Late
one night, Lo got a text from Robert.
“Can I come over?” it read.
We
were in bed. I was reading. She was looking at who-knows-what on her
phone. She showed me the text.
“It’s
rather late, is it not? What’s he want?”
“Do
you want me to find out?”
“Sure.”
“Cum
over whom?” she texted back.
“Ha
ha,” he wrote. “You read my mind.”
“You’re
hard up and you just want to come here and use me?” she texted back.
There
was no response for a while, just ellipses displayed on the phone screen as if
he was texting and then deleting his text, not sure what to say. Lo texted him, “Is that it?”
Finally
he responded with, “Well. . .”
“Then
say it,” she demanded.”
“I’m
hard up and I want to come over and use your sweet body,” he texted.
She
was fingering herself now. Lo loves to
be longed for. “Good boy,” she
wrote. “HH is here.”
“Is
it ok with him?” he asked.
“Is
it ok with you?” Lo asked me.
“If
you want to,” I said, “then I’m fine with it.”
“Drive
fast,” she wrote to Robert.
She
reached under the bed and pulled out her double-ended dildo. She began plunging away.
“Lo,
you wouldn’t rather I do that?” I asked.
“OK,
here,” she said, getting on all fours and turning her ass toward me so I could
grab the dildo and use it on her.
“I
meant, wouldn’t you rather that I
fuck you?” I asked, taking the end of the dildo in hand and pushing in, pulling
out.
“Oh,”
she said. “I hadn’t thought of
that. Actually, I’d prefer this because
I’m saving myself for Robert.”
I
had to laugh. “Saving yourself?”
“Yeah. And saving you. You are not to cum until I give you explicit
permission.”
“Ah,
Lo, my slut and savior.”
She
came.
She
squirted all over the bedsheets.
“Fuck!”
she exclaimed, half in anger and half in ecstasy. “Now I have to strip.”
“You’re
already naked.”
“Strip
the bed.”
She
got up, and hurriedly pulled everything off the bed and then made it again with
fresh linens.
The
doorbell rang.
“Don’t
worry, Lo,” I said, “I’ll get it.”
She
wasn’t worried. She was lying in the newly
made bed and using her phone camera as a mirror, looking at herself. “You’ll show him in, won’t you?” she said in
a faux high-class 1940’s era movie accent.
“Yes,
madam,” I replied, like her butler, as I left the room.
At
the door I said, “Robert, so good to see you,” as I extended my hand to shake
his. “You must be here to see Lo. Please, follow me.” I led him down the hallway to the master
bedroom. “Right this way. She is expecting you.”
Robert,
embarrassed, didn’t even say anything.
He just had a sheepish smile on his face. He knew what he was there for. I knew what he was there for. And he knew that I knew what he was there
for.
As
I opened the door to the bedroom, I saw Lo in the bed under the covers, but
with her breasts exposed. Though the
covers were over her, I could see that her legs were spread and her hands
between them. “Thank you HH,” she said,
dismissively.
“Ready Daddy”
Robert
walked into the bedroom like a boss. I
walked away. When I got to the living
room, I saw that Lo had snapped a photo of herself and sent it to me. It was a sexy tease.
From
the living room I could hear the rhythmic sound of the bed moving, Lo moaning
and then calling out, “Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes, harder, yes!”
A
few moments later I heard her saying her familiar refrain, “I’m cumming. Fuck, I’m cumming.”
Minutes
after that, I heard the bedroom door open and saw Robert walk down the
hallway. I stood up. I met him at the front door. He didn’t know what to say.
“Care
for a drink?” I asked.
“No
thank you, HH,” he said politely.
“Well,
come again,” I said as I opened the door.
He
walked out. I walked to the
bedroom. Lo was now lying on the bed,
completely naked, the blankets strewn about, her legs spread and her hands
cupped over her cunt.
“Come,
Daddy,” she said. “Hurry.”
I
got naked and was between her legs looking down at her. She pulled her hand away and I saw her oozing
with Robert’s cum. “Get in me,” she
commanded.
I
obeyed.
“That
was fast,” I remarked.
“Fast,
hard, and soooo good,” she said.
“You
liked it?”
“I
loved it.”
“What
about his, you know, his problem?”
“He
had no problem tonight.”
“Lucky
you.”
“Yeah,
he told me that knowing you were in the next room and that you could hear it
all excited him. He really liked that.”
“Glad
I could be of help,” I said.
“Do
you like putting your cock into the puddle he made in me?”
“Yes.”
“Do
you like that I’m such a dirty little whore?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like when my cunt is filled
with cum from your friends, Daddy?”
“Mmmmm,”
was all I could say as dipped my stick deep into her wet, warm, and worn puss.
“Do
you. . .”
I
came, adding to her collection, before she could properly get through her cuck
catechism.
“Do
you. . .”
Filled and oozing
“I
love you, Lo,” was all I managed to say.
“Yeah,
well, I didn’t cum yet,” she said, upset.
“You
came with Robert and you came before Robert with your dildo.”
When I
left, Lo and I were in a big fight. It’s
never good to leave for a week-long business trip halfway across the country on
bad terms. Especially with Lo. There wasn’t one thing that was the catalyst
of this rift, but rather lots of little things.
Both she and I had been dealing with pressures at work, I had been
recovering from the flu, she had an unexpected major expense that had to be
paid. We both were stressed, exhausted,
and short-tempered. Each of us had been
prickly with the other, like two porcupines in close quarters.
“Come here,
Daddio,” she said the night before I left as I was getting ready for bed. It was her way of trying to rekindle the
relationship. “I’m so cold. Come and warm me up.” Though she really was cold, she also was
naked on the bed, spreading her legs for me, rubbing her puss.
“Cold? Looks to me like you have a very warm
fleece,” I said of her au naturel triangle, “and all that friction you’re
making might light that bush on fire.”
The words came out more sarcastic and biting than I intended. My loving little banter was not warmly
received.
Watering the Bush
“If you
don’t like it, you can’t have it,” she shot back, covering herself with the
blankets.
“I never
said I didn’t like it.”
“Well, too
late. This bush is only for someone who
truly appreciates me.”
“And who
might that be?”
“ME!” she
said, pulling out her Hitachi, her dildo, and her phone.
No sooner
had she gotten the giant white ice cream cone revved up and the dildo delved in
deep and the phone queued to one of her favorite porn videos than, to her great
surprise, the phone rang! She nearly
jumped out of the bed. She dropped the
Hitachi and it was still buzzing. Her
dildo was left dangling, and she had to fumble with her phone as she said hello
because all the moaning and groaning sounds of the porno film were still
playing.
“Hi Lo,”
the person on the other end said, “Is this an ok time?”
“Yeah. Yes.
Sure. Just one sec.,” said Lo as
she tried to compose herself and shut off all her stimulation devices. Finally she was focused on the call and I
climbed into bed next to her, stroking my cock.
Seeing her pleasure herself still gets me off after all this time. But seeing her interrupted and frustrated is
a rare delight.
