Category Archives: cock
Smalltown Strumpet – Flaming Lips
6
Smalltown Strumpet – Part III: Flaming Lips
Continued From: The Doctor Will See You Now
The Flaming Lips
Lo was out of commission. There would be no sexy suntanning in the front yard, no strip club short-short shenanigans, no teasing the townies down Main Street. She spent much of her time submerged in the clawfoot tub or strutting bottomless around the house, airing out her nettle-enflamed pussy. She had to sit on pillows and masturbating was now out of the question. This put her in a very unpleasant mood.
Though I wished to attend to her, I needed to get out of the house, lest I bear the brunt of her frustration with her cunt.
I had been working on an article about bestiality portrayed in art and literature through the centuries and thought I’d mosey down to the local library to continue my studies.
Lo had taken a couple of Tylenol PM and was resting comfortably when I slipped out with my computer and backpack. I figured I had a couple of hours to myself.
The library was a very small brick building. There were two rooms and a small anteroom at the entrance that contained the check-out desk, a couple of computers, and a display table for new books.
I set up in a small corner of the library, sitting in a large, square, worn brown leather club chair that looked like it was at least as old as I am. It was remarkably comfortable and the arms were flat, so they were perfect for resting my books and computer around me conveniently.
I began by looking at a blog from Remittance Girl on “Defending the Indefensible: Bestiality in Erotica.” It was a great place to start my research. She had written the article in response to censorship of erotica authors by PayPal – an infringement of speech that this very author had suffered by that very company! They should call it PrudePal.
In her article she referenced one of my favorite authors, Neil Gaiman, and his defense of Chris Handley, among others who have been prosecuted for the material they read, write, draw, collect, sell, or possess.
This led me down a rabbit hole into a morass of law, liberty, and lurid content. Thank goodness my chair had its back against the wall because if any local busybody were to see the ‘scholarly studies’ I was researching, there’s no telling what would happen.
Actually, there is a telling what would happen and if you have a moment, I will inform you as to the tempest in a teapot that an oversight by me stirred up in that little hamlet.
I was deep into my investigation of Greek portrayals of bestiality and had about ten different books from the library surrounding my chair when I received a text from Lola. “Where are you, Daddy?”
I guess I won’t be able to start my deep dive into Hokusai and the Japanese tradition of erotic images. I packed up my stuff hastily, leaving behind the library books in their sprawling spread of towers on the armchair.
Perhaps another time I will get back to you with my developed thoughts on the matter.
I drove back to the house where we were staying, to find Lo fully naked and fully submerged in the tub. She looked up at me and said, “I’m wet, and not just because I’m taking a bath.”
“Feeling better?”
“Much,” she said. “But you left me, Daddy!” She pouted.
“I’m sorry Lo, but. . .”
“Shut up and get naked.”
“I’m not going for a swim. There’s only room for one in there.”
“Who said anything about that?” she asked as she put her mouth on the edge of the tub and opened wide. She looked up at me. “Insert your cock. I’ll be your cumdump.”
I did as instructed. She sucked. I fucked (her face). Water splashed around. She contorted in the tub, eventually getting to a position where her legs were going straight up the wall in a “V” formation, her head was tilted back over the opposite side of the tub, and she was squeezing her tits and pulling on her nipples as I fucked her face. With every thrust into her mouth and down her throat, my heavy ball sack was slapping up against her upside-down face, smacking her squarely in the eyes and on the bridge of her nose. She liked it.
Lo, cooling down her flaming lips
Somehow the plug came undone and the water drained out of the tub. Lo moved her hands from her tits to her pussy. She began smacking it hard and then even harder. She slapped her pussy like a mother spanking a very naughty child, with force and anger, until she finally squirted all over the wall of the bathroom. The naughty child crying from the pain, perhaps. Seeing that, I couldn’t control myself any longer and I came directly into Lo’s esophagus. She gagged and nearly puked in the tub from the odd position of the climax.
I was dreading another trip to the hospital!
