision like a fey dreamer, “in Nevada prostitution is legal.”
“With certain qualifications,” I said, being a cold, hard realist. Very hard.
Undeterred by my interruption, she continued, “And I’ve looked into it. They have special vacation, well, uh, sort of sex-tourism packages.”
Lola’s eye is always attracted to a big package. “I’m confused,” I said.
“Daddy, they issue a special license for tourists to prostitute themselves.”
“No – really?”
She nodded enthusiastically. Then she looked up at me with those pleading puppy eyes. “Please, Daddy.”
I’ll spare you all the details, but basically there are a lot of costs involved: licensing, STD testing, room rental, etc. It seemed to me very much like a day trip on a recreational fishing boat. There’s the cost of the boat, the fishing license, the taxes, etc. Built into the cost of the day excursion on the boat are all the hidden costs. We had to discover all the overhead ourselves for our sex-tourism jaunt.
Once all that was done, we flew to a remote part of Nevada. Setting up the clientele was easy, given our high-profile web presence. There was no shortage of johns eager for pay-to-play with Lo.
Other than suggesting the idea and knowing what our special vacation was for, Lo had no other insights into the details. She wanted it that way. In order to keep her both figuratively and literally in the dark, I arranged the flight to land at night. We drove through the veiled desert to the remote, rather dilapidated brothel. It looked more like a repurposed old motel. Lo and I found our room and, as she was exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep.
Early the next morning, only a few hours after we had arrived, I woke up to begin preparations for Lo’s stay. As Lo soundly slept in the buff on the king-sized bed, I collected all her clothes – every last garment. I put them in my suitcase and simultaneously unpacked the special outfits I had purchased for her, especially for this occasion. They consisted of thong panties, lace panties, satin bras, elaborate strappy one-piece lingerie, fishnet stockings, and the like. There was not one item of clothing left in the room that she could possibly wear outside. She was trapped by her own undergarments, imprisoned by G-strings and sheer mesh fabric. A fitting metaphor for the Veil of Maya in which we all find ourselves.
I then snuck out of the room with her suitcase. She had no idea, but I had rented the room adjacent to hers. The walls were paper thin, allowing me to be a clandestine interloper in her affairs. About nine that morning I got a text from Lo: “Where are you?”
“I had to go out. Your first appointment is at noon. Enjoy.”
“Out? Where to?”
“Running some errands for your vacation. His name is Peter. Call me if you need anything, I will be close by.”
“Daddy, breakfast,” she wrote, complaining.
“It’s being delivered.”
I had arranged for everything. The room service arrived, finding Lola naked in the hotel room. I suppose that sort of thing was not unusual, given the purpose of the establishment.
I returned to my adjacent room around ten after getting some greasy grits for myself and I heard Lo in her room. It sounded like she was showering and then masturbating. Then, repeat. I texted her, “Turn on the TV.”
I had arranged that I could cast from my computer to her TV. I put on one of her favorite shows: Playboy’s “Swing.”
“Oh, Daddy!” she texted back.
I could hear the muted sounds of the TV from her room.
Around noon her first customer, I mean john, that is to say, Peter came.
And boy did he cum!
I heard muted voices. Then I heard Lo saying, “Fill me! Fuck me! Stretch me! Cum in me!” That last bit was screamed so that it was exquisitely distinct through the wall.
I heard her repeating at the top of her lungs, as if an incantation or mantra: “I love cock! I love cock! I love cock! I love cock!!!”
There were a few moments of quiet and then I heard the door close. A few moments later Lo texted me, “First done and gone.”
“How was it.”
“Well, it’s only 12:20, so, I’d say pretty quick. When’s my next appointment?”
“Not until 1:00.”
“Can you come here, Daddy?”
“No, Lo. I’m out. Running errands.”
She sent a sad-face emoji.
I heard her fire up her Hitachi Magic Wand (which I had strategically left for her to find).
Screams. Silence. Screams.
A knock at the door.
John #2.
This time there was a lot of talk, but no climax. No yelling or screaming.
At exactly two o’clock I heard the door close.
“Two down,” texted Lo.
“How was it?”
“He just wanted me to stroke his cock while I looked into his eyes and talked to him.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Anything that came to mind. He just wanted me to talk. I tried to make sexy talk, but he preferred that I just say anything. I basically told him the history of Elizabethan Theater and the history of Shakespeare plays. That made him very hard and horny.”
“You’re kidding,” I texted back.
“Gotta go! Next customer.”
I heard the knock at the door even before she texted me.
This time she was loud and proud.
After a little less than an hour, I heard the door close.
“So many kinks,” she texted.
“What do you mean?”
“This one just wanted me to masturbate the entire time. You have no idea how tingly my pussy lips are. I had the Hitachi – thanks Daddy! – on my cunt for almost an hour!”
There was another knock at the door.
“Don’t I get a lunch break?!” she texted.
“No rest for the randy,” I texted back.
This time I heard what sounded like her being thrown against the wall in a rhythmic pattern. I was worried. I watched my phone like a hawk. I thought the two of them were going to pound right through the thin wall into my room.
After about twenty or thirty minutes of the constant banging, I heard nothing at all.
Ten minutes later I heard a man’s voice yelling, “Whore! Cunt! Fucking Slut!”
A few minutes later I heard the distinct purr of Lola.
Then the door shut again.
“Are you ok?” I texted her immediately. I was so concerned.
“Divine,” she wrote back.
“Please explain,” I responded, dryly.
“He was rough and violent and he said so many derogatory things to me. . . I loved it!”
“Really?”
There was another knock at the door.
