Category Archives: cock

April Showers

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It was one of those strange April nights when the temperature drops twenty degrees from the daytime high of 68, the wind rustles up the new buds on the trees outside, and from out of the darkness, lighting, thunder, and downpours fill the sky.  Lola couldn’t sleep.  When I got to bed she said, “I’ve tried everything.  I’ve tried meditation, masturbation, guided meditation, guided masturbation. . .”

            “Wait.  What is ‘guided masturbation’?”

            “Oh, well, I called up a friend and asked him to tell me how he wants me to masturbate,” she said as if it were no big deal.

            “You did?”

            She nodded her head in affirmation and pouted saying, “But it didn’t help.”

            “I bet it helped him.  Why didn’t you call me?”

            “You were working hard, Daddy.”

            “So?” I asked, frustrated by the thought that she’d rather hear inappropriate instructions from one of her suitors than from me.

            “Are you still hard at work?” she asked seductively, rubbing my crotch to gauge my state of arousal. 

            “Work hard, play hard,” I said, as I pulled out my manhood for her to see.   

She grabbed it while licking her lips. 

            “You know I’m not just a sex organ,” I said.

            “I think your brain is a sex organ,” she replied as she went down on me.

            “In that case, I have a very large sex organ.”

            She interrupted her activity to look up at me and say, “And growing larger.”

            “I’m not that big,” I said.

            “I meant your ego.”

            “I’ll have you know, I’m very humble.”

            “Looks to me, you have a lot to be humble about,” she said caustically.

            “What do you mean?”

            She pulled down the sheets to reveal her huge horse-cock dildo on the bed next to her, still glistening. 

            “I’m so big, wide, and wet that I wouldn’t feel any bit of you.”

            “Care to test that hypothesis?”

            “I’m stretched to my limit.”

            “You have a limit?  That’s news to me!”

            “‘Limit’ is a flexible term.  Like ‘full’ or ‘fucked.’”

            “Oh, so it’s elastic?”

            “Yeah, it can be used in many different ways.”

            “Depends on who’s using it.”

            “Right.  It takes a lot of abuse, but it is never exhausted.”

            “Never wears out.”

            “Right.”

            “Like this terrible pun.”

            “What pun?”

            “Are we still talking about ‘limit’?”

            “I wasn’t, were you?”

            “Darling, you certainly do push the limits.”

            “What limits?”

            “All of them.  But the real question is, why did you call on some other guy for your ‘guided masturbation’ when you could have called upon me?”

            “So many married men turn to me for sweet release.  I’m a goddess of pussy.  I answer to the call of depravity.”

            “But you called him!”

            “Well, I saw that he had posted a pic of a cumtribution he had made for another girl and he wrote, ‘For my beautiful cum slut.’  I called him to remind him that I am his beautiful cum slut.”

            “You think you’re everyone’s beautiful cum slut.”

            “Well, aren’t I?”

            “Everyone but mine, I guess.”

            “Oh, Daddy,” she said, still holding my cock firmly in her hand, “would you make a cumtribution for me?  Would you jack it to my photos and cum all over them?”

            “Lo, why would I do that when I have you right here, in the flesh?”

            “To show me your unfailing love.”

            “Lo, I write thousands upon thousands of pages of poetry for you, but you’d rather I grab my masculine member and stroke it until I ejaculate a hot mess over your image?”

            “I call it giving tribute to my icon.”

            “Because you’re a goddess of pussy.”

            “Now you’re turning me on!”

            “Those are your words.”

            “Well, you feel that way, don’t you?”

            “How could I not, darling.  It is the truth.”

            “So you’ll make an offering at my virtual alter?”

            “If you want me to, I will.”

            “Now?”

            “Whenever you say.”

            “No, not now.  I want you to do it when I’m away.  Now you can enter my holy temple.”

            “But I thought I wouldn’t even feel you.”

            “You won’t and I won’t feel you, but why should that stop us from fucking?”

            I got between her legs and entered her.  She was right – it was like a mere mortal entering the pearly gates.  However, that only made it more alluring for me.  She could tell I was getting turned on. 

“Cum inside me,” she said.

“Put your fingers inside you, right where you want me to cum.”

She inserted almost her whole fist along over my cock and I could feel her fingering her G-spot. 

“There,” she said, “right there.”

I came and came with force all over her fingers.  She gripped my cock with her hand inside her and milked it for every drop. 

When I pulled out, she said she was going to clean up.  I drifted off on the bed until I heard her calling out for God from the shower.  It startled me.  I navigated the thick cloud of steam to find her squatting on the shapely bottle of Dove shampoo, rubbing her clit, and cumming uncontrollably.  (Do they make the bottles that shape for that purpose or did she buy that brand because of its ergonomic contours?  The questions Lo causes me to ask.)

I disappeared into the fogbank as stealthily as I had entered it.  I went back to the bed.  When she climbed in naked next to me, I held her warm body. 

“Just in time,” I said.

“Just in time for what?” she asked.

“Tomorrow is the first of May.”

“Hooray!  Hooray!  It’s the first of May!” she sung, “Outdoor fucking starts today!”

“No, silly,” I said.  “April showers.”

“Oooooh,” she said, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you see my pink flower.”

“Me and the rest of the world.”

“A beautiful flower should not be hidden away to be seen only by one man.”

Living the Dream

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Image by Timo Schmidt, Model: Lola Down

            It was the first of the month.  Lo and I have a little tradition of saying “Rabbit, rabbit,” to each other on the first of the month.  I woke up next to her and I whispered it to her. 

            “More like ‘grab it, grab it,’” she replied.

            “What?  Why?”

            “Because, you were clinging to me all night, grabbing my tits, stroking my puss.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.

            “Don’t be,” she retorted, “I liked it.  But it gave me crazy dreams.”

            “Like what?”

            “I dreamed that we were on vacation in Hawaii with our friends.  We had rented a minivan, but I just needed to get off.  The minivan was old, loud, and rumbly.  I pulled out my Hitachi from my suitcase and began using it.  I was about to cum when someone noticed.  So I put it away.”

            “That’s not like you.”

            “Yeah,” she said, “it was a dream.  Next thing I knew, we were on the beach and my Hitachi was in my hand.  I put it down my bikini bottoms.”

            “There are no electrical outlets on the beach.”

            “It was a dream.”

            “Right.”

            “And I was about to climax when I opened my eyes and suddenly saw that there was a crowd of people surrounding me, watching me.  So I stopped again.”

            “Again, not like you.”

            “This starting and stopping, edging and trying again went on a lot.”

            “Do you want to get off now?”

            “So badly.”

            “Do you want your Hitachi or me?”

            “Tough question.”

            “Which do you like more?”

            “My Hitachi.”

            “Really?”

            “Then you.”

            “Oh.”

            “Then my Hitachi again.”

            “I see.”

            “My Hitachi is like icing on the cake.  No matter how good the cake is, you always want icing after it.”

            “But you said your Hitachi first.”

            “Well, you always want icing.  But just icing isn’t as good as icing with cake.”

            “So, what do you want now?  Do you want your Hitachi as I jack it over you?”