She jumped out of the tub, coughing and sputtering like she had been tossed at sea. Cum was oozing out of her nostrils and she was struggling to catch her breath. When she finally did, she said something I didn’t quite catch.
“What?” I asked.
“That was awesome,” she repeated.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“This stinging sensation in my pussy lips really makes for an incredible orgasm.”
“You should sit in poison nettles more often.”
“I think I might be able to have sex now, Daddy.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but my pussy is still burning. Do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Grab a tray of ice cubes from the freezer and meet me in the bedroom.”
I did as she asked, wondering how I was going to get hard again in order to give her what she wanted.
I met her in the bedroom and she was lying on her back.
“Take an ice cube and trace it around my labia,” she said.
I gently applied the cold, slippery, dripping ice to her pussy lips. She loved it.
“Slip it in.”
I inserted it.
“Another,” she said.
I did the same thing a second time.
“Again,” she said.
And a third time.
This continued until there were more ice cubes in her pussy than in a tall glass of lemonade.
“Now fuck me.”
At this point, the eroticism of what I had been doing had me rigid. Timidly I inserted the tip of my penis just a bit into her ice-packed pussy.
It felt cold. Freezing, to be exact. But not unpleasant.
“Fuck me!”
She likes to go from zero to balls-deep in under a minute.
I slide my rod all the way into her snow cone. There was a curious mixing of hot and cold and wet, since all the ice cubes were melting pretty rapidly inside her.
We had hardly started to stir her dirty Shirley when she said, “Go get more ice.”
I pulled out, feeling a chill on my thermometer, and got another tray of ice.
I inserted my manhood to her ice bucket and as I fucked her, the friction creating heat and melting her internal coolant, she reached over and took fresh ice cubes and, one-by-one, slipped them into her slit over the shaft of my cock. The tightness, the alternating hot and cold, the slip-sliding of the cubes inside her pussy, was unlike anything I had ever felt.
“Should I put a few in my ass?” she whispered.
I couldn’t answer and before I knew it, she was spreading her ass cheeks with one hand and putting the cubes in with the other.
“Do you want my ass, Daddy?”
I did. I did, so bad.
I pulled out and slid my hot and cold compress into her smaller icebox and within mere seconds I melted her heart with the heat of my love.
I pulled out and all the white, watery liquid spilled out of both holes as she stood up to go to the bathroom. It quickly dribbled down her inner thighs to her feet and puddled on the hardwood floor, leaving a trail from the bedroom to the bathroom. I suddenly heard a loud rattle. Her remaining ice cubes slipped out and crackled on the tile floor.
“Whoops!” I heard her call.
When she returned, she got on her knees beside the bed and looked up at me.
“Did you like that Daddy?”
“Very much, Lo,” I said.
She licked my balls and continued up my cock and then took the tip of my flaccid shaft into her mouth. “Can I be your cock-warmer, Daddy?” she asked before taking the entire length of it in her mouth and resting her head gently on my inner thigh.
[To be continued. . .]
Lo’s cockwarmer
Protected: Family Fan Mail
Protected: Lola Springs Eternal
Immoral Support
Lo Bursting her Blouse
[Continued from Brass in Pocket]
“You can’t use lube, moisturizer, not even spit or pussy juice,” warned Cam. “The fitness of the sperm depends upon it.”
“I understand,” said Lo, clinically neutral in tone.
Ted had seen Lo’s photo and was intrigued. He consented to have her help in the donation room.
“I might just observe the first time,” said Lo.
We had been invited to Cam and Gina’s house for dinner in order to meet Ted. It was awkward at first. But Lo’s seductive stares boosted Ted’s ego, I’m sure. I don’t think Lo was as attracted to him, per se, as she was attracted to the idea of being a facilitator for a man to ejaculate. The set-up captivated her more than the stud.
Lo got the call from Cam one afternoon. “It’s time.”
Off she went to their house the next day. I stayed home. I was superfluous to the process. This was two people trying to conceive, after all, not a spectator sport.