This time, after a while of no sounds, or at least none that I could hear, I detected Lo’s quiet voice saying, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Then it stopped.
At ten to five, I got a text: “I’m starving, Daddy.”
I was too enraged and jealous – yes, jealous! – to respond.
At five sharp, there was another knock at the door.
This time I heard nearly nothing except the loud groan of a man’s voice.
At five-thirty the door shut.
“Well, at least I got a snack,” texted Lo.
“Ready for dinner?” I asked.
“I’m always ready, and hungry, and horny.”
I knocked at her door, even though I had the key. I was curious as to her reaction and I also thought it would be an ironic joke.
She answered the door the way I imagine she answered it for all the six other guys who had preceded me: wearing a black negligée that barely covered her ass and pussy. Nothing else. Her tits were practically falling out of it.
Lo, Dressed for Success
“You’re a welcome surprise,” she said. “I actually thought you had booked me straight through to midnight!”
“Would you like that?”
“I’m a hard worker and I work best when my customers are hard.”
“Well, good news – you and I are going to grab dinner together.”
“First, where? Second, I have no clothes, remember?”
I handed her a sleek black dress. She had panties and bras and high heels in the room already.
She put on the heels, not the bra or panties. She looked dressed more as if in a negligée than a party dress. Her nipples were visible through the thin, shiny material.
She looked good – dirty, dissolute, disheveled, devilish, and desirable.
“Don’t you want me, Daddy?” she asked as she hiked up her dress and spread her pussy lips to show me the cum dripping out. Whose cum? Could have been anyone’s.
“Later, Lo,” I said. “We’ve got reservations.” I almost chuckled to myself as I said it.
“Really?!” she asked, excited as if we were still in our metropolis and able to pick from a few hundred eating establishments.
We walked out into the cool, dry Nevada night.
“No car?” she asked as we walked in the dirt across the parking lot.
“Here we are,” I said after about fifty feet, when we got to the door of the dive bar and restaurant across from the brothel.
“Here?!” she moped.
“Lo, there ain’t another Michelin rated restaurant for at least a hundred miles from here.”
“I don’t need Michelin rated, but I do need edible.”
“Relax, this place is fine.”
“We walked in like two invitees to the Emmy’s, only to find a juke box greeted us, followed by a long, worn wooden bar, and tables with plastic picnic-table cloths covering them, pitchers of Miller Light upon them, and people wearing cowboy hats unironically dancing.
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked as all the male eyes in the place magnetically rested upon her sweet, antipodinal angelic aura.
“Couldn’t be any more serious,” I said as the kind hostess showed us to our picnic-table.
We ordered the less-than-mediocre meal and a pitcher of their finest Miller beer.
“Daddy,” Lo inquired, “do I have a busy day tomorrow?”
“All booked up – ten to six.”
“I don’t know if I can handle it,” she said, almost admitting defeat.
“I believe in you, Lo. Did you not enjoy today?”
She was quiet for a few seconds. Pensive. “I enjoyed it well enough.”
“What’s that mean – ‘well enough’?”
“I was hoping to get fucked like a broken screen door in a hurricane. But only one guy was like that. Don’t get me wrong,” she said, her eyes lighting up, “that was wonderful, but the other guys – they were kinda weird, you know?”
“What do you mean?”
The meal came and Lo started eating like she hadn’t seen food in a week, even though the food was far below her standards.
She never completed her thought.
“I have something special planned for you tomorrow,” I said.
Her eyes lit up. “Tell me!” She can’t stand a surprise.
“Nope. You’ll find out tomorrow.”
We finished our meal and ordered another pitcher of beer. We weren’t driving, so, why not?
After downing two pitchers, we felt oddly attracted to the silly country dancing that we had observed among a few of the regulars. We joined in. Lo’s black, strappy heels were a comical contrast to the other women’s cowboy boots. Lo’s sleek black dress also looked out of place among the other women in their jeans or denim shorts and plaid, button-down shirts. But the biggest contrast was that the other women were all at least ten years older and heavier than Lo, by far. They were like ranch hands. It was clear that they were all married and moms. Though the brothel shared a parking lot with this restaurant, it seemed as if the other prostitutes all went home to their husbands and families at the end of their shifts, or they went somewhere else, but they certainly were not grabbing dinner here. I’m not saying any of that in a disparaging way, just pointing out the ways in which Lo stood out like a rosebush among the cacti.
And I wasn’t the only one to notice the difference. The men in the place looked over their wives’ shoulders as they danced with them, staring at Lo. The wives, for their part, gave Lo the meanest of looks, judging her and silently despising her. They knew where she had been all day and where she’d be all night. These good Christian women, with God, guns, and glory on their side, stood in judgment of Lo’s heretical goddess, gams, and gloryhole.
Perhaps mistakenly, we ordered another pitcher of beer to quench the thirst we developed while dancing. Soon Lo was dancing in the arms of many of the different men at the bar, letting them feel her nipples over the sheer material of the dress, slide their hands down over the curve of her rear, and partially up her thigh. I could tell Lo had a long day and was getting too tipsy to tear up the dance floor and so I politely cut in and escorted her back to her room where she had worked the day as an escort.
Samantha Massie reading Match, Cinder & Spark
Country Girls with Samantha Massie
Reverse View of Samantha Massie and friends
Samantha Massie and her besties
Samantha Massie and friends
One more of Samantha Massie’s behind
Back in the room, Lo quickly slipped out of her dress and into a slip, pulled out her Hitachi and her phone and began going at it on the couch as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. By the time I returned to where she had been stimulating her stretched and sore pussy, I found her, motor of the Hitachi still vibrating, her phone still open to the photos she was using to get off – pics of her friend Samantha Massie and her crew of country MILFs. I had been in the bathroom for maybe three, four minutes max! But by the time I came to the couch beside the bed – the same bed upon which she had prostituted her body – she was sound asleep with her breasts hanging out of her slip.