It was
Robert. He needed someone to talk
to. He was feeling despondent. And he had been scrolling through the
blog.
I curled up
next to Lo and whispered, “Don’t tell him I’m here,” as I guided my cock into
her cupped hand. She mindlessly gave me
a hand-job as she talked to Robert. Or
rather, I should say, I eased my way in-and-out of her palm. She was unaware of or unconcerned with my
movements.
She talked
to him in a consoling and kind tone, listening to his lament of
loneliness. He hadn’t been with someone
in so long. The night at the museum was
such a powerful moment for him. Since
then he had done more study of Koons and his Made in Heaven installation.
Jeff Koons and his wife Ilona Staller, “Made in Heaven”
When I
heard that, I was both amused and angered.
I’m the one who turned Lo onto Koons! I deserve the credit for that. Whatever.
I continued
to slide my cock in-and-out of her cupped hand.
I kept quiet.
“What did
you like about it?” asked Lo to Robert in her seductive tone of voice.
“I, um, I
liked, I like that you suggested it to me.”
“Really?”
asked Lo, intrigued. “Why?”
“Lo, I, uh,
I never met a woman like you.”
“Go on,”
she said, captivated by the story of herself.
“You’re so
brazen. Is that the right word? So, daring.
So. . .”
“Slutty?”
“That’s not
the word I was going to use.”
“Use it,”
she commanded.
“What?” he
said, as if he hadn’t heard her properly.
“Call me a
slut. I like it. Say it.
I’m touching myself now.”
She
wasn’t. She was holding the phone with
one hand and my member with the other.
“OK,” said
Robert. “You’re a slut.”
“Yesss,”
said Lo.
That was
too much for me. I pulled back and
grabbed my cock and came all over myself as Lo looked on, desirously.
Now she was
touching herself.
“Are you
jackin’ it?” she asked Robert.
“Am I. . .
?”
“Are you
jacking off? Stroking yourself?”
“No,” he
said, as if offended.
“Why not?”
“Lo, I
didn’t call you like someone would call a phone sex service.”
“You
didn’t?”
“No. I. . .”
“But you
can. What do you want to hear?”
There was a
long silence on the other end interrupted only by Lo’s occasional moans of
pleasure. Self-pleasure.
“Do you
want to hear that I loved sucking you off?” she asked.
“You did?”
“Yessss,”
she said.
“Why?”
“I love
sucking cock. Any cock. Lots of cock.
I love helping guys out. I love
giving relief. Let me help you. Are you by your computer?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Pull up a pic of me if you haven’t already.”
“I, I, I,”
Robert stammered.
“You
already had it up, didn’t you?” accused Lo.
“I did,” he
admitted.
“Good. Which pic is it?”
“It’s of you
in your neon blue panties stroking your pussy lips.”
“You like
that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s
beautiful.”
“Well
that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.
I’m stroking my wet, pink, pussy lips with my beautifully manicured
fingers, slowly sliding them up and down and in and out. Does that turn you on?”
“Yes.”
“Are you
stroking your cock?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, I want you to hang up the phone and take
pics of you stroking it to my pics. Make
sure my photo is in the frame so I know that I’m the one who is making you hard
and makes you cum. You will cum, won’t
you?”
“If you
want me to.”
“I do.”
“OK.”
“Do it and
send me the pics.”
“OK.”
“And
Robert.”
“Yes?”
“What am
I?”
“A dirty,
filthy slut.”
“That’s
right. Don’t forget it,” she said and
she hung up on him.
I was
cleaning myself off when she got the notification that a text was sent to
her. She opened it. There were three photos. One of Robert jackin’ it to her pics. One of him cumming. And one of the mess he made. Lo looked at them again and again and she
eventually came herself.
“Thanks,” I
said.
“For what?”
she said.
“For making
me cum,” I said.
“Oh, did I
do that?” she asked, sincerely unaware of her passive powers.
The next
morning, before Lo woke up, I was off to the airport, sad that we hadn’t
properly reconciled.
The
next time we saw him, at a fundraiser reception in an art museum, Lo affixed
herself to him. Arm-in-arm they strolled
the corridors, pausing in dimly lit corners.
It was a nighttime event and the university spared no expense and was
eager to show off its faculty to the wealthy alumni and other donors. Because of the book I published long ago on
art, I was one of the featured speakers.
After a brief hello exchanged with Robert, I was left to review my notes
and consult with the university president about the order of the program. However, every once in a while, I’d catch a
glimpse of Lo leading Robert about, taking delight in the whispers and scandal
that she was causing among our petty and gossipy colleagues. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t irk me a
little bit. It would have been a totally
different story if I could have been with them, observing, commenting, and
teased by Lola’s cuckolding up close.
As
it was, they disappeared out of my sight.
I only heard later, while horizontal with Lo in the darkness of our
bedroom, impaling her with my rock-hard rod, between her gasps and groans, what
happened.
“I
walked with him as he politely escorted me through the various galleries:
Impressionists, Expressionists, Cubists, and so on. At each one he attempted to explain to me
what I already knew, but I flattered him with my oos and ahs and reallys? – as
if he were telling me something new.”
“You’re
bad,” I said. “I bet you do that with me
too.”
“No,
Daddy, never.”
Her
lies are transparent.
She
continued, “I knew the museum very well, of course, and I eventually led him to
the contemporary art gallery. I asked
him if he liked contemporary art and he admitted he didn’t really understand
it.”
This
was a rather intellectual conversation for pillow talk. But I was willing to follow her lead.
She
said in her sultry, seduction voice:
When we got
to the contemporary, I brought him to see Richard Prince and his ‘Girlfriend’
series. He looked very confused and
asked, ‘How can this possibly be art?’
Richard Prince, “Girlfriend” closeup
I asked,
‘Don’t you find it beautiful? The artist
was so in love with his girlfriend that he chose to photograph her nude and put
her up in an art gallery for all to see.’
‘That’s
exploitation,’ he said.
‘Not if she
likes it,’ I said.
‘A good
feminist like you? – How could you like
it?’
‘How could
I like being photographed naked and put on display for all to see?’ I asked to
clarify his meaning.
‘I mean,
how could you think that she likes it or that a woman likes it or. . .’ he
stammered uncomfortably, ‘how could you like this,’ he said, indicating the large photograph.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘HH does the
same for me.’
‘What are
you talking about?’
‘He likes
to photograph me nude and then share it with the world.’
‘What?!’ he
asked, shocked.
I looked down at his crotch to see
if he was getting hard. I think he was.
‘It’s
called candaulism. It’s a kink. I’m surprised you don’t know of it – an
educated man like you,’ I said, gripping his bicep. ‘It comes from an ancient Greek story about
Candaules, the king of Lydia, who was so proud of his beautiful wife, he
arranged to allow his minister, Gyges, to see her naked.’
‘Is that
so?’ he said, as if he were only academically interested.