Lo and Ted went into the spare bedroom as Cam and Gina were in the master bedroom. Lo had worn a button-down white shirt with a collar. It seemed two sizes too small for her. Under it she wore a lacey red bra. She had on a short leather miniskirt with a red lace thong under it. On her feet were red heels. Her toenails and fingernails were fire engine red, as were her lips. She was the picture of crimson seduction.
She sat in a corner chair in the bedroom. Ted stood over the bed.
“I usually look at some porn on my phone,” he said to Lo.
“Go right ahead,” replied Lo.
“I don’t really need to today,” he said shyly. “I mean, if you don’t mind me looking at you.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess. You look great,” he said.
“Pull out your cock,” Lo said, not mincing words.
Ted unzipped and reached into his boxers to pull out his long, hefty meat.
“Take off your pants. You have to aim that thing and those will just be in the way,” said Lo, indicating the plastic cup on the bed that had a diameter of about three inches. “Come on, don’t be shy. This is for Cam and Gina.”
He pulled out his cock. It was limp.
“Mmmmm,” moaned Lo, encouragingly. She licked her tongue over her pearly white teeth.
“Do you like cock?”
“You have no idea,” she said. “Do you like tits?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you like mine?” she asked, boosting her tits with her arms so they burst out of her small bra and blouse.
“They’re hot.”
“Jack it.”
Ted began to stroke his cock.
“What turns you on?” asked Lo.
“Um, I, uh, I don’t know,” he said, his cock getting soft again in his hand.
“Tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”
“I like dirty talk.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“I like women to say nasty things.”
Lo leaned over in her chair. She rested her head on her hands and her elbows rested on the bed. Her mouth was mere inches away from his cock. She looked up at him.
“Cum for me. Stroke your long, thick cock and cum for me.”
Ted began stroking. He inched forward toward Lo’s face.
“That’s it. Pretend I’m a little whore who wants to swallow your hot jiz.”
She put her tongue out and she could tell he was about to cum. She held up the receptacle to the tip of his penis and. . .
“Holy shit!” said Lo, her face covered in Ted’s torrent. “You totally missed!”
“What are we going to do now?” he asked, scared.
Lo used her fingers and swiped as much of the sticky pearlescent goo into the container as she could.
“We can’t do that,” protested Ted.
“Shut up and get me a towel.”
Ted complied.
Handing her the towel, he apologized obsequiously. “I’m so so sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I guess I was excited. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s ok,” laughed Lo. “I liked it. Now just play it cool.”
“But,” Ted began to protest.
“It’s ok. Just give them the collection jar. I don’t wear makeup. Only on my eyes and luckily you missed my eyes.”
Lo’s Lips
Brass in Pocket
Continued from ICI – Home Insemination with a Known Donor
Lola uses her arms
“What do you think you’re going to do with this Ted?” I asked Lo as we drove home from Cam and Gina’s.
“I like to imagine what he’s going to do with me,” she responded, looking out the window into the middle distance as the storefronts and pedestrians streamed by on the illuminated street.
“What does that mean? You heard them, he’s involved with a guy.”
“Meh,” she sounded, dismissively.
“Meh? What if you get in the room with him and he can’t get it up?”
“He won’t agree to it if he thought that would happen.”
“What if he doesn’t agree to it?”
“You miss every pitch you don’t swing at.”
“Clever, but in this instance, he’s holding the bat.”
“I sure hope he is!”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I’ve been called worse. . . and I like it.”
“This is Cam and Gina’s attempt at getting pregnant, not your opportunity to turn a trick.”
“When a door closes, a window opens.”
“Will you stop with the platitudes. They’re not even appropriate.”
“Are you jealous, Daddy?” she asked, suddenly realizing that she might be turning me on with her antics.
“No, I’m confused.”
“There’s nothing to be confused about, Daddy. It’s all very straightforward.”
“Explain.”
“I love to see men jacking off. You know that. You don’t do it for me nearly enough.”
“I hardly have the opportunity; you’re on me before I can even stroke it.”
“Nevertheless. Here is a perfect chance to see a man do it, live, in person. Not just photos.”
“But it’s a complicated situation.”