            “That sounds good.”

            She pulled out her Hitachi from under the bed.  She turned it on.  She spread her legs and placed it between them.  I was on my knees over her, pulling at my long, hard shaft, watching her every move. 

            “You know,” I said, “I had a dream too.”

            She didn’t reply.

            “I dreamt that you were out on a date with a tall, think, dark Jamaican man with long dreadlocks.  I found the two of you in the front row of a movie theater making out.”

            “The front row?” she asked.  “That’s a bit conspicuous.”

            “It was a dream.”

            “I like it.”

            “And then I came home and found the two of you on the couch, still making out.”

            “Were you jealous?”

            “No, I was turned on.”

            She came, squirting all over my knees. 

            “Come here,” she said, as she rolled over on her tum.  “Get inside me.”

            I slid right in with my tum pressed on her back.

            “Do I feel tight or loose?”

            “You feel loose and wet.  Very wet.”

            “Fuck me harder.”

            I thrust with more force.

            “Daddy, please, fuck me.  Fuck me harder.”

            “I would, but I’m afraid I’ll push you right into the headboard.”

            “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said, “Just fuck me with everything you got.”

            I pushed into her repeatedly.  As I predicted, her head was banging the headboard of the bed with a rhythmic pounding.  She just called out, “Yeah, yeah, harder!  Don’t stop.  Fuck.  I’m going to squirt.  Stay in there.  Don’t. . .”

            She began squirting and her cunt convulsed on my cock, squeezing me right out.  It’s damn near impossible to stay in her when she has an intense orgasm like that. 

            “Hurry up,” she said, “Get back in me!”

            “I can’t,” I complained, “You’re all clenched up.  Try to relax.”

            She did, which unleashed a gush of more juice, soaking the sheets. 

            “I want you to cum,” she said as she backed her ass up and slid her puss over my pole again. 

            “You liked my dream?” I asked.

            “Yes.  Maybe you were holding me so tightly that our dreams were interwoven.”

            “Are you cumming again?” I asked. 

            “No, not yet.”

            “Good, don’t.  Flip over,” I commanded.

            She turned onto her back and spread her legs.  I pulled out my dripping rod and stroked it back and forth.

            “What are you doing?” she asked.

            “Playing foosball.  What’s it look like I’m doing?  I’m stroking myself to your amazing body.”    

            She grabbed her Hitachi again and put it between her legs as she watched me.  “Just like the guys on the beach,” she said. 

            With that thought, I began to cum.  She saw what was happening, and like an acrobat, she swiveled her body around so that her face was now under my balls and she put out her tongue to catch might release.

            When I was done and she had a grin on her face, I said, “A nutritious breakfast.”

            “Yeah, but now I’m in the mood for cake with icing and pancakes.”

            “Pancakes?”

Or, see me and cum.

            “Or at least pancake batter, cause that’s what your cum reminds me of.”

Fap Gap

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Lola by Jerger65Jerry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Writing?  Well, sometimes that is a good pastime. 

            But on this occasion I got up to some mischief. 

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

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

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

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

Frankie Shaw of SMILF – Lola’s Fantasy

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

            “But. . .” I tried to protest.

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

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

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

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

            “Hello,” she called from the door.

            “Hello,” I called back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Good date?” I inquired.

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

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

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

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

            “Did you wonder what I was doing?’

            “Of course.”

            “What did you do while I was out?”

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

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

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

            I guess I have a type.

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

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

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

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

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

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

            I laughed and followed her instruction.  She moaned. 

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

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

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

            “Oh yeah, what else?”

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

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

            “You said hard twice.” 

            “I want it twice as hard.”

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

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

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

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

            “Shut up and keep pounding.”

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

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

            “I’m sure he stood at attention.”

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

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

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

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

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

            “Quite the exposé.”  

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

            “I’m listening.”

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

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

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

            “I asked him if he felt like eating.”

            “The ambiguity of your question is delicious.”

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

            “Very impulsive.”

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

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

            “My what?”

            “Never mind.”

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

            “Just for a nightcap.”

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

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

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

            “What was that?”

            “He wanted to watch.”

            “What?”

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

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

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

            “And, did it?”

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

            “There you go again,” I said.

            “What?”

            “You said hard twice.”

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

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

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

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

            “I’m full of ideas.”

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

Waiting for a Lyft

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            “How do I look?” she asked, doing a little twirl on the toes of her shiny black boots. 

            “Just Peachy,” I said.

            “Peachy?”

            “Yeah.”

            “You’re so old,” she replied.  “Do you like the lipstick?  Too much?” she asked as she puckered up.

            “Depends.  What do you plan on doing with it?”

            “Hopefully something naughty,” she said as her tongue ran over her pearly whites.

            Lo was all decked out for a date she had with a new gentleman caller.  About a half hour earlier she had emerged out of her steamy shower, silky smooth down below.  She showed me saying, “Hopefully he’ll appreciate this.”

            “You are eager for him to get up your skirt,” I said, nonchalantly, though I was upset that she wasn’t offering it to me.

            “So eager that I’m not going to wear panties.”

            “Why don’t you shave for me?  Only when you’re going on dates?”

            She walked up to me and made a pouty face, and teased, “Oh, is my ole man jealous?”

            “No,” I said, “Not jealous.  But I appreciate a slick, wet, whistle just as much as the next guy.”

            “I know,” she said condescendingly.  “But don’t you like my muff too?”

            “Lo, I like all of you in every way,” I said, “But maybe you could just keep the mons pubis polished all the time, especially for when I go down on you.”

            “But Daddy, it’s winter.  I might catch a chill.”

            “Wear a merkin.  I hear they’re coming back in style.”

            “Funny.”

            “I’m serious.  I read an article about it.  It was all the rage for Fashion Week in New York.”

            “Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said dismissively. 

            “You don’t seem to be too worried about catching a chill today,” I observed.

            “I plan to have his warm mouth on my va-jay-jay soon enough,” she retorted. 

            “Are you just trying to tease me?” I asked, adding, “Cause you could have my mouth on it right now.”

            She was applying moisturizer to her tits, tum, and mellifluous legs and puss.  “Will you get my back?” she asked, applying some lotion to my palm and turning around.

            I began to rub it into her shoulders and then down her back.  She bent over, exposing her rear.  “Get it in good there, cause I want to be silky sweet for him when he has his face where your hands are now.”  I was circling my middle finger around her anus and she was moaning. 

            After a little while of that, she got on the bed, lying on her back, her legs up.  I thought for sure this was my invitation.  But no!  Instead she said, “Don’t forget my toes.  Get right in there.” 

            I applied the lotion to her heel, her arches, her toes and between her toes, one foot at a time.  She was almost climaxing from the sensation.  I was hard as a rock in my slacks and protruding noticeable.  I could see her pussy glistening. 

            “Do you plan on giving him a foot-job as well?”

            “I plan on giving him whatever he wants.”

            “Lo, why are you torturing me so much?  I’ll just pull out my cock and you can give me a foot-job.  Think of it as warm-ups or practice,” I said as I unzipped my pants.