‘Yes. It turned out that the queen, Nyssia, was
aware of the spying eyes and, according to legend, in order to teach her
husband a lesson, summoned her husband to come to the bed and pleasure
her. Of course she knew that the figure
in the shadows was not her husband, but, unable to escape, Gyges obeyed the
command of the queen and, in the dim light, approached the bed. All the while Candaules was secretly watching
with a curious mixture of arousal and jealously. Gyges entered the bed and then entered the
queen. She said all sorts of salacious
things as they made love in order to drive the point of her lesson home, and
that she did, wounding the suffering king with her cries of passion. Finally, at the climactic moment, the king
could hold back no longer and he made himself known to both Nyssia and
Gyges. Drawing his royal sword, the king
made to slay the dutiful minister, but Gyges narrowly avoided the steel blade
and, removing it from the king’s hands, impaled the king with his own
sword. A tragic tale, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, yes
indeed. And it should serve as a
cautionary tale for HH.’
‘Oh, but
that is all ancient history,’ I said, waving my hand. ‘What HH and I do together is very fun. Its proper term is ‘compersion.’ That is, the delight of seeing one you love
pleasured by another. Would you like to
see?’ I asked, pulling out my phone.
‘Perhaps
later,’ he said just as we approached the Koons’ sculpture. ‘Dear Lord!’ he exclaimed as he saw the
porcelain rendering of Woman in Tub, ‘What
is this gallery?! The Museum of
Pornography?!’
Not Koons’ “Woman in a Tub,” but Lola in a Tub – the inspiration
‘Oh, don’t
be so rigid, and hardened in your ideas of beauty,’ I said to him as I patted
him on the chest. ‘This is a classic.’
Jeff Koons “Lady in a Tub”
‘Oh yeah,
right up there with the Mona Lisa,’ he said sarcastically.
Having my
phone out, I snapped a shot. ‘It should
be,’ I said. ‘You’re just priggish in
your stodgy ole professor way. Don’t be
such a prude.’
Art Appreciation
“I bet you
weren’t a prude, were you,” I said to Lo as I continued my steady rhythmic
forays in and out of her puss with my cock.
“I got 99 problems, but being a slut ain’t
one.” she said.
They
returned to the courtyard of the museum where I was to give my talk and I
watched them sitting in the audience next to each other. Lo’s legs were crossed and she was proudly
displaying her beautifully shod foot. At
one point I saw them passing notes.
“What did
you write to him?” I asked her.
“I just
wrote that I found it incredibly sexy to see you up there at the podium in the
museum giving your talk.”
“Really?”
“True,
Daddy,” she said. “Do you like that?”
“I do.”
“And then I
wrote that I was getting too wet to sit still.”
“You
didn’t!”
“I did,
Daddy. That’s when I got up.”
I
remembered seeing her walk out on my speech.
The thought of the reason why was too much for the erogenous zone of my
brain to handle and I unleashed a torrent of my pent-up desire inside her.
“Oh Daddy,”
she said, surprised, “Stay in me while I tell you the next little part.”
“OK,” was
all I could mutter as I caught my breath.
I went to the Ladies Room and
quickly took care of my craving. When I
returned, I sat next to Robert and asked if I missed anything.
He said, ‘No, but I feel like I
missed something.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘What’s that?’
‘You,’ he said.
‘Me?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I missed you when you were gone and I’m
supremely curious as to where you went and what you went to do.’
‘Come with me,’ I said, ‘and I’ll
show you.’
We got up and I took him to the
Medieval room of the museum, and there, in the dim light, surrounded by the
muted reds and blues of the stained glass windows, I sat with him at a pew and
took out my phone to show him all the photos of me from the blog, most of them
of me masturbating.
‘Robert,’ I said, ‘Here we are in a
place of devotional art and you see all these beautiful images and the
illuminated manuscripts over there?’
Lola Down – 21st Century Devotional
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Well, this,’ I said, indicating the
images on my phone, ‘is HH’s devotional literature for me. This is the illuminated manuscript of the 21st
century. Sex is no longer sinful. Sex is spiritual. And I am a sex goddess.’
“How
extraordinarily pompous of you!” I said.
“You would have said the same,” she
retorted.
“You know me too well. But I think I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Rub off on me, Daddy! Rub off on me!” she pleaded as I was still
firmly sheathed in her dripping cunt.
“What happened next?” I asked as I
leaned into her, pressing my now tumescent cock deeper. She came and she came in massive orgasmic
waves. Clearly the memory of being the
object of worship was pleasing to her.
“Then he
took the phone and looked at it as he leaned toward me. Our lips touched and he held me tightly in
his arms as our tongues entwined. I saw
that, as he was kissing me, he was looking over my shoulder at the phone he
held in his hand, staring at my sexy photos.
I reached down and grabbed his cock and it was rock hard. His other hand reached down and felt my soft
leg all the way up to my panties. I
wanted so much more, but the event had just let out and we had to look
presentable.”
“That’s
when I found you with him walking over to me with that devilish grin on your
face.”
“She
has one boyfriend in Naples, another in Amsterdam, and then she toys with me.”
“Toys
with you?” Lo’s ears perked up.
Robert
had made an excellent meal for Lo and me even though we had dropped in on him
unexpectedly. He is a very generous and
hospitable man and he opened a bottle of wine for Lo as he and I enjoyed an
excellent bottle of Scotch. It was so good
and so smooth that, before we knew it, he and I were on our fourth already. It hit me all at once and I suddenly realized
that I was having difficulty seeing straight.
“We
Skype with each other once a week.”
“Ooooh,”
squealed Lo, “Skype sex.” Her tongue
slid over her front teeth.
Robert
blushed, “It’s not like that,” he protested.
“I’m
sure,” responded Lo.
“No,
really. Well, maybe once in a long
while.”
“I
knew it!”
“But
I meant no double entendre. I simply
meant that. . .”
“Do
you like to watch?” interrupted Lo.
“What?”
“Do
you like to watch, to watch her, Linda, when she toys with you?”
Robert
squirmed a little in his seat, uncomfortable.
He’s tremendously uptight and prudish, but he also thinks of himself as
enlightened and courageous, so he answered the question, “Well, yes.”
“Do
you reciprocate?”
“That’s
usually why she calls me on Skype. To. .
.”
“To
see you jack it?”
“If you wish to put it that
way, yes.”
“I
do like this gal. When can I meet her?”
“That’s
just the thing. She shuttles between
Italy, Holland, and London and I don’t think we’ll be together in person again
anytime soon.”
“She
can’t just puddle jump the pond and come over for a quicky?”
Robert
laughed at the suggestion.
“Boy,
you must be so hard-up,” said Lo seductively.
Robert
poured himself another whiskey and gestured to pour another for me. I covered the top of my glass to decline the
offer.
“I’m
sorry,” I said, “I’m going to lie down for a bit.” I got up, unsteadily, and found my way to the
guest bedroom. It was right off the hall
that went to the living room and so I heard snippets of their conversation from
bed.