Lo, Sleeping with her Best Friend
The next morning I woke up early. I snuck out with her dress.
“Daddy, where are you?” she texted.
“Errands,” I responded.
“What could you possibly have to do?”
“I guess not you.”
“What?”
“You fell asleep on me last night, leaving me hard up.”
“Sorry.”
“Should I find a prostitute?”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Can you fit me into your busy schedule?”
“I’m very flexible – I could probably fit you and a couple more guys in.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Time to find out how much more of this I can take. Where’s my breakfast?”
“It should be there any minute now.”
“Well, my john is here now.”
There was another knock at the door.
“Oh, never mind. Breakfast arrived,” she texted.
About twenty minutes and a few howls later, I heard the door close.
“How’s breakfast?” I asked.
“He fucked me as I ate it. He said it was a real turn-on for him.”
“Full, or still hungry?” I texted back.
“I can always take a little more,” she wrote.
I heard the bath running.
I heard a knock at the door.
I heard Lo open it and talk to the customer.
About twenty minutes later I received a text. “He jacked off to me as I took a bath. That was easy!”
There was another knock.
Lo texted, “Daddy, they’re arriving every half hour.”
“That’s your surprise. Today is economy class. They only paid for thirty minutes. Later they will be arriving every fifteen minutes.”
“What?!” She included a number of emojis to demonstrate her displeasure with that.
There were three more visitors to her room before lunch.
“Will you join me for lunch?” she texted.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
I knocked at the door. She opened it wearing only a transparent and skimpy negligée through which I could see everything.
Lo, Falling Out
“You said you could fit me in.”
“That was before you told me my schedule. I’m full up.”
“I hope not. You have ten more appointments today.”
“Ten?!”
I finally walked in the door. Lunch was delivered. A sandwich, fries, and a lemonade. I watched her eat as I observed the room. It was a mess. The bed was a mess and looked well-used. Various undergarments were strewn around the room. Used condoms were hanging over the side of the trashcan and were in it as well.
“How’s work?” I inquired.
She spread her legs for me to see the commingled cum of various men dribble out of her.
“It’s a complicated business,” she said in between bites, “a lotta ins, a lotta outs. You know.”
“I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“Everything tastes like cum,” she said as she put down her sandwich and took a sip of her drink.
“Your favorite flavor.”
“Do I have cum in my hair?” she asked.
I looked. “A little.”
“The last guy was all about cumming on my face.”
“Bad aim?”
“No. For the most part, he hit the target.”
“Any other standout performances?”
“One of the guys, I forget which one, wanted to use my ass.”
She knows exactly how jealous that makes me.
“Did you let him.”
“He paid for hit, didn’t he?”
“I suppose.”
“He went ass-pussy, ass-pussy, ass-pussy, ass-mouth.”
“Covered all the bases.”
“Then he repeated it.”
“All in a half-hour’s time?”
“He made the rounds quickly.”
“Where did he finally arrive?”
“Ass, then mouth.”
“Well, you’ll have to speed up the spin cycle because all the rest of today’s engagements are only a quarter-hour.”
“Don’t you worry. Just as I can make you cum in under five minutes, I will give each of them their money’s worth.”
“Your talent never ceases to amaze me!”
I left and returned to my post. As I was outside, I saw the next customer pull up. A middle-aged man with a wedding band on his left ring finger.
I slipped in the door to my hotel room as he knocked on Lola’s door.
Soon I could hear him knocking on Lola’s back door too!
He was gone quickly.
A new customer came in and exited in under fifteen minutes. Lola texted me, “I had to pee when the last one arrived. I told him so. He asked to watch. He stroked it as I was on the toilet and then came on my face as I continued sitting, fingering my clit in front of him. It was hot!”
Cleanup
Ready!
Another customer. Lo texted me after that this one had a foot fetish and came on her toes.
There were many more before her last appointment for the night. The last one had paid for two hours and had a very particular fetish. It was a husband and wife and they wanted Lo to dress up as a bride in white lingerie: mesh lace pushup bra, matching thong panties, harness suspender belt connected to white garters and of course a tiara with flowing lace veil. I had packed all this for Lola with a note on it that said, “Finale.” Now she understood what I meant by that.
They were into roleplay. The husband and wife team told Lo that the scenario is that they are her parents on her wedding night and they are going to teach her how it’s done.
“You want to be sexy for your groom,” she said to Lo.
“OK, Mom, tell me how,” replied Lo.
“I’ll show you instead,” she said as she got naked and bent over the bed. “Put your ass in the air like this.”
Lo stood next to her as if her magic mirror. Gazing into the looking glass, the older woman beheld the younger.
Her husband approached her from behind and mounted her.
“Make sure you’re good and wet,” she instructed.
“Oh, Mom, I’m always wet.”
“He’ll enter you like so,” she said as she moaned.
“Is he big?” asked Lo.
“Try for yourself,” she said.
“Lola, spread your pussy for me,” he said to her.
Lola did as told, very dutifully.
He entered her.
“That’s it, honey,” said her ersatz mother as she grabbed Lo’s ass cheeks and spread them for her husband to penetrate her. Then she got in front of Lo and began smacking at Lo’s tits as they hung down and undulated forward with each thrust from behind.
“Mom,” said Lo, “that hurts!”
“Does it?” she asked, pausing from pawing Lo’s breasts.
“I didn’t say stop,” said Lo.