We arrived home. When we were in the bedroom, we continued the conversation.
“I am troubled by your enthusiasm for this ‘helping hand’ business.”
“It’s not a business. . . yet, but who knows. Maybe I could become a fertility assistant – like a midwife, but instead of aiding in the birth of a baby, I aid in the ejaculatory process.”
“Lo, be serious for a moment.”
“I was,” she said, deadpan.
“Sometimes I think you believe yourself to be God’s gift to men.”
“And on the eighth day, God said, ‘Let there be Lola.’ Eve can be a helpmate. I’ll be the playmate.”
“After a day of rest, God had a wet dream and Lo and behold!”
“Lo and behold. I like that. I’m Lo, you’re Behold.”
I took out my cock and grabbed it for her.
“To have and to hold, ʼtil death do you part,” she said.
“So, if I were Ted, what would you do?”
“The possibilities are endless. Should I give him my ass, Daddy?”
“You can’t, remember? The specimen has to be immaculate.”
“I’m insulted!!! Are you saying my ass isn’t immaculate?”
“No, I was just saying. . .”
“Immaculate conception, right. I’m just teasing you. Should I lick him?”
“Off limits.”
“Jerk him off?”
“No lubricants allowed.”
“I could use my feet.”
“That’s ok.”
She broke into song:
Gonna use my arms,
Gonna use my legs,
Gonna use my style,
Gonna use my sidestep,
Gonna use my fingers,
Gonna use my, my, my imagination.
With each lyric, she pantomimed the part. She used her arms to boost up her breasts; she got on her back to spread her legs; she licked her lips slowly, seductively, she put her fingers down her panties, and then, she squirted just as I came.
“I see I got your attention.”
“Yes, you did. Now, if you can just get Ted to do that.”
“Oh, I will, don’t you worry.”
Lola uses her legs
Protected: Res Ipsa Loquitur, or The Pencil Test
Protected: Lola Does NOLA
Interview With a Sex Addict
Interview with a Sex Addict
AL gets a new monitor to look at Lo in hi-def while working from home, his wife in the next room
This week, we bring out our resident admitted and diagnosed sex addict, AL, who goes by “Al.” He graciously agreed to answer a few questions about sex addiction, for educational purposes. Lo enthusiastically put on her correspondent’s had (and nothing else) and went to work interviewing him and then, took off the newsgirl hat and teased him, as she does.
- How do you define “sex addict”?
Without Googling, I define a sex addict as someone who compulsively engages in sexual behaviors, despite any negative effects created by said behaviors. They’ve shaped/changed their arousal palette, neural pathways, and reward center to release that sweet, sweet dopamine when engaging in their desired sexual behaviors, even if those behaviors result in negative consequences affecting self, family/friends, job, etc.
- Do you consider yourself a sex addict?
Yes, and if not a sex addict—then definitely addicted to lusting after HH/Lo’s pictures and words! Some days I’ll wake up with Lo on my mind and even though I could just stroke right there and cum—I’d much rather click through her pictures and read their words, first.
- Tell me more. How did you come to the conclusion that you are a sex addict?
Obviously, I was living life under the self-delusion that I just had high sex drive and a wandering eye. But after multiple therapists—which were a waste of time in the beginning since I never was actually honest about the extent of my situation—I had one in particular suggest that maybe I have a sex addiction. She also stated that it wasn’t her expertise, so she couldn’t help me in the way I needed. After some reading and podcasts, I reached out to a CSAT (Certified Sex Addiction Therapist) and decided to “come clean,” which coincided with my “rock bottom.” It was through her that I was diagnosed as having a sex addiction.
- Tell me what “rock bottom” meant for you since we all have different bottoms (no pun intended).
What I mean by rock bottom…long story, short: I racked up multiple thousands of dollars on credit cards in my name (via webcam girls, buying girls things, etc.); I was constantly checking sites like PornHub, Xvideos, eFukt, mysexlifewithlola.com; stopping by strip clubs for lap dances; even seeking out guys with whom to share naked photos/videos of my wife; seeking escorts for random encounters; cheating on my (then) fiancée with girls that she hated.