“I
remember when I was between boyfriends,” Lo was saying, “not literally. I mean, after I graduated college and before
HH, I used to spend two or three nights a week at my friend Alyssa’s
apartment. She and I were the best of
friends back then. I had no romantic
designs on her, but we’d share a bed, both of us naked, holding each
other. She and I were both single and on
nights that we didn’t want to go home with a stranger, we’d take comfort in the
love we shared. After she fell asleep,
I’d lie there, wide awake, horny, and I’d touch myself silently, careful not to
wake her up with my strokes or my inevitably powerful orgasm. Now that’s what I do next to HH
sometimes. Like tonight, I’ll probably
have to do that since he drank too much.”
Hearing
her say that brought a smile to my lips as my mind drifted off on
whiskey-saturated clouds. I dozed for I
don’t know how long before I was roused from my slumbers by the sound of Lo’s
voice saying, “Are you sure you don’t want some company?” She was just entering my room and, as I
opened my eyes, I saw Robert’s shadow in the hallway.
“I’ve
had too much to drink. I’m going to feel
like shit in the morning. Thank you,
Lo,” he said politely.
“Well,
won’t you at least tuck me in?” she asked.
I saw her silhouetted against the hall light filling the doorway. She slowly removed her blouse, dropped her
jeans, undid her bra and took it off, and then slid out of her panties. I felt her naked body sit on the edge of the
bed and then lift up her legs on top of the covers under which I was
lying. Her legs spread and her hand
stroked between them.
Robert
entered the room timidly. He bent down
to offer Lo a kiss goodnight. She pulled
his arm and gently guided him into the bed.
“There’s room enough for all three of us,” she said.
He
got into the queen-size bed. I heard Lo
kiss him and before very long I heard him sleeping. I was about to drift off again myself when I
felt and saw Lo caressing herself, there, naked, between the two of us.
After
a restless night of beautiful dreams, I awoke to find Lo next to me, naked, and
Robert next to her, fully clothed. She
was nestled up to his body with her right hand on his crotch. I was holding her – a big spoon to her little
spoon – caressing her breasts.
I
carefully extricated myself from the scene and snuck into the kitchen to make
coffee. I found my phone in my pocket
and on it was a text from Lo. It was
sent only a few hours earlier: “Can I fuck Robert? Please!”
I texted her back: “Good morning, my love.
I was hard-up all night – from the moment you got into the bed next to
me to the moment I woke up next to you, caressing your breasts and your sweet
ass. Your warm, soft, luscious, naked
body looks lovely in the morning light.
In my dreams a word came to mind for you – NILF: Nymph I’d Like to
Fuck. Yes, that’s you.
By all means, feel free to get
Robert up! You have my permission to
rouse him. Show him what a NILF you
are.”
I
was sitting, enjoying a warm cup of coffee when Lo sauntered into the living
room wearing one of Robert’s dress shirts, covering her sexy body down to the
middle of her thighs. She said
nothing. She just cozied up to me on the
couch.
“How
are you, sweetheart?”
“I
missed you, Daddy.”
“What
about Robert?”
“Out
like a light.”
“And
you?”
She
nestled her face into my chest and said something inaudible.
“What?”
She
looked up at me and repeated it in a whisper, “I need to get fucked.”
“By
me or him?” I asked, adding after, “Or
both?”
“Preferably
both, but I’ll take what I can get.”
I
stood up and dropped my trousers. She
bent over the side of the couch and I entered her from behind. She held herself in place with her left hand
and rubbed herself between her legs with her right. It took all of 90 seconds before she came the
first time, audibly. It was about
another minute and a half before she came a second time, even louder. The third time took about five minutes and it
was deafening.
I
pulled out and said, “You’re just trying to wake him up, aren’t you?”
“Am
I a good NILF or bad?”
“It
doesn’t matter, dear.”
“Why
not?” she asked, puzzled.
“Because
you’re my NIFL and I love you.”
She
got on her knees and sucked me off until I came in her mouth and then she got
up and we made breakfast together. The
aroma of the eggs and toast must have woken Robert, because he finally emerged
from the bedroom holding his head.
“Owe!”
he lamented, “Aspirin!”
“Here,”
said Lo, helping him to sit down at the table.
“Have some of this,” she said as she poured him some orange juice and
went into the bathroom to get the aspirin.
She came back and nursed him.
“That’s
my shirt,” said Robert after a moment.
Daddy’s shirt
“Oh,
sorry,” said Lo. “Do you want it back?”
she asked and made as if to unbutton it.
“No,”
said Robert, “I just realized – it looks much better on you.”
We
had breakfast together and then Lo removed the shirt and handed it back to
Robert. “I’m just going to change and
then we’ll be going,” she said, standing naked before him.
Robert
was speechless.
“Thanks
for the hospitality. But next time, try
not to drink so much,” she said before disappearing into the bedroom.
“Do
you remember what happened last night?” asked Robert of me.
“Yes,”
I said.
“Do
you mind sharing?”
“No,” I said, “but when I share, it is only good manners to stay sober enough to be up for it.”
[Editor’s note, this story involves Dr. Robert Smith. For previous stories that include him, click on the links to: Well Laid, Hey Good Lookin’, Pyro, Happy as a Clam, Good Night, My Whore, and Attention Slut. There’s no need to read those stories in that order for this story, but if you are interested in the long flirtation between Lo and Dr. Robert Smith, you can get the backstory in those posts.]
Recently
our financial situation improved. In no
small part, Lo’s getting a full-time job has certainly contributed to our
recovering fiscal health. Now that we
aren’t always scraping by to pay the rent or put food on the table, we actually
have a little bit of money that we can set aside for a rainy day. So, trying to be the responsible adults we
pretend to be, we created a joint savings account. I know, nothing says sexy like money in the
bank. Walking home from the bank,
feeling a sense of accomplishment, I said to Lo, “We’ll call our account ‘The
Community Chest.’”
“Community
Chest! – That’s what they called me in college!” she blurted out with a
smile.
I thought she was
joking and said as much.
“No,” she said,
“that’s really what they called me.
There’s a long story there that I’ll tell you when we get home,” she
said, grabbing hold of my hand and pressing her palm into mine.
When we got home,
I started to make myself a sandwich in the kitchen. “So,” I said to her, “what’s the story from
college?”
“What story?” Lo
asked, playing dumb. She loves to tease
me and see that she has succeeded in piquing my interest.
“You know what
story,” I said, taking out the pickles, “the ‘Community Chest’ story.”
She reached down and
slid her hands from her waist up and under her bust, pushing upwards so that
her cleavage bulged out of the neckline of her black tank top. “You like, Daddy?”
“Yes,” I said,
“but I want to hear the story.”
“Kiss them,” she
instructed.
I wagged my pickle
at her (literally, no pun), and said, “Look here, Lo, if you’re trying to get
me to hop in the sack with you and forego this lovely lunch I’ve just made,
you’re in for some disappointment.”
“I’ll be your
lunch,” she said, standing up, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the
kitchen floor. She stood in her little
black lace panties and her black boots.
“Lola,” I said
plaintively.