The wife resumed slapping Lo’s tits, gently at first but gradually with more force as her husband also grew more forceful from behind.
“I think you have done this before,” said the wife.
“Once or twice. Why? Am I good at it?”
“So good,” said the husband.
“Are you going to cum?” asked his wife.
“Fuck, yes! I am.”
“Cum on my tits!” said his wife. “And let me taste you after,” she added, opening her mouth wide.
He pulled out of Lo and came right on his wife’s breasts as she held them together tightly. Then he put his cock in her mouth for her to taste Lo’s juices.
“Lick me clean,” she instructed Lo.
Lo didn’t need to be told twice.
“That’s it. You’ll make a good wife to your groom. But, darling, I’m going to have to instruct him how to properly fuck you. You don’t mind, do you?” asked the older woman.
“No, Mom. He’s been hoping to be schooled by you.”
“Good. I hope he’s longer and thicker than your father over there,” she said, nodding at the sated man in the chair.
“He is, by far!”
The couple eventually cleaned up and left, each of them kissing Lo goodbye first.
I then returned to my love and got the full story from her as she made passionate love to me, calling out numerous times, “Daddy, am I a bad girl? Am I a slut? Am I a proper, passionate, pliable little prostitute?”
“Yes, dear,” I said, “you’re a good whore, but more than anything else, you’re my whore.”
She liked that. She liked that very much.
On the plane home, Lo turned to me and whispered, “Thank you Daddy, that was the most wonderful birthday present ever.”
“Birthday present? – it was your Valentine’s Day gift.”
“So I still have a birthday present coming to me?”
“You sure do!”
Her eyes lit up. “When we get back?”
“If you’re a good girl,” I said, patronizingly.
She held my hand. There was a silence during which I knew exactly what she was thinking.
Three, two. . .
“What is it?” she asked, right on queue.
“That would spoil the surprise.”
“But Daddy, I can’t wait. Give me a hint.”
“No hints.”
She looked disappointed and then put her finger to her lips and furrowing her brow as if she were in deep thought.
“Now Lola,” I said, “if you do that, you’ll give yourself wrinkles prematurely.”
She looked at me, surprised.
“Do you think I’m getting wrinkles?” she asked in a panic, putting her hands to her forehead to smooth her skin.
“No,” I laughed, “no I don’t.”
“When do you think I’ll get wrinkles? Do you think I’ll go grey? You think my boobs will sag?”
“You realize, Lo, you’re ageist.”
“Ageist? Me? Impossible. I’m dating you and you’re ancient!”
“You see. There you go again.”
“Oh, come on,” she said.
“Well, thank God you don’t age.”
“No, I don’t, do I?”
“Not a day over twenty-four.”
“But I will be soon,” she said with fright.
“No you won’t.”
“What?”
“How old were you last year?” I asked.
“Twenty-four,” she said as if it were an obvious question.
“And how old did you turn the year before that?”
“Twenty-three. Duh.”
“Nope.”
“What?”
“You turned twenty-four.”
“I think you failed math. Twenty-three comes before twenty-four.”
“How old will you turn this year?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Nope.”
“We are in a plane, but are you high? How ‘nope’?”
“Because, my dear, I am the author of this here story. You have been twenty-four since we started this account of our sex lives together.”
She looked at me like I was crazy.
“OK,” I said, “how old am I?”
“That’s easy,” she said, looking a little nervous.
“Then tell me.”
“You’re fifty-something.”
“Fifty what?”
“Fifty-er-uh-something.”
“I had a birthday last year. Remember?”
“Of course I do! I got you a private stripper. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” I said, dreamily.
She teasingly punched me, “Hey, I’m over here,” she said.
“And how old did I turn last year?”
“Fifty. . . one?”
“Nope.”
“Two?”
“Nope.”
“How old?”
“Fifty-something, exactly.”
“That’s silly.”
“I have always been fifty-something and you have always been twenty-four. I will always be fifty-something and you will forever remain twenty-four.”
“Forever?”
I nodded affirmatively. “Forever.”
She thought about it for a while before finally asking, “But I still get a birthday present?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I’m ok with that.”
Lo Exhausted
Hind Hunting
“Daddy, have me.”
“Get naked.”
“I’m naked, Daddy. Have me.”
“Come here.”
She nuzzles up to me, putting her head and soft hair on my shoulder. Her right hand reaches down for my hard cock. She moves her head down toward it. She opens her mouth and takes it in – wet, warm, soft, and loving.
She maneuvers to climb on top of me, straddle me, ride me.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?”
“I want it.”
“We got all night.”
“I want it in me, now.”
“Can’t we enjoy each other first? A little stroll through the Garden of Good and Evil before going in for the kill?”
“Daddy,” she says as she lowers herself on my rod, “it needs it. My pussy needs it. My cunt needs to be filled. I’m sorry. Play with my titties,” she says as she bounces up and down.
I reach up and grab her breasts with both hands.
“Pull my nipples.”
I pull on them.
“Pinch them. Pull them harder. Make it hurt.”
I do as I am told.
“Pull them. Really pull them. Pull them down. Make them sag. Pull my nipples to my navel.”
I do as she says. She moans a moan of pain and delight.
“Fuck, I’m cumming,” she says after mere seconds.
“Lo, what were you looking at on your computer before coming to bed?”
She bites her bottom lip. She’s not able to reply. Her pussy squeezes me out and squirts like an overripe peach on the first bite.
Her fingers clutch my shoulders. She lifts up her ass in the air. She slides down my torso with her tongue out, licking up all she spilled on me in her exuberance.
She gets to my navel. She pauses. She falls asleep.