- You’re married to a beautiful, sexy woman. How’s that relationship?
Yes, she is very beautiful and sexy. We’ve been married five years, and together for over ten. We’ve definitely experienced our share of ups and downs. It’s the downs that seem to linger, but that is part of the work. She picked up on some red flags but continued on (as did I). Historically, she hasn’t had a ‘high’ (or medium for that matter) sex drive, and mistakenly, I used to ascribe a lot of the blame on her for my acting out. That was wrong of me. Part of the process involved a ‘disclosure’ of all events/actions that I had hidden away—that was difficult, borderline catastrophic. I ended up making it worse by not being completely honest during my first disclosure, meaning I didn’t come clean to all the details until a second disclosure months later.
Ironically, we’re closer and more strategic (in a non-sexual way) with our relationship now that I’m in recovery. She also sees a therapist who is familiar with partner betrayal (which is very important, or else sometimes the partner receives an unfair share of shame and blame). She doesn’t fully understand (can anyone, really?) but she’s working hard, as am I (sometimes). We do not have sex often, as I’m sure one might wonder…in fact, I’m lucky if it’s once a week and not a quickie. I can see that a day doesn’t go by where it doesn’t hurt her, but life is complicated, and the goal is to be in a better spot than we were.
[Trigger Warning – non-consent]
- Did you have any formative sexual experiences in early life?
Yes. At age 3 or 4, my next-door neighbor—who was around 5- or 6-year-old—introduced me to kissing and touching. She would take me in to the closet and show me first-hand what she must have been introduced to by whomever was (sadly) showing her. Additionally, when I was six, I had a handful of experiences involving my cousin (same age) and her friend, “trying to be like adults.”
I would also add that access to pornography at a young age was formative in itself. The internet really changed things, as well. I grew up in an unstable household; I sought pleasure and seclusion. Given those needs and that environment, it’s no wonder to me that I latched on to the pleasures of ‘sex’ to escape.
- Best sexual experience?
This is a tricky one…my best sexual experience would most likely be with one of my exes— she was amazing in bed…always wanted to fuck, loved to swallow, and LOVED doing it in public places. I think we were at some random party and their bathroom suited us just fine!
- Worst sexual experience?
Is that possible? JK. One of the worst experiences would be one of my first escort experiences. The situation was shady AF, which only prevented me from getting (and remaining) hard. I hadn’t experienced that before, and it was awkward. I remember desperately trying to squeeze my flaccid condom-covered cock inside of her. She understood, but I ended up having to settle for a hand job.
- Who knows of your addiction, if anyone?
As it stands right now, five people are aware of my addiction: my counselor, my wife, my wife’s best friend, one of my closest friends from high school, and oddly enough, one of my professors from my first year back at school. I’ve debated sharing with my brother (I think he has some similar issues) and my 14-year-old son.
- How long have you been in treatment for sex addiction? And do you feel it has worked?
I’ve been in treatment for 3+ years now with a CSAT. It definitely helped me become more aware. I’m sure there are workbooks, strict plans, etc. Before disclosure, we simply identified the really ‘bad’ behaviors (escorts, strip clubs, webcam girls) and put in mitigation efforts (GPS tracking on phone, website filters on phone and laptop). That’s actually the easy part. The hard part is the act of disclosure (if you’re honest enough), and all of the ‘work’ when no one is looking—that’s where the real gains can be made (or lost).
- What would you say to people reading this who are asking themselves: Am I a sex addict or do I just have a healthy sexual appetite?
I would say: enjoy sex. I personally see it as a life enhancer (similar to good food or music); however, if things start getting bad and you’re hiding a lot from people, that can spiral and add so much (unnecessary) stress. Long story short, if there are bad things happening because of one’s sexual appetite, then one should at least look at their impact and see if any adjustments should be made. Life is much more fun being authentic!
- Have you ever met a female sex addict? If so, describe what that interaction was like?