“You know,” she
paused and thought and then said, “I’m hungry too.” She sauntered over to the fridge like a stripper
on the stage. She bent over, putting her
ass in the air, standing on her tiptoes, and took a long look at the
contents. “I know what I want to eat,”
she said, turning and walking toward me.
What is there to eat?
“Lo. Lo, I see that look in your eye. Lo.”
It was no use. She dropped to her knees on the kitchen
floor. She undid my belt, unbuttoned and
unzipped my jeans, pulled them down, pulled out my hard cock and filled her
mouth with meat.
Snack
“Fuck my face,”
she asked, looking up at me. “Put your
hands here,” she said, moving my hands to her head, “and push me, use me, fuck
my mouth.” I followed instructions. “Harder, Daddy!” she said before I forced her
back on my rod. I had passed the point
of no return and soon I was filling her up as she ravenously swallowed all I
gave her. It all happened in the matter
of a few moments. Then she got up, took
my plate with the sandwich that I had so carefully prepared, and sat at the
table, taking a big bite of it.
“Mmmmmm,” she said, “can I have a glass of seltzer to go with
this?”
“Lo! That was my
sandwich!” I rebuked as I pulled up my jeans.
“I just wanted a
bite. Here you have it.”
“No, it’s yours,”
I said dejectedly as I got her a drink.
“No, I feel
bad. Have half.”
“Fine.” I sat across from her and we ate. “Now,
tell me the story.”
“Well,” she began,
chewing, “you remember Ryan?”
“No, I don’t
remember Ryan.”
“Ryan, the boy
from college.”
“I’m going to need
a little more to go on than that. There
were a lot of boys from college.”
“I told you about
how one night after watching a movie in a friend’s dorm, he and I crashed there
on the sectional couch.”
“I vaguely recall
that.”
“You just want me
to tell you again.”
“Indulge me.”
“Well, we got to
talking in hushed tones about sex.”
“And who initiated
that topic?” I asked sarcastically.
“He was curious
about my masturbatory practices,” she said, ignoring my question. “I told him that I jill it once a day – at
least.”
“Oh yes, I
remember that story now.”
“Well, there’s
more to it than that. Come to the bedroom
and I’ll tell you the rest.”
I followed her
sexy ass to the bedroom, got naked, and climbed into bed with her.
She got on her
back and spread her legs. Putting her
hand down there, under the covers, she continued in breathy tones. “I was masturbating under the covers, like I
am now, as I talked to him in the dark.
I imagined that he was masturbating too.
I asked him about his girlfriend – someone I didn’t really know. He said that he wasn’t too happy with her and
I asked him why he didn’t break up with her.
He said, ‘because she gives really good blowjobs.’ I said, ‘Oh yeah? Tell me how you like it.’ He told me about what she does, adding, ‘but
I don’t think she really enjoys it.’”
Lo was pulling on
her nipples now and squirming in the sheets.
“I was sad to hear
that.”
“I’m sure you were
broken up about it,” I added full of sarcasm.
“I told him, ‘You
should try getting a blowjob from someone who really enjoys it.’”
“Did you give him
one?”
“I really really
wanted to.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“But he was too shy.”
“Too shy?!”
“Or
something. Maybe he felt bad cause of
the girlfriend. Whatever the reason, I
didn’t get to give it to him. I just
masturbated till I came. After that
night, there were many nights when I’d be in my dorm, chatting on Facebook, and
he’d pop up and quickly turn the chat into something sexual.”
“So you had
virtual sex with him?”
“You could say
that.”
“But that still
doesn’t explain how you got the nickname.”
“I’m getting
there. Give me a minute,” she said as
she climaxed.
I
waited for the waves of pleasure to subside.
She
flipped over and lifted her ass up.
“Fuck me, Daddy, and I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”
“Lo,
you just blew me in the kitchen.”
“Come
on! You can do better than that. Can’t you get it up again?”
Her
belittling comments didn’t help the situation.
“Get
behind me and fuck me,” she demanded.
I
got behind her, but I wasn’t hard. She
reached under the bed and passed me her glass dildo. “Use this for now,” she instructed. I slid the smooth, hefty sculpture into her
slippery puss and she continued talking in spurts.
“He
was a gamer and I think he told his nerdy friends about me. Soon they were inviting me over their dorm
rooms to play with them. They each
wanted me to jiggle their joysticks.”
“I
bet they did.”
“They
were all computer geeks and none of them had much sexual experience. Anyhow, I didn’t actually do anything with
them.”
“Nothing?”
I asked in disbelief.
“Not
much, but they made up stories about me.
They each claimed that they fucked me and so they began calling me the
community chest, bragging that they each made a deposit.”
“And
you let them get away with that?”
“Let
them, I got off on it.”
All
this time I was almost mechanically pushing and pulling the glass object in and
out of her puss as she was backing up and pulling forward on her hands and
knees. Now she said, “Harder,
Daddy. Pay attention to what you’re
doing!”
I
tried to give more attention to her puss, but I had more questions for
her. “So,” I asked, “what did you do with them?”
“Well,”
she said, ramping up again, “like I said, they didn’t have much sexual
experience and when I did try to blow one of them he. . .” she broke off and
began her howling orgasm.
I
pulled the dildo out from her and she squirted, involuntarily, all over the
sheets. She thrust her hands between her
legs, trying to stop the sprinkler, and she exclaimed, “Wow! I feel like a fucking Slip-n-Slide!”
“You’re
more fun,” I said.
Collapsing
in the bed when she was done, I brought a towel over and applied it between her
legs and to the sheets. I asked her
again, “What happened?”
“I
squirted,” she said, annoyed at my ignorance.
“No, silly. I mean, what happened with the geek?”
“Oh, well, I was
on my knees and I unzipped his pants, but when I opened up his fly, I saw that
he had already cum. I said to him, ‘Let
me blow you. You can take my tits out of
my top and suck on them,’ but he was so embarrassed that he just zipped up and
left.”
“And
the thought of that made you cum just now?” I asked.
“No,”
she said, “the thought of making all of his friends cum the night that I went
over there to play video games and they watched me finger myself – that made me cum.”
“Tell
me that story.”
“Another
time, Daddio, when I actually have a shot of getting fucked by you,” she said,
closing up shop for the day.
“What’s there to eat in the fridge?” I call to her
through the bathroom door. I had just
gotten home from work and I was famished.
“Nothing,” she calls back as I hear the squeak of her
opening the valves to take a shower.
“Nothing?! I
saw a cucumber in the bottom right drawer.”
“Oh, that’s not for eatin’,” she says. “Come to think of it, will you bring it to me
darling?”
Good grief. I
get the green gourd from the fridge for her and a cold beer for me. I pass her the vegetable when she extends her
hand through the narrow opening of the door.
“Can’t I see you?” I ask.
“No.”
“You do know that I’ve seen you naked before? Most of the internet has seen you naked
before. Probably most of our neighbors
have seen you naked before.”
“I have my shower cap on.”
“Oh, well then.”