            “I’m already hot.  I don’t need warm-ups.  And are you saying I need practice?”

            “Practice makes perfect.”

            “I am purrrrrfect,” she said, “or at least so I’m told.”

            She got off the bed and began rummaging through her wardrobe.

            “Out!” she commanded.  “You’ll see when I’m done.”

            I left the room and then, a while later, she appeared in the living room asking me how she looked.  I was starving for a taste of her.  When I said, “Just peachy,” I was thinking about eating her peach, which now was more like a nectarine. 

            She lifted the hem of her short skirt to show me her bare nectarine.  Then she bent over to pick up her purse and pull out her phone. 

            “Lo, the whole world can see how nicely you prepared yourself when you do that move.”

            “That’s what I was going for.”

            I rolled my eyes.

            “You won’t miss me too much?” she asked.

            “Lo, I’m going to tell you the truth.  As soon as you shut that door, permission or no permission, I’m going to pull out my Fleshlight and cum so hard into Stoya’s pussy.”

            “NO!” she exclaimed.  Horror of horrors.

            “But, I’m so worked up right now.  I can think of nothing else.”

            “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “I just ordered my Lyft.  It will be here in exactly four minutes.  Go get a condom.” 

            I ran to get a condom from the bedroom and appeared back in the living room, eager to fuck her, but I had another thing coming. 

            “Put it on,” she said, looking at her phone. 

            I obeyed. 

            And then, instead of bending over the couch and letting me enter her, she grabbed my covered cock with her right hand and began jacking it. 

            “What?” I asked perplexed. 

            “I’ll jack you off.  You have about two minutes,” she said, not even looking at me. 

            “Why won’t you let me fuck you?”

            “Because, I’m pretty as a picture right now.  I don’t want to risk messing up my outfit.”

            “Really?”

            “A minute and a half.  Do you want to be hard-up all night?”

            “OK, ok,” I said, letting her tug, “but why the condom?”

            “No mess,” she said, her hand moving mechanically.  “Speaking of pictures. . .” she said as she manipulated her phone with her other hand.  She raised up her arm and smiled at the camera as she shot a selfie without me in the frame.  No one would even suspect she was giving me a hand-job as she flashed her smile at them.  She sent the pic to her date with a message, “Coming.”

            She looked again at her ride app and saw the car turn onto our street.  She got closer to me and ever-so-gently licked my earlobe with her tongue as she increased her wrist motion.  “That’s it Daddio, think about how he is going to lick my clit later.  Think about how he’s going to cum all over my puss and make my skirt all dirty with his hot mess.  I’m your little trollop, your little. . .”

            She stopped mid-sentence.  The Lyft was outside our window.  I came into the condom.  She let go.  I grabbed my cock and stroked it as I watched her through the window getting into the car and blowing me an air kiss. 

            She is truly devilish. 

Cliterotica

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[In honor of all our friends, such as Cara, Hy, Catherine, and of course, Michael & Molly, who are attending Eroticon this weekend, a little fantasy of what we envision our attending it to be like. Hopefully next year.]

Drawing of Lola by nglare

            “LOLA” – her name lit up the marquee.  As we approached the theater from the street, slick from the recent rain, Lo looked up and said, “Big, bright, beautiful, and inviting.  That’s me alright!”

            We were in England for the annual Literotica convention and somehow we were the headline event for this evening’s performances.  Lo was giddy with excitement. 

            Entering the theater from the side door for performers, there was a flurry of activity backstage.  Everyone was primping and preparing.  Lo, herself, had tried on three different outfits and five different pairs of shoes before settling on the glittery gold sequin top, the slinky green skirt, and the flashy four-inch heels.  “Green and gold,” I said, “the colors of money.”

            We were there to do a reading and book signing, but Lo had plans for oh so much more than that.  Her Marina Abramovic performance-art streak was activated and she had conspired with me to put on a show.  We were to be a Penn & Teller style duet.  She’d be Penn, the showman, and I’d be Teller, the silent sidekick.  She had her props: a little wooden lectern on which she put the book, some paints, paint brushes, markers, and a sign.  The sign read:

Match, Vol. I – $35

Match, Vol. II – $20

Match, Vol. III – $20

Complementary with your purchase:

Squeeze

Tease

Pull

Paint

Draw

Write

Kiss

Suck

Cum

NOT ALLOWED:

Penetration of any sort

Photos

(Mild BDSM is ok)

All prices USD

            After the opening acts, we were introduced to a loud round of applause.  I got butterflies in my stomach and I’m sure Lo did as well.  We took our places on the otherwise empty wooden stage under the hot spotlights.  I stood next to Lo at the lectern with three stacks of books and my portable credit card swipe device plugged into my phone.

            Lo opened the books to the places she had specially chosen for this event and read some select passages: The preface to Vol I, penned by her; the encomium to the color red; a few poems.  As she read each passage in her sweetly seductive voice, she slowly removed first one and then the other strap of her blouse and let it fall, revealing her breasts.  She then wriggled out of both the blouse and her skirt until she stood stark naked but for her sexy heels.  The poems were read in the buff. 

            When she was done the music began – selections of songs mentioned in the books.  I invited the audience members who had pre-purchased books to step up and have Lola sign them while they each took a turn participating in one of the activities mentioned on Lo’s sign. 

            The first ones in line were a bit shy and timid.  They ventured a kiss or a gentle tug on Lo’s nipples while she leaned over to sign one of the gloss nude photographs of her in the book.  A few others took up the Sharpie pen and wrote love notes to Lo on various parts of her body.  Some wrote “Slut” or “hotwife” or “cum here” with an arrow pointing to her puss. 

            As the audience saw the performance taking place, those without books were eager to get in line and I began selling our inventory.  Men took out their cocks and began stroking as they eagerly awaited their turn in line. 

            Some of them stroked it next to Lola as she signed the books and wrote cute comments about the men’s anatomy in the margins. 

            The first man to cum did so on Lo’s feet, filling up her shoes with warm jizz.

            The next man to cum had a powerful ejaculation and managed to hit Lo’s tits with remarkable aim.  He even got a bit of applause!

            A woman was in line and she gave Lo a very warm kiss on the lips and then slid her tongue down Lo’s neck to her glazed breasts and cleaned off the previous customer’s cumtribution. 

            This performance went on for some time, until we sold out of all our books!

            Unfortunately for Lo, all of this fun foreplay was merely a tantalizing orgasm tease.  She whispered in my ear and I briefly disappeared off stage to grab Lo’s favorite toy from one of the event sponsor’s display: The Hitachi Magic Wand.  We plugged it into an extension cord and I brought the large, white device to Lo who proceeded to use it on her clit while sitting in a high stool.  She spread her legs and, within only a few moments filled with tension and anticipation, Lo finally gushed with an torrential outpour of emotion, release, and fluid that covered the stage. 

            After her grand finale, some stage hands appeared at Lo’s side with warm, wet towels and they cleaned her off.  One of them gently removed Lo’s feet, one at a time, from her shoes and wiped them down.  Another person mopped the wooden floor.  Once Lo was cleaned off, she got dressed again and we walked off the stage.  Before exiting, though, Lo took a long bow, but not to the audience, but to the wings of the stage, thus giving the audience one last look up her skirt. 