I push her gently onto the bed, sliding her off my still rock-hard cock.
“Lo,” I say, quietly, “Lo, I want you.”
From her dreamlike state she says, “Do whatever you want.” She’s off to Never-Never Land.
I pull out a German porno mag from my nightstand drawer. I open it up on her ass. I compare her to Gili Sky, the porn star of the magazine’s centerfold. I prefer Lola. But the juxtaposition is nice. I know Lola would prefer Gili and the three men Gili is with as well.
I try to jack it to the photos and Lo’s ass. Lo’s ass looks too good to pass up. I rub some lube on the tip and her target, take aim, and swoosh! Direct hit.
Driving home the happy hunter, I lie down on her back and open the magazine and begin leafing through the pages, reading what I can in German. It’s been a while. Lo is motionless, soundless. The lack of her longing for my donging diminishes my fervor. I pull out. As I do so, she says, almost from the depths of her depraved dream, “Al wanted some new photos. Take some of me, Daddy.”
I’ve never seen a woman so eager for the camera and yet, so very very relaxed in front of it.
Lola and Gili Sky
I replace the book on her rear and snap a few for her long-distance lover. Now I know what she was doing before coming to bed in a feeding frenzy.
Gili Sky Front, Lola Rear
The next day she wakes up chipper as can be.
“Sleep well, Darling?” I ask.
“Great! You?”
“I wish I could say I slept hard. But it’s more like I hardly slept because I was hard.”
“Awww, poor baby. Didn’t you have me?”
“It’s not worth going into,” I say. “You’ll read all about it anyway.”
“I hope so!”
“What’s for breakfast?” she asks, pulling at her nipples over the thin t-shirt she’s wearing. “Wow! My nips really hurt! Kiss them better, Daddy.”
Lo in Lace
She lifts up her shirt and forces her breasts in my face. I give them gentle kisses.
“Mmmmm,” she moans. “Can I have you for breakfast?”
She drops to her knees in the middle of the kitchen, pulls down my pajama bottoms, and goes to town on my torpedo.
After she slurps down her morning smoothy, she gets up, wipes her mouth, and says, “Looks like a no pants, no panties, pussy party day at work for me!”
Protected: Putting the “Fun” back in “Fundamentalism”: Part 1, Sex Sounds Good
Mysterious Witt – Very Witty & Sexy
Mysterious Witt
Match, Cinder & Spark
This week, please allow us to introduce a wonderful writer, lover, mom, sex worker, and keyboard comedian – Mysterious Witt!
We’ve been following her on Medium for a while, but recently a few things have happened that changed her and her approach. Her partner was diagnosed with a tumor in his neck and she has shed the shame of those who would judge her and revealed her face for all to see.
She has worked as a dominatrix, worked as a sex author at Hustler and Playboy, had kids, and then recently tried to get back in the biz. But mostly her experiences, past and present, make for incredible reading in the articles she posts on Medium. She also has a Twitter handle and an OnlyFans page, Instagram and a few more outlets for her creative mind and body!
Mysterious Witt
Match, Cinder & Spark
But perhaps her greatest talent is, as her name suggests, her wit! Her Twitter one-liners are so witty that she seems to be the female reincarnation of Nietzsche, bringing back the aphorism!
Here are a few examples for you to enjoy:
I have time for a little drama, but not much.
Good taste is the enemy of art.
A woman’s breasts point outward and are a source of power.
I’m leaning into a woman-led kind of sexual openness that isn’t either shame on one side, or porn on the other. There’s something in the middle but it’s hard to find. Often as women, we move between patriarchal definitions of our sexuality. We have to define our own.
It’s really hard as a recovering people pleaser to acknowledge that not everyone likes me. But whatever.
My DILF just made me pancakes for Father’s Day. Never too late to have a happy childhood, eh?
Here’s where you can find more of her:
Mysterious Witt is a writer and pro-sex educator.
Mysterious Witt
Protected: Sister Sadist
Sex Drive
Our first date flopped. Cooped up since March due to COVID, Lo was complaining that she hadn’t been on a date in “forever.”
“What about the brothers? Don’t they count?” I asked, referring to the two boys from across the street who had been making regular house calls to Lo’s bedroom to unload their pent-up pandemic sexual frustration with the help of Lola’s pussy.
“Those aren’t dates, Daddy. Those are booty calls. Pity fucks. Besides, they’re so young and inexperienced that there isn’t even sexual tension buildup. It’s all just ram-and-release.”
“You seem to like it.”
“Oh, I love it, for what it is.”
“So, what is it you want?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“My only wish is to please you.”
“That’s good because my only wish is to be pleased. I want to go on a proper date.”
“So Meri also doesn’t count?”
“Well, she did count, but we dated before COVID.”
“I assume I don’t count.”
“Oh Daddio, you do count. You count the number of men and women I fuck.”
“I can’t count that high.”
“I’ll buy you an abacus.”
“Is that the thing with the beads on it?”
“Yes.”
“That you put in your ass?”
“No. That’s a different thing.”
Not an Abacus
“Oh.”
“I want to go on a date with a couple.”
“A couple?”
“Yeah, a married couple.”
“You have anybody in mind.”
“Daddy, I always have many bodies in mind.”
“Any particular bodies for your date?”
“Yes. There’s a married couple that is trying to get the ole flame flickering again.”
“Let me guess, you think that you can help his wick to grow.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Where’d you find this couple?”
“They found me.”
“Not another ad!”
“No, Daddy. They have been reading the blog.”
“What are their names?”
“Ron and Nicole. She’s a schoolteacher. He’s a lawncare person.”