The door shuts.
I sit down to read and sip my beer and await her exit from the
bathroom. And wait. And wait.
After her repeated cries to God and profanities that I imagine were
directed at her pleasure-bearing plant, I hear the waterspout squeak off.
Finally she emerges.
Lo is very wet
I whistle at her.
“You look half as good in your clothes as you do out of them.”
“That’s insulting!”
“Would you prefer the opposite: You look twice as good
in your clothes as you do out of them?”
“How about you just say I look fabulous.”
“You look fabulous, darling. And delicious. I had no dinner. Can I please eat you from bottom to top?”
“Oh, Daddy, I have to catch my breath,” she says,
lying naked on the bed next to me.
“You do that and I’ll caress your snatch with my
tongue.”
She puts her laptop over her shaved triangle and opens
it up.
“Darling,” I ask, “what are you doing now?”
“Just checking some email and sprucing up some social
media accounts.”
Dejected, I get up off the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m taking off my work clothes and. . .”
“Getting naked?” she asks, licking her lips.
“If that would please you.”
“Will you lie next to me?”
“As you wish,” I say, somewhat sarcastically.
I sit next to her, reading my book as she scrolls
through pages with her right hand. Her
left hand is resting on my cock. It
grows in her palm. I put down my book
and turn on my side, rhythmically fucking her fist. Unconsciously, she allows it, but doesn’t
enthusiastically respond to it. She’s
engrossed in whatever it is she’s reading.
After a couple of moments, I look at what is on her
screen. It’s a page of nearly naked
women.
Just as I was enjoying seeing her in the naked flesh
next to me, and also her pixilated portrait resting just above her pink vulva
on her laptop computer, she scrolls away from the page. And, to make matters worse, she removes her
hand from my hard rod.
“Now what are you doing?” I ask.
“It’s well known that lists create
web traffic and a fan asked me to list six facts about my body.”
“Clickbait,” I respond.
“You can call it that,” she says,
but I think I’m the real bait.
Clitbait, you might say.” She
strokes her bean under the computer as she says it.
She returns her hand to the keyboard
and writes:
Six Facts About My Body:
It is an instrument of pleasure.
It is a canvass for cum.
It inspires creativity.
It drives people crazy.
It drives me crazy.
I love it.
“Not bad,” I say.
She ignores my compliment because now she is engaged in
answering emails.
One guy asks, “Who are you?”
“Cum and find out,” writes Lo, followed by, “Wait, reverse
that.”
Another guy sends a dick
pic. Lola tells him that if he is going
to do that, he has to send one with her photo in the frame. He replies, “I don’t usually send dick pics.”
“I bet you say that to all the
sluts,” she replies snidely.
I can see that she is getting excited. Her right hand moves to her chest and she
pulls at her nipples, making them erect.
“Looks like you’re ready to give
some pointers,” I say.
Another fan read the story, “Divine Destinies,” about Lo’s immaculately pure pink posterior flower. He wrote to Lo requesting some steamy chat, adding that, “I love to talk about dirty things.”
Lo, taking offense at this, replies,
“Are you suggesting that the pinnacle of my success is ‘dirty’?”
“Lo,” I say, “turn over and I’ll
take a pic of my tongue deeply penetrating your perineum and we’ll show him how
you’re more beautiful than Charlene and Mr. Clean.”
She chuckles and asks, “How the hell
do you know that song?”
“My brain isn’t as old as my body.”
“If by that mean you mean that
you’re immature, then you’re right.”
“Roll over.”
She closes her laptop and I think I’m in luck, but
then she takes out her phone. She does
turn onto her tum and begins going through photos from fans. “I just need a little something to wet my
whistle, if you know what I mean,” she says, as she puts her right hand down
between her pussy lips and strokes, then, using that natural lubricant, moves
to her porn star.
She passes me the phone and says, “Look what I found
in my in-box!”
I, looking at both her boxes intently at that moment,
take the phone from her.
“Read it aloud,” she says, “I’m all ears. . . and
vagina.”
I see a long email from a fan, a woman named “Jen X.” It reads:
As I read the lusty letter, Lo is
having finger fun time between her legs and her feet are working in tandem to
stroke my cock. The words are so poetic
and prurient that I very nearly cum. Lo
can feel it and she turns and says, over her shoulder, “I just got out of the
shower. I didn’t wash my hair and I
don’t intend to today. If you cum, don’t
cum in my hair.”
“Do
you think Audrey Hepburn ever said that to Gregory Peck?”
“Look,
I aim to please, so please be sure to aim.”
Just
as she says it, I take aim and hit my mark, right between her shoulder
blades.
Painting on Canvas
After
I recoup, I get up and go to the bathroom to clean myself off. There, on the sink, is her giant
cucumber. “Do you think this is still ok
to eat?” I call to Lo.
“What,
your cock?”
“Well
that too, but I was referring to your veggie vagina filler.”
“Oh,
I’m not done with it yet. Toss it here.”
I
do so and I also return to the bedroom to get dressed.
“Where
do you think you’re going?” she asks as she stuffs herself full of the jolly
green giant.
How about this?
“To
the store to get something for dinner.
Do you want anything?”
“How
about an eggplant. This is not nearly
enough to feed me.”
You
know, dear reader, not everything between Lola and me is hotwife, cuckold,
chronic masturbation, fetish, bukkake, squirting, spanking, MILF lust,
sadomasochistic, bestiality, giant dildo, public fucking, anal massage,
strap-on, nymphet, perfect vulva, high heels porn, cockfest, ejaculation,
climaxing crazy sex, lesbian sex machine, leaking pussy, ass fingering,
self-pleasuring, jilling-off, Ben Wa Balls, thongs, giant cock, swollen vulva,
candid cleavage, strippers, erotic boudoir, summer skirts, ass pounding, public
pussy, sapphic lovers, sexy volleyball, legs spread, open crotch, love juice, naked
beach volleyball, kneeling rosary beads, orgasm face, MILF parties, babysitter
sex, men jerking off, nude art classes, wet panties, vibrators, leashes, short
shorts, foot fetish, erotic indulgence, nympho in heat, gangbang, clit
stroking, protruding nipples, exhibitionist teachers, negligee nympho, fisting,
cunnilingus, wild poetry and naked reading, sucking cocks, bare mons pubis,
tantric solo sessions, and horse cocks.
(OK, I may have developed that list from the search terms people have
used to find the blog.)
Sometimes,
my voyeuristic companion, Lola and I just simply engage in wordless, intimate
erotic lovemaking. Is that so hard to
believe?
Take
for instance the other night. It was a
Tuesday or a Wednesday. There was
nothing particularly special about it.
We may have watched a movie or a couple of short comedies. We grew tired of lying on the couch
decompressing from our busy workday and went to bed. The usual: brushing teeth, remove clothes,
hop under covers.
I
was tired. She was tired. I thought nothing would happen, but then she
reached over and grabbed my package under the sheets and fondled until she
achieved the desired result. She spread
her legs, slapped her pussy twice, and said, “I’m open for business.”