I’ve only read about and been told about them, never meeting one in person. I know they’re out there, but the stereotypical addict seems to fall on males and the partner role is assumed to be female.
- Why do you think sex addiction has become such a popular topic lately?
I think it’s because sex sells and some people look at it as a crutch or excuse to do what they do. (Which is fine, unless you’re causing unnecessary damage as a result of it.)
- Have you read any literature out there about sex addicts or sex addiction? If so, what do you recommend?
Facing the Shadow, Patrick Carnes
“Sex Help with Carol the Coach” (podcast)
“Behind Closed Doors” with Dr. Kate Balestrieri (podcast)
- Would you prefer if you were not a sex addict? Why or why not?
I like being who I am, and I like what I’m into. What I’d prefer is being upfront with significant others, and saying: “Hey, this is me…like it or leave it.” I think I grew up in shitty situations, so I’d use sex, love, flirting, etc. as my drug. Throw in the internet, and being someone who is good at lying, and that’s a potent combination.
- Biggest trouble that sex addiction got you into?
This list is ongoing, but you’re only in trouble if you get caught! (JK) Gigantic credit card bills…I’m a sucker for spoiling a slut or camgirl, lol. Racking those up was the primary driver in hitting my bottom.
- You seem to be successful at your job and still married and a parent. Is there such a thing as a “high functioning” sex addict like there is for a “high functioning alcoholic”? Describe.
Actually, I do think there is such a thing. I was so intrigued by this question, that I even asked it of my counselor—she agreed. Part of being a high functioning sex addict would require being able to compartmentalize almost anything and any time. In doing so, you’re able to build a rationale on the matter. I also know the things I cannot do—although I want to: the strip clubs, seeing escorts, flirting with a slut. And so I am able to navigate the decisions I make, and the steps I take to cover up those decisions if they are of the variety that would ‘give me away.’
- Pros and cons of being a sex addict?
Pros: Good ol’ fashioned dopamine at a relatively inexpensive cost (not including the externalities); typically, a more open, and inclusive mind… Cons: Can be relationship killer, money-drainer, and/or source of depression if not approached correctly (is there a correct way? Asking for a friend, lol).
- Top five fantasy fucks?
#1 – You!
#2 – An all-night bang session with my wife and her best friend.
#3 – Be part of a gangbang…with some amateur local wife.
#4 – DVP (Double Vaginal Penetration, or two penises in the vagina) with my wife.
#5 – You!
- Sexual experience you haven’t had yet but would like to try?
I’ve always wanted to try a threesome, both MMF and MFF. Also, I’ve ALWAYS wanted to share my wife…I can think of multiple scenarios involving her…me watching, not watching, listening, being shown, etc.
- Bonus question: From what you know of me, do you think I’m a sex addict?
From what I’ve gathered, and if analyzed with the actual truths, I do. But do I think there are huge negative consequences affecting you? Probably not, given our society.
After our interview was over, Lo was naughty and engaged in the following interaction:
Lola: I wonder how your jacking off to me plays into your current recovery and relationship with your wife. For instance, what happens when I send you a photo like this?
Lola Teasing
AL: Besides the mini dopamine rush and flinch of my cock? Or, are you looking for how many times I’ve already clicked on the picture, to enlarge and admire it?
Lola: I like to know that you think about me when you stroke that lovely cock of yours to my photos. Now write about that experience. Include where your wife is. How you keep this solo session from her? How it makes you feel? How I make you feel?
AL: Right now, my wife’s sleeping next to me naked. I’m in the bed, hard as a rock, looking at your photos. To tell the truth, I forgot how hard I get reading about you; way harder than looking at porn, that’s for sure.
All solo getting off has to be done on the sly for me. My wife and I have a soft agreement that I’m supposed to inform her when I ‘take care of myself.’. . . I often seek out your photos to simply admire and your stories to see what you’re up to, but. . . one thing leads to another. I don’t always tell my wife when I got off alone and I certainly don’t disclose what I looked at/thought about, especially when it was you. But these behaviors do cause me to develop a guilt factor when I’m wanting to take care of myself—which I don’t necessarily like.