            Congratulations were showered on Lo and me from our fellow literotica friends and authors and we got ready for the afterparty.

The Orgasm Gap

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When Lola Goes on a Date and I’m Left Alone

            Recently, a new phrase has been popping up in various articles on sex, relationships, and women: The Orgasm Gap.  Sometimes it’s referred to as “The Gender Orgasm Gap.”  It is the result of various studies’ data showing that women in heterosexual relationships have far fewer orgasms than their male partners.  This gap disappears in gay relationships. 

            There’s plenty of literature out there for you to do your own reading into the matter, but what I would like to discuss here is the orgasm gap that exists between Lo and me.  In our relationship there is undoubtedly an orgasm gap, but it is the inverse of the one referred to above. 

I’ve conducted my own non-scientific study.  One October a few years back (I deemed it “O-month,” for “Orgasm Month”) I did my best to count the number of orgasms achieved by Lola (either during coitus or on her own) and the number achieved by me, your faithful author.  The results were 70+ for Lo (not exactly sure of the actual number because I was relying on her reportage of her solo sessions and often she lost count), to my 18.  That’s approximately a 4:1 orgasm gap in favor of the female. 

            Now, in our relationship there are many “understandings.”  I am not allowed to jack it unless specifically instructed by Lola.  That usually means in her presence, so she can enjoy it.  I am not allowed to have sex with anyone outside our relationship.  Lo, on the other hand (so to speak), has no strings attached.  Solo sex, sex with others, accidental orgasms – all are fair game for her. 

            But a while back, when Lo was cross with me about something and thus withholding her pleasures from me, I took matters into my own hands, literally.  I got myself a Stoya Destroya Fleshlight.  It served the purpose at the time.  It also came in handy (can’t seem to get around that double-entendre) one night when Lola was too inebriated to give consent. 

Lola Fingering Stoya

            Lo doesn’t like my using Stoya’s pussy.  Her jealousy reigns supreme.  It matters not that it is literally just a pussy and not a person.  But the other night. . . .

            I had to work late.  I was at the office around 7 pm and I got a text from Lo saying that she was going out to dinner with her friend Candice.  Lo and Candice had become close friends over the past few months.  Candice is a self-described “thick” woman.  I would describe her as lusciously zaftig.  She is heavier than Lo by at least fifty pounds.  When they met, she was in a committed relationship, but that fell apart very suddenly.  Lo became her go-to confidante and wing-woman.  They went to clubs, bars, restaurants together about three or four times a week.  I think Lo enjoyed the singles scene and having someone to share it with.  Candice frequently found fuck-buddies, but was longing for a man who would be a dedicated daddy.  She admired Lo and was particularly envious of our special relationship. 

            Candice would often come over for brunch after her one-night-stands and dish the details about it to both of us over mimosas. 

            And then the other night. . . .

            As I was saying, Lo went out to dinner with Candice.  I thought nothing of it since it had become part of their repertoire.  I figured that Candice was horny and looking to find a cock to bring home for the night and Lo was going to help her, as usual.

            (A little aside here: If I were granted permission to have sex with just one of Lo’s friends, it would be Candice.  I find her voluptuousness very attractive.  But, either out of respect for Lo or lack of interest, Candice has never reciprocated my flirtatious banter with her.  Unless, of course, the juicy stories she tells us about her sexcapades are intended to rouse me, which they do.)

            But when I got home, I found Lo in bed, jillin’ herself silly.  She had all her toys on the bed and it looked like she had used each and every one.  Currently she was banging with the largest of the bunch.  It was stuck to the headboard and she was sliding her ass back, taking it all in, and then sliding forward.  Back-and-forth, slapping her cheeks up against the wood and then easing off.  She didn’t stop when she saw me enter the room.  I sat and waited, patiently by the foot of the bed.  She looked at me as she fucked her dildo.  Our eyes were locked as I saw her desperately trying to get off.  When she finally climaxed, slid off the dildo, and sprawled out in the sheets, legs spread and sloppy, I kissed her hello. 

            “Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

            “Why should I be mad?” I responded.

            “Get naked and I’ll tell you.”

            I did as she requested, got in bed next to her, and listened as she told me the following story:

            I went to the restaurant to meet Candice for dinner, but I was early and she was late.  I sat at the bar and ordered a drink while I waited for her.  As I waited, a handsome, young, black man came in and sat next to me.  He was very good looking, very fit, and I suddenly found myself getting very wet. 

            Candice finally arrived and as I was finishing my drink, the young guy got up and went to the bathroom.  I turned to Candice and told her how hot I thought he was.  She admitted to me that she thought so too. 

            When he came back, he paid his tab and got up to go.  But Candice immediately went after him.  She told him what I had told her in confidence, and he returned to the bar and sat between us.  He started up a conversation with me and I found out that he’s a football player for the college. 

            As we talked, he began rubbing my thigh and moving slowly further and further toward my crotch.  I didn’t protest. 

            Eventually he came very close to me and kissed me.  I reciprocated.  But then I pulled away and told him that I was there for Candice – her wing-woman.  She wasn’t supposed to be mine. 

            I think he liked that.  He showed an interest in both of us and the thoughts that went through my mind. . . .

            She didn’t elaborate, so I asked her, “What thoughts would those be?”

            I was fully expecting her to say, “Get in me and I’ll tell you,” but she didn’t.  After a pregnant pause, awaiting her command, I finally got between her legs, poised to strike, but she covered up her crotch with both hands and protested, “No, Daddy!  I can’t.  I’m sorry.”

            “Why not?” I asked, frustrated and eager.

            “I did myself a little too much.  I’m swollen and sore.”   

            Not only did I want her, badly, but I also wanted to hear the conclusion of her story just as badly.  I asked her politely if I could use the Stoya Fleshlight. 

She said, “Why don’t you just use your fist like a real man?”

            “I could ask you the same thing.  Instead of using your Hitachi, your 18” dildo, or your Remus, why don’t you just use your fist like a real slut?”

            She laughed despite her anger as she threw a pillow at me. 

            “Fine, get her out,” she said.

            “You’ll hold it for me?”

            She didn’t answer.  I rummaged through the back of the closet and pulled out Stoya.  I grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer and I got both Stoya and me nice and slick.  Lo took the hefty contraption in two hands and I slid right in. 

            “Comfortable?” she asked.

            “Yes, very,” I said, making her more jealous.  “Go on with your story.”

            “You like fucking her, don’t you?” she asked.

            “Not as much as fucking you.”

            “You like fucking Stoya.  You like that she’s a porn star.  You like thinking about how many men have fucked that pussy already, how many men have cum in it.”

Stoya’s Lovely Lady Parts

            I was getting very turned on by her dirty words.

            “Nothing would be hotter than seeing you make a porno,” I replied.  “I would stand in the wings while the director, the lighting crew, the sound engineers, and of course, the four or five male porn stars stood around your naked body as two or three of them fucked you on camera.”