“Interesting. And how are you going to go on a ‘date’ in COVID?”
“We. We are going on a date. You and me with them.”
“Again, how?”
“Do you like drive-in movies?”
“Haven’t been to one in ages. Why?”
“Well, it will be like a drive-in.”
“How so?”
“We’ve picked a place to meet and they’ll go in their car and we’ll go in ours.”
“And?”
“That’s it. We’ll see where we go from there.”
Skank Suit
We pulled up in the vacant parking lot. It was cold out for November. Ron and Nicole pulled up to our right in a late model Cadillac. Ron rolled down his window. Lola rolled down hers. They smiled at each other.
“Hi Lola,” called Nicole from the passenger seat.
“Hi Nicole,” responded Lola. I waved, foolishly, and smiled politely.
We could see our breath as the winterlike air flowed into the cabin.
My car has bucket seats. Lo and I couldn’t physically be right next to each other.
Their car had a bench front seat. Nicole slid over to Ron. They were in their early to mid-forties, I’d say. She was pretty. He was smaller in frame than I had imagined. They were clearly there to see Lo perform.
Lola stripped naked in the car, but with the windows rolled up, soon the glass was covered in condensation. Ron and Nicole couldn’t see anything. The more Lo tried, the more foggy the windows got.
Lo rolled down the window, which had the benefit of allowing Ron and Nicole to see her and to make her nipples very hard. But they could only see so much.
Lo opened the car door to expose below her chest. She swiveled and spread her legs, putting her feet up on the seat and fapping her wet pussy. The couple in the car next to us seemed to enjoy the show, but even I was cold, so I can imagine how chilly Lo’s hairless crotch must have been!
I could see that Nicole had Ron’s cock in her right hand and was stroking it as Lo stroked herself.
That didn’t last long. Lo was shivering. The cold air on her nipples made them hard. The downdraft on her bare pussy gave it goosebumps. Pretty to look at, but no amount of caressing, slapping, or fingering could dispel the chill.
After about a half-hour of trying, we called it off and said we’d try again another time.
On the ride home, the heat blasting, I put on Poe’s “Hey Pretty.” The seductive lyrics sang:
Hey pretty
Don’t you want to take a ride with me?
Through my world
Lo leaned over and said, “Can I just be your cock-warmer?”
“Cock-warmer? What is that?”
“You just let your cock rest in my mouth.”
Cock-Warming
“We both know that there’s no ‘just’ with you. Especially after this.”
“I’ll tell you what, you drive and I’ll give you the longest unzipping of your life.”
But just then our little late night drive took a strange turn.
We had just got home and I could tell by the look in her eye she was up to no good.
She walked in the front door wearing that little strumpet outfit she had put on for her audience and, not getting to give the show she had planned for them, she was ready to perform for me. A bad, naughty little performance for a packed house of one.
She pranced into the living room in her heels, black leather skirt, no panties, leather jacket, sheer blouse beneath revealing her hard nipples. She turned on the music: Machine Gun Kelly, “Bad Things.” It was as if she had been waiting her turn in the strip club and the DJ finally got around to her set list.
The blinds were all open as she did her little COVID Cabaret.
“Did you like seeing me in the car tonight, Daddy?”
“I did,” I said as I sat down on the couch to watch her.
“What did you like about it?”
“Your willingness to make a couple happy. I always say your generous nature is your best quality.”
“I have a lot of good qualities.”
“True.”
“And a lot of bad thoughts.”
“Do tell.”
“If you only knew the bad things I like,” she sang along with the song.
She lifted her skirt above her ass as she bent over by the window.
“Well, Daddy, are you going to give it to me?”
I stood up and came close to her. I began undoing my pants, but she stopped me.
“No,” she said, “your belt. Give it to me.”
“Punishment?”
“Yes.”
She assumed the position, bracing for it.
I pulled out my long black leather belt, bent it in half, grabbed both ends in one hand and gently let it fall upon her flesh.
“Oh, come on,” she mocked. “Harder.”
“I gave her a mild whack.
“Harder. Wasn’t I bad Daddy? Wasn’t it wrong of me to arrange this COVID dogging session?”
I gave her a strong spank with the strap. It made a clear cracking on her ass. Her body convulsed as if she was surprised by it. Then she said, “Yesss, that’s it.”
I gave her another.
We hadn’t engaged in this sort of play for a long time.
“You were bad,” I said, reflecting upon it. “Dressed scantily in public like that. Like a little skank.”
“That’s right.”
I gave her a harder smack. I could see the outline of the belt in a red line left on her skin, even in the dim light.
“Again.”
I gave it to her again.
“Harder.”
She got another harder.
“I wish that the three of you could be doing this to me. You, Ron, Nicole.”
I gave her another WHACK!
“I wish I was tied to a pole naked (except my heels of course) and each of you had a strap to take turns on my body.”
“Why?” I asked as I inflicted another, harder lick of the leather.
“Cause I can take it. Cause I like it.”
“Why?”
WHAP!
“Because I deserve it.”
SMACK!
“Because I’m so, so bad.”
I gave her one last, forceful spank with the belt before she said our safe word. She turned around. There were tears in her eyes. She reached out her arms and hugged me. She wrapped her legs around mine. She was holding on for dear life.
“I hate this pandemic!” she said, weeping.
She slowly descended, her body crumpling around my legs. She was on the floor, hugging my shins, crying, weeping, naked.
“Come,” I said, helping her up. “Let me apply some aftercare.”
Spank Me Daddy
I led her to the bedroom where I gently laid her out on the bed, face down. I went into the bathroom and got out the baby oil. I puddled some in my palm, rubbed my hands together to warm them up, and gently caressed it over her glowing red ass, sore from the spanking she received.