I am fully aware that you don’t help my addiction. However, I am also aware that I have needs too, and my mind is fully capable of rationalizing the fact that getting off to your pictures is a lot safer than the ‘acting out’ behaviors I used to engage in.
Keeping you – your pictures and your stories – hidden away from my therapist and my wife certainly doesn’t help my situation, but, as long as I am careful and respectful, it doesn’t necessarily hurt. I like to think it keeps me in somewhat of a steady-state (which I think is only possible because of the fact that I am ‘high-functioning’ sex addict, as you called it). Deep down, I know that these are behaviors that need to change in order to fully ‘recover.’ But I have to ask myself two things: “Is recovery what I really want?” and “Where’s the fun in that?”
Lola: So you’re saying that getting off to me is what we might call ‘harms reduction’?
AL: That’s an interesting take, but yes, sort of a lesser of two evils (although you’re not evil; naughty, yes, but not evil as far as I know, haha). It’s kind of like, I know it is still reinforcing neural pathways that I’m trying to change, but still I pursue that behavior because of my brain’s ability to rationalize and compartmentalize.
Lola: Thought experiment – what would happen if you were married to me and I constantly had guys (and gals) coming over in order to cum over, in, on, to, with, and for me and you were there to watch? Would that be a cure?
AL: Now that just sounds hot! If that scenario were real, and guys and girls were coming over to cum with, in, and on you, then I think I’d be in my happy place, as long as you (as my wife) wanted it, and so did I. (I do, btw, I very much do!)
Tits Out
“Lo, are you watching porn again?” I asked as I noticed her lying on the couch, legs spread, hand cupped in her thigh-gap, her mind keenly absorbed in the screen of her phone.
“No,” she said defiantly.
“Then what are you doing in that provocative position?”
“I happen to be reading an article.”
“Oh yeah? What article?”
“It’s about the pandemic and relationships.”
“I’m curious. Tell me more.”
“Oh, it’s just about how some couples realized that their relationship was in shambles once they were deprived of all the other distractions in life.”
“Hmmm, sounds interesting. What’s it called?”
“I forget the title.”
“But you’re reading it right now. I’d like to read it too. What’s it called?”
“Fine,” she said, as if caught fibbing. “It’s called, ‘First Comes the Pandemic Divorce, Then the Tits Out Summer.’”
“Tits Out Summer, eh?”
Lola’s Tits Out
“It’s educational.”
“I bet it is.”
“Do you plan on having a ‘Tits Out Summer’ this year?”
“This year, every year: summer, winter, spring, fall – never a bad time for tits out.”
“Take ʼem out now.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
She reached into her shirt and pulled her breasts out over the top.
“You’ll stretch it out that way,” I said.
“Stretch what?”
“Your shirt.”
“Oh, I thought you were talking about something else,” she said as she pulled at her nipples, elongating them.
“Mind if I snap a photo or two? You look divine.”
I pulled out my camera.
“You know,” she said as she posed, “I’ve been called an attention whore for just this sort of exhibitionism.”
“You don’t say. Preposterous.”
“The way I see it, nudes have always been considered fine art. That’s just how I consider myself – a priceless museum quality piece that should be on display in a venue open to the public.”
“You’re a piece alright! Very open to the public.”
“What are you implying?”
“I mean, in our day and age, the internet is the democratization of culture, the dissemination of information, the museum for the masses.”
“Quite,” she said as she pressed her tits together. “And the masses have spoken and I am the embodiment of their collective unconscious vision.”
“Humble too.”
She slid out of her panties and spread her legs.
“I know a photographer who takes photos of naked women,” she remarked.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You should introduce us. We have a lot in common.”
“Not really. That’s just my point.”
“How so?”
“Well, each of her models is ‘perfect’ in a traditional sort of way and therefore eminently forgettable.”
“I see.”
“I, by contrast, am unique in a memorable sort of way.”
“That you are.”
“Do you want to fuck me, Daddy?”
I put down the camera and picked up my notepad and a pen.