            “Do you want me or do you want Stoya?”

            At this point, I admit, in my mind, Lola and Stoya were fused into one person as I imagined the set of the film.

            “Fuck her!  Fuck her good and hard!  Come on,” she demanded.  “Fuck that used, slutty pussy.  Cum in her.  Cum deep in her,” she commanded.  I can never resist her commands.  I came and I came hard as Lo pressed the Fleshlight down on my shaft, licking her lips as she watched me crumble as if struck by an arrow of pure pleasure. 

            I never did get to the end of her story that night. 

Lola’s Lolvely Lady Parts

            I have no idea how many times Lo came before I got home, but this is just one example of the so-called “Orgasm Gap” in our relationship. 

Her Porn Addiction

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How deep, how dark, how degraded, just how far down the rabbit hole of porn do you go?

Lola and I had a wedding to attend.  Yes, another wedding.  I couldn’t find my nice black leather shoes.  They weren’t in the closet.  They weren’t under my side of the bed.  So I looked under Lo’s side of the bed – yes, that side where she keeps her dildos, vibrators, anal beads, and other pornographic paraphernalia.  I knew I was entering dangerous territory, but what choice did I have?  So I began methodically opening all the brown shoeboxes, discovering that there were no shoes to be had, but only the mechanical instruments of female pleasure.

But then I came across it – the one box that was heavier than the others.  In it was not a pair of men’s shoes, but rather four or five books – all related to sex.  Among them, Erica Garza’s Getting Off.  There wasn’t much time.  I had to pack and be ready to go to the airport in a matter of minutes.  I grabbed the small volume and resolved that I’d just have to wear my brown belt and brown shoes to the wedding.

The flight was five hours, coast-to-coast.  Lo was exhausted because we flew the redeye after a long day at work.  She fell asleep on my shoulder as I used the time to read the book cover-to-cover.  There were certain pages marked with dog-ears and certain sentences underlined.  Almost all of them had to do with becoming inured to “conventional” porn and seeking every more degrading and debased images and scenarios.  One passage read:

 

My preferences were changing all the time.  I loved ‘old and young’ clips.  I’d also taken a liking to watching drunken girls get walked around on leashes or fucked by groups of men. . . .  I’d discovered the category of ‘bukkake’ and felt simultaneously disgusted and excited every time I watched multiple men come all over a girl’s face. . . .

 

 

I wondered about Lo and her late-night phone usage.  What depraved, debauched, dissolute, degenerate, dangerous and deviant electronic alleyways had my dear Lo followed that she should be so interested in these passages?  I was well aware of her penchant for multiple penises, how pee piqued her curiosity, her prurient interest in punishment, her salacious soliloquies on slut faming (the opposite of “slut shaming”), not to mention her downright dirty devotion to diddling while dreaming of bestial bullocks.  But had her fantasies, obsessions, and external stimuli ventured beyond these already extreme bounds?  I was in the dark.  I looked over at my delectable sleeping nymph by my side and pondered the extent of her perversity.  I recalled how years ago on a similar redeye transpacific flight she had utilized a highlighting marker as a dildo and got herself off in the crowded cabin as most of the passengers slept.  I would be fooling myself if I didn’t admit that these indiscretions were at least part of why I loved her so.

We suddenly hit some turbulence on our descent and Lo awoke from her slumber suddenly.  She saw me reading her book and asked, “What’s that?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

She sat up.  Recognizing the book, she asked, “Where’d you find that?”
“I’ll give you a hint, it wasn’t with my black shoes.”

Slowly an expression of cognition appeared on her face.  “Oh,” she said, conveying everything.

I flipped through the pages showing her each and every passage that she underlined.

“That’s private!” she said as she pulled the book from my hands.

“Is that so?”

We landed and Lola tucked the book into her bag as we deplaned.

We walked through the busy terminal and I said, “It was quite a read.  Did you like it?”

“Some parts,” she said.  “What did you like about it?” she asked.

“I liked that it reminded me of you.  Why didn’t you tell me you were reading it?”

“Because, you don’t need that book or any book like it,” she said, obviously referencing the other illicit tomes in the shoebox.  “You have me,” she said, putting her thumb to her chest, “and I’m all the sex-addicted, porn-watching, nympho you can handle.”

“That’s true,” I said as I dodged people rushing for their departing flights.  “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” she asked, talking past all the commuters.

“What porn have you been using to get off lately?”

“Define lately?”

We were outside in the sunshine and we found the taxi stand.  We hopped in and told the driver our destination.  In the backseat we continued our conversation.

“Look,” I said, pulling the book out of her bag and opening to the passage quoted above, “why is this underlined?  Have you been seeking out something. . .”

“You know, already.  I like bukkake, dirty old men like you fucking young beautiful women like me, facials, BDSM, female humiliation porn.”

I looked up and saw the taxi driver look at me and then at Lo through the rearview mirror.

“And?” I asked.

“And what?”

“Bestiality?” I whispered under my breath.

“Yeah, so what?  You already knew that.”

“What else?”

“You know it all already.”

“Do I?”

“Well, I also like seeing big, hung men fucking fat women or big fat men fucking sexy thin women.  I like cumming to gangbangs, machines fucking women incessantly, and also sensual massages.”

“So, basically everything you’ve ever done?”

“You could say that.”

We got to our destination and I paid the taxi driver in cash, giving him a generous tip on top of the juicy conversation he got to listen to on the way.

“You enjoyed that,” I said.

“Enjoyed what?” she asked coyly.

“You know what.  Saying all those filthy things in front of complete strangers.”

“Did I embarrass you?”

“No, but you are a loose cannon.”

“I’m loose alright.  And that reminds me, I also love to watch women with large labia and saggy tits.”

“I bet you do,” I said.  “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t we go inside and fuck to my favorite porn.”

Her tongue licked her sparkling white teeth in anticipation and she asked, “What would that be?”

“I bet you could think of a few possibilities, but I’m not going to ask you to suggest anything and I’ll just come out with it.”

“I hope so,” she said, grabbing my crotch.

“My favorite porn is fucking you from behind as we both are looking at ourselves in a full-length mirror.”

“Mine too,” she said as we got in the hotel room.

Once we were in the room, we immediately stripped and I bent her over the dresser as we both looked into each other’s eyes reflected in the mirror above it.  I pulled out my throbbing rod, what she once called a “Truth Stick,” and slid deep inside her as she moaned with pleasure.  Once I had pinned her hips between my crotch and the corner of the dresser, I put her to the test.

“What else?”

“What else what?” she asked.

“What are the kinds of porn you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh, Daddy, please.”

I pulled back as her cunt squeezed my cock right out of her and she squirted on my bare feet.  I thrusted forward again, mounting her.

“Tell me.”

“Daddy,” she pleaded.

“If you want this, then you’ll speak,” I threatened, temporarily removing my pleasure pole from her wet snatch.

“NO!” she said.

I was confused at first.  No, I’m not telling or. . . .

“No, don’t pull out.  Deep.  Deep.  Please,” she continued.  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“What gets you off?”