I
climbed on top of her and slowly slid the seat of my desire inside. She squeezed her breasts with her hands and
said, “Suck my nipples, Daddy.”
I
complied.
She
moved her right hand down to her crotch and began stroking her clit in slow, vertical
movements. I could feel the tip of her
index finger on the base of my shaft. I
could feel the knuckle in her finger up against my pelvis. I could feel her wrist bent just under my
bellybutton each time I thrust.
She
slowly moved from her clit into her chamber.
Her finger was noodling up the length of my rod, trying to make its way
to her G-spot. I felt her getting
deeper, crowding me for space. Then she
inserted her middle finger as well. The
two fingers worked in tandem. I could
feel the knuckles on the top of my cock and the fingertips at the tip of my
cock. She had reached the spot. She masturbated as I fucked.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“There,”
she said, as if to me, but really as if to say, “Yes, my fingers, there is the
goal of your journey.”
She
came, a quiet, deep moaning orgasm. Her
pussy clenched then loosened. She
inserted the rest of her fingers of her right hand to make up for the slack. Then she grabbed the other side of her pussy
with her left hand and I could feel all eight fingertips like some sort of sea
anemone wiggling and wriggling inside her, flowing with the waves. She pulled the side walls of her cunt apart
with her hands so wide that I no longer felt anything.
“Daddy,
do you think that if I spread myself like this as a gang of men surrounded me,
that each one of them could go in me, cum, and then let the next one in?”
Lo’s Fantasy
It
was a bizarre question. It didn’t quite
make sense, but since when does sex make sense?
The imagery was vivid enough for me to do just that – cum inside her
gaping hole.
“I
love you, Daddy,” she said.
“And
I’m balls-deep in love with you.”
OK,
so I lied. I don’t know if we ever
actually do have wordless, intimate erotic lovemaking. But, so what?
I like it and so does she.
Finally a moment to relax. Some time to myself. A quiet interval to read for enjoyment before sweet sleep. I was deep into the Bukowski’s Notes of a Dirty Old Man, appropriately enough. As I tried to enjoy one of the short stories about a dissolute life, Lo lay next to me, naked, her legs spread, diddling her bean, clearly looking for attention. She spread her legs wider, putting her left leg up and over my legs. She inserted her finger and moaned. No response from me. She spread her legs even further until her left knee hit the cover of my book, knocking it out of my hands. She dipped all five fingers into her gaping pleasure patch.
Lo’s Bed Spread
“Hey,” I said, “watch it!”
“Clearly you’re not interested in watching,” she retorted.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
“Probably not,” she replied, cursorily, as she continued to fap with her five fingers.
“Then may I read in peace?”
“Why do you want to read now?” she asked.
“Well,” I said with some snark, “right now, I feel like it gives me a leg up, if you know what I mean.”
She raised her leg even further, across my chest.
“Watch out, dear,” I said, “you’re spreading yourself a bit thin there.”
“Thin?! Thin?! I’m a proudly thick woman,” she said.
“Look,” I said, “if you want me, then just use your words and ask for me to fuck you.”
“I shouldn’t need my words,” she said as she pulled out her fingers from her puss, “I’m using sign language.”
“And I’m using my ability to read lips.”
“See, we don’t even need words,” she said, “we can communicate perfectly well with body language.”
I got on my knees, pulled down my boxers, pulled out my hard cock and asked, “What does this body language express to you?”
Reading Notes of a Dirty Old Man
“Everything I want to know,” she said, “now dip your pen in my wet well and write your poetry all over me, you dirty old man.”
“Fuck! I hope that never happens again!” she blurted
out as she entered the house.
I
had been quietly sitting on the couch, perched in my usual spot, writing, when
she burst in with a flare for the dramatic.
“What
happened?” I inquired, merely raising an eyebrow.
“Get
in the bedroom and I’ll tell you.”
That
can only mean one thing.
I
saved my work, closed my laptop, and followed her to the bedroom. By the time I got there she was already
naked, her legs spread wide, her right hand slapping her pussy with a small
splash.
“What
are you waiting for?” she asked impatiently.
“I
came as fast as I could,” I said as I began removing my clothes.
“Well,
don’t cum as fast as you can now if you want to hear what I have to tell you.”
I
slid into her already lubricated puss and she let out a gasp of relief.
“Am
I wet, Daddy?” she asked.
“A
juice box,” I said. “What is going on?”
She
didn’t speak immediately. She was
enjoying the ride. Her hands had moved
to her sides and she was pulling her ass cheeks, spreading herself as wide as
she could go.
“Can
you feel me?” she asked.
“Almost
not at all. Like fucking a bathtub full
of warm water.”
That
was enough to bring her to a mild squirting orgasm as her puss gently gurgled,
soaking me, the bed, and her ass.
“Harder,
Daddy. Faster.”
“If
you tell me what’s going on, I’ll fuck you like a jackhammer.”
I
sped up my rhythm and increased my force.
Lola’s Yoga Pants
“That’s
it,” she said, her eyes shut. “I’m so
wet. So fucking wet.”
“I
can tell,” I said, “but not for me I bet.”
“I
was at the gym,” she began, as the scene played out before her shut eyes, “in
my grey yoga pants.” She paused.
“Yes,”
I said, bringing her back to the here-and-now.
“And
I was on the adductor machine, working on my inner thighs when I noticed the
guy in front of me. He was doing pull
ups directly in my line of sight.
Unconsciously I was watching his body go up and down while I was working
my legs. Then I noticed that I was
watching him – his bulging biceps, the ripples of his shoulders, his broad
chest. His shirt was short, so I could
see his abs, and then I looked a little lower and saw just how huge his cock
was. Every time he went up and down, I
was spreading and then clenching my legs together. I became self-conscious of what I was doing
and looked up to see if he noticed me.
Our eyes met for a moment and then. . .”
She
climaxed again; this time much harder than before.
When
she regained her composure, I asked, “And then what happened.”
“Daddy,
it’s too embarrassing!”
“What?”
“As
I was spreading my legs, completely involuntarily and without warning I. . .”
she trailed off.
“You
what?”
“I
came. I squirted. I felt myself drenching my yoga pants until
they were dripping. And he saw it
all! I immediately closed my legs
together and pretended to take a sip from my water bottle and somehow made it
look like I had spilled it on my lap. I
ran out of there as fast as I could! Oh
my God! I can never go back there
again!!!”
As
she told me this, I had slowed and almost stopped thrusting, I was so engrossed
in her story. But then she rebuked
me. “Don’t stop. Come on.
Fuck me. Use me. Fill me up.”
“Lo,”
I said apologetically, “I can’t even feel you, you’re so wet.”
“Forget
it!” she commanded, angry at me.
She
pulled away so I slid out of her. She reached
under the bed, grabbed her horse-cock dildo and said, “You can watch, if you
want, but I need something that’s going to really fill me up.”
She
stuck it to the headboard of the bed and backed into it as I was on my knees in
front of her, stroking my cock.