“Owweeemmmmmm,” she purred, her cry of pain turning to a hum of pleasure.
I made small gentle circles with my palms on her ass cheeks. I slid my fingers between her ass cleavage. I ran my fingertips up and down her crotch gently. I revolved my index finger around her special spot, slowly descending into it, one knuckle at a time until fully submerged. She moaned with pleasure. In-and-out I went, first with one finger then with two. I curled them and fingered her ass much the way I would finger her pussy.
Her body mimicked the motions of an inchworm, rising in the middle and then descending. Up-and-down. Faster my fingers slip-sliding in-and-out, until she said, “There! Stay. Deep. Hold it!” She came. I could see her pussy juices dribbling down her thighs. Her ass clenched up on my fingers. Her body was motionless for a moment before the waves of involuntary convulsions shuttered across the surface from feet to shoulders.
Her sphincter released and I slid my fingers out with ease.
To my shock she was asleep.
I was hard, but happy. My deepest desire is to please her.
The Body Politic
[An excerpt of the following appeared today in Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine, November, 2020 issue. Waring, political stuff ahead.]
It’s November of an election year. And not just any election year, but perhaps the most vitriolic, divisive, and ugly election year ever. Well, except for 2016. As I’ve stated before, this sacred, sexy space of ours, this small column in the vast expanse of contemporary writing, steers clear of politics, except for the fact that nothing is a-political anymore. Writing about sex, celebrating sexuality, and depicting a strong, independent, sexually explicit woman like Lola Down is itself a political act.
Lola as depicted by Roman Doodle
But in this very politicized climate, it is nearly impossible to provide a playground where the ubiquitous partisan battles don’t bleed over the boundaries we have created. People on the right have appropriated the term “cuck” as a pejorative for the left. Queer men on the left have appropriated “Proud Boys,” to the consternation of that far-right group. Just beneath the surface of these slogans and slurs is a swirl of sexual energy, frustration, confusion, and subliminal eroticism misdirected and perverted into hatred and violence.
Misogyny, racism, sexism, gender identity politics, transphobia, homophobia, xenophobia, and politization of polyamory are all interrelated issues, impossible to easily separate into isolated questions.
We live in strange times; times I never thought I’d see. The President of the United States is a man married (his third marriage, mind you) to a woman born in a different country who had a career as a model, occasionally posing nude and with other nude women in homoerotic images. And yet, he’s not a radical leftist liberal, but embraced by the conservative Christian right! He has had numerous affairs with porn stars and other women, yet that hasn’t prevented him from gaining the backing of the Bible Belt. But his exoneration by the religious right has not been equally applied. Those who work in the sex industry were not similarly embraced or given the same shame-free-pass as the President.
In 2016 the first female presidential candidate was eviscerated, mainly for wearing a pantsuit. Yet, in 2020, between Hope Hicks, Kayleigh McEnany, Ivanka Trump, Omarosa Manigault Newman, Mercedes Schlapp, Lindsay Walters, Zina Bash, the First Lady, and others, it is sometimes difficult to tell the difference between the White House and the Playboy Mansion. Perhaps that is Trump’s appeal to many; he fills the void left by the death of Hugh Hefner.
Hope Hicks gender bending at the W.H.
And all of this tumult and turmoil, not coincidentally, floats to the surface in the wake of eight years of an African American man occupying the White House.
I mention our current and past political theater as a preamble to confronting a porn/erotica trope as ubiquitous and with as long a history as that of the “Lolita” nymphomaniac figure. I speak of the so-called “Mandingo Myth.” This deep-seated belief, whose pedigree can be traced as far back as Ancient Greece and Egypt, holds that African men wield sexual appendages that dwarf those of fair-skinned Europeans. Throughout the ages, the image of the hugely hung black man has been perpetuated as well as perverted in order to promote a racist agenda: The longer the penis, the more bestial the sex-drive, the less human the man and thus the greater the threat to white society, especially its womenfolk. (See A Mind of Its Own: A Cultural History of the Penis, by David M. Friedman, chapter III, “The Measuring Stick.”)
Lo’s idea of a perfect date
Over the centuries, the long black appendage has been compared to a Priapus (that is, the male fertility god), a donkey, stallion, buck, and even a pre-Adam serpent of the Garden of Eden responsible for Eve’s seduction and the Fall. Throughout the ages, but most prominently in America from Reconstruction onward, this archetype of the African American man’s exceptional endowment has been the focus of white fear and fetish, engendering multiple myths, none of them ending well for the African American man. This theme is almost comically depicted in the various King Kong films, but most explicitly in the 1976 version. Plot: The Petrox Oil Company seeks to plunder a remote island of its oil. They find no natural resources to make their venture profitable, but they do find and trap King Kong, a preternaturally large black ape. They return to the U.S. with their unusual cargo. However, Kong has fallen in love with Dwan (a scantily clad, blonde woman played by Jessica Lange). Unable to allow such an unfathomable relationship, Kong is killed. (In the original 1933 version, he climbs the giant phallus, the Empire State Building. In the ’76 remake, he climbs the World Trade Center buildings, thus doubling the phalli.) The allegory is quite transparent: white colonialists set out for raw materials, they return with slaves from Africa whose unusual size threatens their white women and must be killed.
Jessica Lange in King Kong 1976
A year earlier, in 1975, the same myth was played out, only without the allegorical trappings, in the film Mandingo, based on the 1957 novel by the same name, from which the “Mandingo Myth” gets its label, though its predecessors in white Western mythology predate it by millennia.
Lo and an admirer in the park
How do you measure up?