She looked up at the mirror and into my eyes that were watching the expression on her face.  She couldn’t tell me while our eyes were locked.  She dropped her head and her thick mane of hair covered it as her tits flopped forward and back with each thrust of my cock.

“OK,” she said in a tone of defeat.  “I like seeing my guy fans send pics of themselves to me wearing sexy women’s panties.  I like to see them hard-up for me in those sheer lace panties.  I like to see them cum in them.  I like them to cum to me, to my pics, to your dirty stories of me.”

Saying this, she came.

“What else?”  I knew she wasn’t done.  Not by a longshot.

“I like seeing women diddle themselves to me.”

“I knew that.”

“I like to see pregnant women get fucked hard.  I like to see women with giant bulging breasts and huge round nipples lactating.  I like to see lesbians sucking those huge tits, sucking the milk out of them.  I like to see women being milked like cows.”

She came a second time.

“Keep going,” I commanded.

“There’s not a deep, dark, dank corner of the internet I haven’t explored.  I’ve searched it all.  You name it: sex with aliens; gay men masturbating to my pics; couples having sex while watching me; teacher/student sex.”

I wanted her to continue, but at this point all her limbs went limp and she collapsed in the puddle she had made on the carpeted floor.  The orgasm was still causing convulsions and tremors through her flesh.

I let her lay there on the ground like a limp, wet pile of towels as I sat on the bed, my cock in my hands.  I watched her as she gradually regained consciousness.  She crawled across the floor to the space between my knees.  She looked up at me.  Her lips quivered as she tried to speak.

“That,” she said in a raspy whisper, “was fucking a-mazing.”

The Many Moods of Monday Morning

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Monday morning.  4 am.  Lo wakes me up by fucking herself with her glass dildo and Hitachi Magic Wand.  “Must you do that now?” I ask, irritated.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to do it if you’d fuck me at night, but you just went to sleep after getting in bed – like sleep is what the bed is made for!”

“Don’t blame your nymphomania on me.  You’re like Buzz Lightyear over there, masturbating to infinity and beyond!”

“Yeah, well, from the looks of things, you’re like Woody over there.  What’s that popping up under the covers?”

It’s true, I often wake up with a raging hard-on.

“I had crazy sex dreams all night,” she says, more sweetly.

“Really?” I ask from my own dreamlike state.  “Tell me about them.”

She tells me about how she dreamed about sex with a guy from work.  “I told him I want him to be with me in the biblical sense.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“What’s not?”

“To ‘be’ together in the biblical sense.  The saying is, ‘to know one another in the biblical sense.’”

“Well, I want to be together with him – in an existential sense.”

“Why do you think you were dreaming that?”

“Because you were groping me all night.”

“That’s impossible.  I slept like I was hit by a bus.”

“Well, groping while sleeping is one of your natural talents.”

“I have many natural and unnatural talents.”

“What are you going to do with that?” she asks, looking down at my rock-hard shaft.

“I’m going to suffer with it.  It’s my half-a-cross to bear.”

“Well, don’t get any ideas, I’m getting up,” she says as she pulls out her dildo and rests it on her nightstand.

“So am I,” I say, removing the covers, looking down at my phallus standing at attention.

A good erection is not to be wasted, I suppose, so instead of getting out of bed, she climbs up on my morning wood and eases herself down onto it.

When I don’t meet her descending motion with a thrust upward, she asks, “What’s the matter?”

“You’re using me,” I respond.

“Only for your body.”

“Oh, well, in that case then it’s ok.”

Within seconds she is gushing all over my hips.  She climbs off my body and collapses into the bed, eyes closed.

“Are you sleeping?” I ask, incredulously.

“Shhhhh,” is all she manages to respond as she drifts off back to dreamland leaving me hard-up at 4:10 in the a.m.

There’s no going back to sleep for me and I look at her peaceful face.

“Just jack it like any other guy would,” she mutters.

I get out of bed and do what I always do with my sexual energy – channel it into a good story.

A couple of hours later my phone buzzes.  “Come,” she texts from the bedroom.

I follow her command.

As I enter the bedroom, I find her naked, legs spread, fingers caressing between her glistening pussy lips.  I sit down gingerly beside her.  She looks up at me.  Her hair is a mess.

“What time did you come to bed?” she asks.

“When?”

“Whenever you came to bed.”

Not knowing if she was speaking about last night or this morning, I reply, “Just now.”

“Did I give you a handjob?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Why?” I ask, curious.

“I had a dream that I did.”

Her left hand is already fondling my hard cock over my pj bottoms.

“Take it out,” she commands.

I take it out for her to hold.  “Do you want to make your dream come true?” I ask.

She doesn’t bother to answer.  She is already stroking it with her left hand and stroking herself with her right.  Her eyes are closed as if continuing her dream.  Within mere moments she cums again, and falls back to sleep, leaving me hard-up for a second time.

I hop in the shower and then get dressed for work figuring that it’s just not my morning.

A few minutes after I leave the bedroom to have a cup of coffee, Lola walks into the kitchen.  I can tell just by her footfall that she’s upset.  Without a “hello” or “good morning,” she launches into a tirade.

“I’m so pissed,” she says.

“Why?”
“I just am.  My computer sucks, my schedule sucks, everything just sucks.”

“Do you want to go fuck it out?” I ask, hoping that I might finally release the tension between my legs.

“I thought you’d never ask!”

We return to the bedroom to have sex.  I slip out of my pants, but leave on my shirt.  I’m still horny from not cumming earlier in the morning and I figure this will be quick and fun.  But this time, she isn’t reaching orgasm like she did earlier.  She takes out her Hitachi and puts it on her clit and it vibrates between our bodies.  After only a few minutes she switches it off and stops her motions.  “It’s not working.  I think I’m broken.”

“What?”

“I’m not cumming.  I think I’m broken.”

“Lo, you had at least two or three orgasms already this morning!”

“Orgasms are like football, it doesn’t matter if you won your last ten games, the only game that matters is this one.”

“You don’t even like football.”

“So?  It still holds true.”

“You’re just thinking about all you have to do today.”

“Yeah, but I always cum.”

I get up.

“Where are you going?”

“To make breakfast.  Do you want some?’

“No.  I’m going to keep trying ʼtil I cum.  Everyone has to have goals.”

Two minutes later she’s walking naked into the kitchen.

“That was fast.”

“And how!  What’s for breakfast?”

After breakfast I say, “Well, Darlin’, I have to go to work.”

“You’re not wearing any pants!”

“It’s underwear Wednesday.”

“It’s not Wednesday, it’s Monday,” she corrects me.

“I plan my outfits ahead of time.”

“And don’t you mean Wonderwear Wednsday, as in, I wonder where my pants are?”

“Yeah.”

I go to the bedroom and put on my pants.  She follows me.

“You can’t go out in those pants!” she gasps.

“I could take them off, but I’d catch a breeze.”

“No no no.  I mean, I can see every line and curve of your cock clear as day through those.”

“Well, that never stopped you from wearing your yoga pants in public, now did it?”