“Daddy? What are you writing? I asked, do you want to fuck me?”
“You’ve inspired me,” I said as I scratched away at my note before it vanished from my mind.
“Read it to me,” she said when I put the pad down. She simultaneously picked up her two plungers — pink and blue (“pink for pussy, blue for bum”) and attached them to the bed’s headboard.
Pink Plunger
“Are you going to engage in double penetration?”
“That’s the objective,” she said, sliding back on the ribbed handles.
“Adventurous.”
“I like to think that I’m open to adventure. Will you read to me?”
I read from the notebook: “The most beautiful thing in the world cannot be seen, touched, or apprehended by the senses. It can only be approached by the mind, felt by the soul, and embraced deep within the heart. It nourishes the imagination and quickens thought. It is the noumenal trace behind the phenomenal appearance of the nymphomaniac, the sexually confident woman, the eternal feminine open to receive, willing to give, abundantly generous, her glory simultaneously concealing and revealing, her naked resplendence overwhelming thought through her appearance, yet shrouding her in mystery that tantalizes because always unattainable.”
“How Platonic,” she remarked, “and therefore, disappointingly sterile. Don’t you want to have me? Don’t you want to approach my body, feel my tits, and embrace me deep within my cunt? Though I adore your words and ideas, right now I just want you to fuck me.”
Her withering criticism of my inspired panegyric to her dissuaded me from continuing. If I wanted to praise her, I had to do it apart from words and phrases. I had to express my love, preferably through my second most penetrating and pleasing organ.
She pulled forward from the headboard, surprising both herself and me as the plungers remained in her holes and became dislodged from the surface where they had been affixed with a sudden pop! noise. She looked like an animal that had been shot twice with large darts in the aft. She reached back, pulled the plungers out and lay flat on her back on the bed, playing dead, but for both her hands fidgeting with her pussy as her legs were spread. She resembled human Mercedes sign.
“I think I’m comprehending your needs,” I said as I removed my clothes.
“Sometimes you’re a genius.”
“My dear, I’m always a genius. Sometimes I do stupid things.”
“I think it’s the other way around.”
I got between her legs and berated her as she bore the full brunt of my blunt instrument.
“The two brothers aren’t enough, slut? The three brothers and their father couldn’t satisfy your hunger for humiliation? MILF Meri didn’t cure your craving for cunt?”
She just spread her legs further and took my meat and degradation with stoic equanimity.
For me, at that moment, she was the axis mundi. Not the world navel, but the hole at the center of the world through which all things emerge in their creation and return in their destruction.
Her hole was wide, taking and giving, full of fluid and overflowing. There was a sloshing and splashing as she climaxed, after which she simply said, “And now in my ass, Daddy.”
Ass Please Daddy
I pulled out, flipped her over, and slid into her second axis mundi; antipode to the first, the demonic inversion of the fecund orifice.
In one fell swoop I securely conjoined with her and I felt as she gripped my member with intensity.
She cried out in pain, “Now you’ve gone too far!”
“You can’t know where too far is until you get there.”
“You’re hurting me,” she pleaded.
I pulled back, relenting.
“I didn’t say stop,” she called over her shoulder.
I rammed her repeatedly from the rear until her rhythmic response of “oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,” transformed into a repeating release of “ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.”
She could tell I was rapidly approaching the point of no return and so she lunged forward, and with a catlike quickness, pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees, opening her mouth and taking my instrument of impalement deep into the back of her throat.
Instinctively, I pulled back, grabbed my manhood with my right hand, and let spew forth all of my liquid love for Lola.
She looked up at me as I painted her face the color of pearl and she said, “I only feel right on my knees, Daddy.”
I spread my legs wide and she got between them, snuggling into my thighs, and licked from balls to tip. She looked up at me and asked, “Did you like fucking my ass?”
Unable to respond, I put my hands through her thick mane and pressed her face close to my throbbing thermometer.
She opened her mouth and took it in, performing her practice of “cockwarming” as I slowly drifted off to sleep.
Did you like fucking my ass, Daddy?