Unfortunately, today we still find this trope used as both the focus of taboo fetishes (“Blacked” porn, which fetishizes both black men with large cocks and white, usually blonde and petit, women) and phobias for political ends. For instance, in 2017, Enrique Tarrio, the leader of the Proud Boys, posted a tweet in which he asked if white women would be more willing to donate $20 to Trump’s campaign or walk past a group of black men while wearing a sundress. (The Daily Mail, 10/1/2020, “Leader of the Proud Boys is the State Director of Latinos for Trump”)
Lola’s fan
In today’s tribal public sphere, there is little we can agree upon, but one thing that is unimpeachable is, as David Friedman says, the one place where race and sex (and we can add politics) converge is the black penis.
Lola’s COVID Gang-Bang Datenight
The long black dong is the symbol of white, male fragility. It signifies the fear of masculine inadequacy and the homoerotic desire for sexual prowess. Both symbol and signifier are pointers and the thick, strong, dark schlong is frequently depicted as pointing at the helpless, weak, innocent white blonde. Copulation by contrast. This ubiquitous trope penetrates deep in the psyche of our culture.
Just as black men are often reduced to their primal virility as exemplified by the penis, so too women are subtly and explicitly made into a medium for the message communicated by the patriarchal culture. In recent memory, the collective unconscious probably recalls images from silent black-and-white films of a damsel-in-distress tied to the railroad tracks by the sinister mustachioed villain. This image is emblematic of an archetype that transcends time and space: the bound female. Ancient stories span the globe of women tied up – as sacrificial victims, concubines, slaves – from the abduction of Sita in the Ramayana to the afore mentioned Dwan of King Kong and, of course, Princess Leia in her famous Jabba the Hut scene in Return of the Jedi (1983) – project and perpetuate the idea of women as victims in need of a hero.
Lola’s Sexy Shoes
From nude or nearly nude women dancing in cages at clubs, raves, and music concerts, to Taylor Swift reenacting the railroad scene in “Mean,” this trope is conspicuously depicted and sexualized, but there are far more nuanced ways of sending the same message. What is the message? Women are weak, needy, helpless, and their power, like Prometheus (an example of gender inversion of the architype) is under wraps. Notice, if you will, women’s fashion, from undergarments to gowns. What is a recurring theme? Straps, bows, knots, strings, and all manner of imagery suggesting restraint while simultaneously revealing skin. Beyond that, almost every article of clothing is designed to depict weakness, vulnerability, and impotence. Watch your local or national news, for instance. How are the men dressed? Buttoned up shirts, ties, long sleeve jackets revealing the least skin possible. They are formidable, as if wearing body armor. And the women? Blouses cut at the shoulder, plunging necklines, form-fitting soft colored tops. Imagine for a moment what you would think of a male news anchor reporting in a halter-top made of thin, silky material.
Lola Upskirt
Beyond the blouses, there are the skirts. Dresses were, perhaps, originally designed to conceal the shape of the woman hidden beneath all the folds and flourishes. But today, dresses and skirts are designed to inhibit freedom of movement, conceal as little as possible, and leave the woman wearing them vulnerable to the inadvertent upskirt.
Lola in a cute little bow
Working our way down, we next arrive at women’s footwear. High heels keep a woman off balance. Not only do they prevent any aggressive action, they inhibit flight. Women’s dress shoes, for the most part, make them a helpless victim in the face of any danger. Beyond that, they continue the ligature leitmotif. Straps, bows, chords, all depict the female foot in a shibari shoe.
Tied Up
It’s important to recall that liberating oneself from the cultural baggage one inherits by virtue of merely being born into a particular time and place is not accomplished by merely adopting the opposite position. In the dialectical structure, inhabiting the antithesis merely reaffirms the thesis. It does nothing to diminish the power of the thesis. Rather, twisting free of the rigid and possibly oppressive cultural constraints is a tricky and subtle art. It requires first understanding the nature of one’s servitude and then becoming master of it.
Lola is by no means exempt from our culture’s conventions any more than you or I. However, she does like to play with the tropes and taboos just the way that a good composer doesn’t merely adhere to the rules of the times, but will surprise and delight by contorting them in unexpected patterns.
Lola’s Cock
Of course, in our relationship there is the patent hotwife – cuck/stag – bull roles to be played. But we emphasize the play of that is inherent in any roleplaying. Lo has her soft spot for knots (of all variety) and strappy heels, dresses, bras, panties, and even corsets. She also has her wet spot for BBC. But it also delights her to wear her strap-on, to wield her cock, and to fuck like a man. Call her a switch if you wish. She also oogles and drools over the many fan photos she gets from black bulls endowed with length, girth, and heft she has rarely met in the flesh. But she also loves her male trans fans who send photos of themselves in their wives’ panties or cumming in their pantyhose. For, when it comes to sex, the one rule that holds is that nothing is essentially anything. Existence precedes essence, as the Existentialists mantra goes, meaning, before we had determined male/female, man/woman, straight/queer, black/white, there were just people doing stuff. Their names, definitions, categories, and expectations of norms all came later.
TV fan of Lola
These observations are meant neither to condemn nor condone the complex cultural code with regard to BBC or BDSM as it manifests in veiled, seemingly innocuous symbols such as popular movies and fashion. Rather, this thought piece is more along the lines of semiotics (the study of signs and symbols in culture) than a cultural critique. Signs and symbols perform a function; they point at something. In this piece, the sign/symbol with which we began was the black penis, which is, innately and ironically, also a pointer. Perhaps it is pointing at our radical possibility for the future. I simply wanted to point that out.
Smaller Big Fan of Lola