“What are you talking about?” she asks defensively.

“As if you were unaware of your camel-toe.”

“Phhh,” she says, dismissively while staring at my crotch.  “That thing is huge in there!  Sheesh, you’ll scare your secretary.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of, or are you afraid she’ll get the same look in her eye that you have now?”

“Shut up.  You cannot go to work like that.  It’s bad enough that you have a young female secretary.  Now pull it out.”

“But Lo, I have only like three minutes to get going!”

She gets on her knees and unzips my fly, pulling out my cock.  But she also continues her rant.  “I’m just doing a public service.  If you go to work like this, then you’re just contributing to the misogynistic, patriarchal, intersectional systems of oppression.”

“Wow, that’s a mouthful.”

“You’re also a mouthful,” she says as she goes down on me.

“Are you doing a public service or do you wish to service the public?”

She pauses in her fellatio and looks to say, “Please don’t make bad puns while I have your cock in my mouth.”

With merely the gentle touch of her lips on the tip of my cock and the beautiful view of her on her knees, I finally cum.  So quick, so unexpected, and so much that it spews all over her face, neck, and tits.  She looks up at me and says in astonishment, “That was a hot surprise!”

“Sounds like a special in a restaurant.”

“It’s a plate best served horny.”

“So,” I ask, “what do you want to do with the remaining two and a half minutes I have?”

Suddenly she notices something and looks up at me with a scowl.  “You came all over my hair!  How did you do that?”

“That’s one of my natural talents.”

“And you came in like five seconds.”

“That’s one of my unnatural talents.”

“Did you like it?” she asks.

“I loved it,” I say, “but I’m so sleepy now.”

“Yeah, because you were groping me all night.”

“Impossible!  I slept like a rock.”

“You said you slept like you were hit by a bus.”

“Like a rock that was hit by a bus.”

“Where are you going all dressed up?” she asks after I zip up.

“I have a date.”

“With whom?”

“With destiny.”

“Who is she, I’ll tear her apart!”

“She’s a fickle woman who always gets her way.”

A few moments later, Lola appears in the living room, miraculously all dressed and ready to go to work.  She’s wearing a pearl necklace.

“That’s pretty I say.”

“This?” she asks, holding the necklace.  “It’s my second pearl necklace of the day!”

“Very funny,” I say.

She leans in to kiss me goodbye before we both leave.  “You’ll be home at 11:00 to fuck?” I ask.

“Yeah.  Will you be here?”

“Let me check my schedule to see if you can fit me in,” I reply.

“Darling, I could fit way more than you in.”

“Then I’ll bring a few friends.”

“Just be here at eleven.  I’ll supply the extras.”

[Art by JoKoss)

Deep C Fishing

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I had just returned from a week-long fishing trip with three of my friends.  For the record, I despise fishing.  Fishing is for people who want to be in nature but who don’t know how simply to be in nature without purpose, goal, or utilitarian project.  I am not of their ilk.  The silver lining to this trip was that it was up in the mountains, on a lake, in a log cabin.  The downside to this trip was that there was absolutely no wi-fi within a twenty mile radius of where we were staying.  That meant no communication with Lo for a week!

I was nearly beside myself needing a fix of her lovely skin, her soft touch, her caress.  I didn’t even have her voice to sustain me.  No gradual withdrawal from her, my drug of choice.  No substitute for her intoxicant.  The closest I could get was a specially curated set of photos I had of her stored on my phone.  “Favorites.”

We did get radio and this classic rock song played, mocking my predicament:

 

I’m out a luck, out a love
Gotta photograph, picture of
Passion killer, you’re too much
You’re the only one I want to touch
I see your face every time I dream
On every page, every magazine
So wild and free so far from me
You’re all I want, my fantasy

 

Yes, I missed her.  I craved her.  I wanted to praise her.  And I did, telling my friends what I could about my little nymph, without revealing too much or our special dalliances that are reserved just for us – oh, and all of you, our lovely reading public.

At night, I set up her image on my phone and sat at my computer to write sexy, sensual stories to her, for her, about her.  I dreamt of the naughty things she was doing while I was away.  I would look at the photos as lyrics from a song filtered in from the other room:

 

Photograph I don’t want your
Photograph I don’t need your
Photograph all I’ve got is a photograph
But it’s not enough

 

My pals knew how devoted to Lo I was, but they were unaware of how free I allow her to be.  One of them walked in while I was writing.  Seeing my phone on the desk next to me with Lo’s image on it, he casually picked it up.  I made as if to protest, but I didn’t protest too much.  He looked at the photos I had of her – naughty photos – and shared his discovery with the others.  They ridiculed me, ribbed me, and teased me for my Playboy internet pornstar.

Even the radio mocked me with the lyrics:

 

You can’t imagine what your image means.
The pages come alive.
Your magic greets everyone who reads.
Heart-break in overdrive
Are you for real, it’s so hard to tell, from just a magazine.
Yeah, you just smile and the picture sells, look what that does to me.

 

One night, after many shots of whiskey, they eventually pried out of me a confession of her sins.  They sat, wide-eyed, hard-up, and enraptured by the stories I spun.  At first they doubted, then they shouted, and finally they pouted.  They wanted her.  Two of my three friends were married.  One had been dating for under a year.  They envied me as I felt pangs of guilt for revealing the innermost sanctum of our little mystery cult of two.

They say that all of us live three lives: a public; a private; and a secret life.  Where is my life with Lo?  It’s secret, on one level.  But not secret to each other.  It’s private, between the two of us.  But yet we publish it for all to see.  Our most intimate parts are literally on display for the world.

Revealing who we are to you, our dear readers, is one thing.  Saying it directly, face-to-face to close, and long-time friends of flesh-and-blood is another.  They know the public, curated portrait of our coupled relationship.  That image is professional, wholesome, vanilla.  We do little to ‘queer the space,’ as the saying goes.

Privately, we are a kinky couple who invite others to join in with our merry mischief.  We are content doing this and feel no shame, no guilt about healthy, non-monogamous trysts.  Lo simply acts on the fantasies that many women share, but rarely articulate, even to their lovers.

Secretly, we each find delight in her exhibitionist tendencies.  That’s no secret to you, dear reader, but, if you happen to know us IRL (‘in real life’), we’d appreciate your keeping it to yourself.  Thanks.

But now, three of my closest friends were in on it.  Not as in on it as you are, mind you, since I didn’t reveal to them anything about the blog.  But they were in the know about Lo’s sweet, sexy, slutty side.  To my surprise, they were not only envious, but desirous.  Each of them requested a night alone with my phone.  Since there was no wi-fi, I thought it would be fine.  They couldn’t email themselves Lo’s sexy pics.  They couldn’t text them to themselves.  What harm would there be in letting my three friends get their rocks off to my girlfriend’s nude selfies?

It turns out I was quite naïve.  At the time, I knew nothing of “AirDrop” and how it could work without wi-fi.  Needless to say, all three of my friends now have Lo’s sexy pics on their phones and who knows how many other friends of theirs as well!  (I only found this out much later.)

Fishing, drinking, and jacking off to Lola was how we spent the rest of the week.

On the ride home, as soon as I was reconnected to the invisible world that surrounds us, I texted Lo.  I let her know my ETA.  She responded with: “TCB.”  That is, “Taking Care of Business,” our code for her masturbating.  I couldn’t wait to see her.

The guys dropped me off at home and I eagerly entered the house.  I found Lo wearing my flannel shirt, unbuttoned to her navel, and nothing else.  What a welcome sight!

I followed her to the bedroom, telling her how wonderful she looked.  Eager to preserve the moment, I took out the camera and shot a few sexy pics of her lying on the bed looking like the perfect temptress.

“Tell me about your week, Daddio,” she asked.

“Later.  Let me have you first,” I said, impatiently.

“Oh, but Daddio, I haven’t heard from you all week.  Tell me about it.”

“Later, Lo,” I pleaded.  “I want you now.”

She was clearly enjoying the role reversal of Coy and Craving.

I started to grab at her.  “You know, I’m not fast food.  You can’t just order and have your meal.”

“Let me spread my mayonnaise on you,” I said.

“Oh Daddio, so crude!”

“Lo, you don’t understand.”

“I’m not really into it right now,” she said.  She was truly going to milk this for all she could, and not in a good way.

“But I’ll get you into it by getting into you!”

“No, no,” she said like a coquette.  “Tell me about your fishing trip.”

“Let me plunge my fishing rod deep in your C,” I responded.

Then it struck me with great irony that here I am, a writer of erotica, rushing to physical gratification when all Lo wanted was to be wooed by my words.  She wanted me to tell her a naughty story.  And fortuitously, I had a good story to tell.

I got up close next to her and told her about how much I missed her, how I longed for her, how I gazed at her photos while writing stories about her, and how I got found out by the guys.  I revealed that her seductive image was used not only by me but by the other three as well.  Though it clearly upset her to know that they had seen her, it also excited her to know that they used her photos to get off.  Cognitive dissonance.

“Do you think that they stole my photos and have them on their phones?” she asked.

“How could they?” I responded.  “There was no wi-fi.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed.  “If they did, do you think that they’d look at them at night while their wives were sleeping?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Do you think that when they see me, they’ll picture me naked?”

“Not only that, I bet they’ll picture you doing all sorts of naughty things.”

“Like what things?” she asked.

“Sucking cock.”

“Just one?”

“Sucking cocks,” I said, correcting myself.  “Fucking many guys.  Dogging strangers at truck rest stops.”

She was getting riled up now.

“Have me, Daddy,” she said.

Finally!  The words I longed to hear all week!

She spread her legs wide, but then she said, “Wait,” just as I was about to plunge in.

“What?”

“Wait,” she repeated.  “Do you have a condom?”

“A condom?  No.  Why?”

“I’m ovulating something fierce right now.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“No.  You’ve been on the wagon for a week.  You’re not to be trusted.”

“I haven’t slipped a puck passed the goalie yet.”

“Will you stop with that awful analogy.”

She had her hands behind her knees and her knees up to her ears.  She looked up at me.  She wanted me, desperately.  I wanted her even more desperately.  She moved one of her hands to grab my cock.  She bounced the tip of it off her clit a few times and let out a moan.

“Are we good?” I asked.

“Jack it,” she commanded.

“I could have jacked it all week.  I want you.”

“What do you mean you could have jacked it all week?  Not without permission you can’t,” she said, reminding me of the rules.

“But you gave me permission, remember?  You said I could jack it so long as I jacked it to your pics and only your pics.  That was the whole reason that we took those sexy pics that the guys found on my phone.”

“And you didn’t jack it?”

“No.”

“Not to me?  Not to my pics?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted you.  I looked to your pics for inspiration.  I wrote like three novels up there about you, just gazing at your sexy photos.”

“But they jacked it to my pics?”

“Yes.”

Just the thought of it caused her to squirt on my incredibly hard phallus.

“Jack it,” she said again.  I could see that the image in her mind of guys jacking off to her photos was playing on her interior screen.  “Jack it like a man,” she repeated.

I grabbed my cock with my left hand.  She watched me.  “Do you like my pussy, Daddy?”

“Yes, Lo.”

“Play with it.”

I didn’t know if she wanted me to play with my cock or her puss.  It was ambiguous.

I let go of my member and she continued to hold both her legs back with her hands.  I gently caressed her hips and slid my hands down from the back of her knees to her inner thigh.  With both hands I pulled and pushed her pussy lips – spreading them apart, squeezing them together.

“Yeah,” she moaned.  She squirted on my hands and the warm liquid dribbled down her ass.  I let my fingers strum her perineum and anus.  She moaned, indicating she liked what I was doing.  I let my right thumb run circles over her special spot.

“I missed you, Daddy,” she said.

“Did you jill it when I was away?”

“Yes,” she said.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.  A lot.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know.  Anything.  Everything.  Sometimes I thought about you.  Sometimes I thought about other men.  Sometimes I thought about other women.  Videos, pics that people send me, stories that you wrote, stories that other people wrote.”

“Did you talk on the phone to anyone?”

“No Daddy.”

“Did you have anyone over?”

“No Daddy.”

“Did you want to?”

“I always want to, Daddy.”

She came again.  She slapped her right hand on her pussy to keep the ejaculation flowing.  Then she took her soaking hand and stroked my cock.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She reached down, up and under my cock, grabbing my balls from beneath.

“They’re so big, Daddy.  Are they full?”

“So full, Lo,” I said.

She cupped them and one of her fingers pushed its way further back until she was doing to me what I had been doing to her.

“Cum, Daddy.  I want you to cum.  Let it out.  That’s it.  Be a good dog and let it go.”

I could take it no longer.  I grabbed my throbbing rod and fired off a load that shot up past her shoulder onto the pillow.  Missed.  But the second spurt was more accurate.  It made a high arc and landed squarely on her face.  Seeing that, more followed until I was falling back on my haunches in a fit of ecstasy and exhaustion.

“I’m hit!  I’m hit!” she cried out.  “Don’t just lie there, do something!”

All I could do was let out a chuckle amid my heavy heaving breaths.

She got up from the bed, my cum dripping down onto her breasts, and got a washcloth from the bathroom to clean up.

“Feeling better?” she asked as she looked down at me from the side of the bed.

“You have no idea,” I said.

Lo’s Lysistrata

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“No!” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

“Your secretary is a blonde bimbo.”

“She’s not a bimbo.”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“All three of your previous girlfriends were redheads.”

“Exactly my point.”

“You’re not making sense.”

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

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

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

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

“What about them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You looked up her Instagram page?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t shake it!” I warned.

“Is it fragile?  Is it for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what you think.”

“But you are on the right track.”

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

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

“Stoya the Destroya Signature Fleshlight!”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“Where are you going?”

“To get laid.”

“The hell you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you really offering?”

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

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

“Yeah,” I said.

“As tight as my little ass?”

“I doubt it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up and cum already,” she said.

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

“What about your sheath?  Your penis extender?”

“That was for you, not me.”

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

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

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

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

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