“Are
you thinking of him?” I asked as she thrusted back into the cock vigorously
with her eyes closed.
“Yes,”
she said honestly.
“You
think he’d fill you like that?”
“Yes,”
she said.
I
could see that I may have been distracting her from whatever fantasy was
playing out in her mind, so I continued with my masturbatory movements in silence
as I watched her tits hang down and rock back and forth, thinking about what
that guy must have thought of her in the gym.
Suddenly I came, shooting my pent-up love all over her face. It was a surprise to her because her eyes
were still shut. When she realized what
I had done, it sent her into a violent hysterical paroxysm, the likes of which
I had not seen in a very long time.
Her
arms spread forward and her body bowed down making a “Downward Dog” movement as
her cunt clenched the long, thick cock behind her.
When
she regained consciousness, she said, “Maybe I’m just not made for city
life. Maybe I’m meant to keep in shape
by working on the farm.”
Mark and Stephanie came over for
appetizers before we all were going to go to see a play. Lo had planned this night for the four of us
months ago. She was very excited because
the play was one that she had heard great things about and she thought that Mark
and Stephanie were just the couple to invite to it. My guess was that she had designs on Mark and
was hoping to get him into a showdy corner of the dark theater and play a
little herself. But what actually
happened was way beyond my wildest imaginings.
Lo, as is her practice of primping
and prepping, spent most of that lovely summer Friday afternoon cleaning up the
house for our guests, making a special dip, stocking the bar, adorning the
small tables with bouquets of flowers, and then hopping into the shower. I, for my part, cracked open a beer and
watched Lo do all this work in her panties and bra. I hope you, dear reader, don’t get the wrong
idea about me. I’d be more than happy to
chip in with the chores, but Lo is such a perfectionist that I have learned the
hard way over time that it’s best to leave it to her.
As I sat on the living room couch, I
heard what could only be described as Lo’s mating call, if mating occurred for
her the way it does for komodo dragons, that is, through parthenogenesis, or
without the need of a male. Yes, this is
a very long-winded way of saying that Lo was fucking herself in the shower with
one of her many dildos and calling, to God, to me, to anyone, with her
distinctive, “OH GOD! YES! FUCK! YES!
YES! YES! YES!”
Not quite as poetic as the final paragraph of Joyce’s Ulysses, but the same sentiment. When she got out of the shower and found me
sitting on the bed, I wasn’t the only one who was long-winded. She was panting for air since her hot, steamy
shower only added to the heavy, humid air of our apartment.
“Thinking of Mark?” I asked
snidely.
“Mark, Mike, Matthew, Milton, it
doesn’t matter.”
“Allow me to rephrase. Thinking of dick?”
“Many, many dicks,” she said.
I got up off the bed to spank her
bottom as she was bending over the sink to wipe down the mirror when I caught a
glance into the tub and saw it was populated with not one, but four
dildos!
“What the hell did you need four dildos for in there? You only have three orifices to fill.”
“I like to feel wanted,” she said as
she set out to blow dry her hair.
“How many times did you cum?”
“Three or four or five.”
“Seriously?”
“No, deliriously. I used different dildos for different holes
and different sorts of orgasms. I used
this one,” she said, pointing at the one that was stuck to the tile wall by its
suction cup base, “for my puss. Then I
added this one in my ass,” she said, indicating her large red double-ended
dildo. “And then I used that same one on
both my ass and my puss before I used this one,” she said pointing to the horse
cock dildo on the floor of the tub.
“What about that one?” I asked,
pointing to the black dildo we call “Tommy gun” because it looks like a little
machine gun the way the ball sack is attached to it.
“Oh, that one I just held in my hand
for fun. You know my motto.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Be happy: jill off, jill often.”
“Well, you’d better clean up your
bathtub toys before our guests arrive.”
“Why, were they planning on taking a
bath?”
“You never know.”
“That would be fun.”
“I bet you’d like that. But, remember, Mark hasn’t had sex with Stephanie in over a year now.” We knew this from what Stephanie had told me at their Super Bowl party.
“First, that’s not
due to any deficiency on his part. And
second, even if it was, I know I could help him. I’m a cock whisperer.”
“I think you still
aim to ‘help’ him,” I said, knowing that Lo is terribly attracted to Mark.
“So,” she
responded, “Why do you think I have so many dildos in the tub? I like to get men hard. I like them to desire me. I like to be what gets
them up in the morning and what gives them sweet dreams at night. I want to be a vessel into which men drain
their lust.”
“Everyone but the
shoemaker’s wife,” I said under my breath.
“What?” she asked
as she slipped into her dress.
“Everyone except
the shoemaker’s wife,” I said more loudly.
“What the fuck
does that mean?” she asked.
I responded, “You have to clean up
your language, young lady.”
“Fine, I’ll clean it up. I’ll take out every word except ‘fuck.’”
“You know what I mean.”
“Fuck?”
“Stop it.”
“Fuck fuck.”
“You’re being vulgar.”
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”
“OK, I’ll play your game. What do you want to do tonight?”
“Fuck.”
“I bet you do. Fuck Mark.
Like I said, everyone except the shoemaker’s wife.”
“That’s the third time you said
that, now tell me what the fuck it means before I shove this shoe up your ass!”
she demanded as she held her high heel in her hand.
“It’s a saying. Everyone gets a new pair of shoes except the
shoemaker’s wife. The shoemaker never
gets to her because he’s so busy making the shoes for everyone else.”
“And what does that have to do with
us?”
“You’re the shoemaker. Everyone gets to drain their lust into you
but me.”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” she said,
feigning playing the violin for me. “You
get more than you can handle. Nine out
of ten times you deny me. That’s why this shoemaker has to go all
around town like the prince letting everyone try on Cinderella’s slipper.”
“Now this metaphor has jumped the
shark.”
“Look, if you want some of this,”
she said, slapping her pussy over her dress, “all you have to do is ask for it,
or better yet, take it!”
“I want it!” I said, lifting up her
dress and noticing that she hadn’t put on panties.
“Not now! They’ll be here in a minute or two.”
“I only need thirty seconds. You know that.”
“And people say romance is dead.”
At that moment the doorbell
rang. I went to go answer it and Lo
called to me and said, “Tell them I’ll be right out. Oh, and put the chips out and the dip. Oh, and can you turn on the Bluetooth speaker
to some up-beat music?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to remember
all I was supposed to do.
I took out the chips and dip,
grabbed Lo’s phone and pulled up Spotify, and turned on the speaker so it
played in the living room. Then I let in
Mark and Stephanie.
I invited them into the living room
and we sat down. “Lo will be right out,”
I said as we made polite conversation.
They looked very dapper, all dressed
up for the theater. She was wearing cute
flats, tight jeans, and a very sheer white top.
She doesn’t have very big breasts, but they are perky and she has a cute
bob haircut. He was in nice jeans,
leather shoes, and a tight fitting black t-shirt under a blazer. It was a dated, slightly “Miami Vice” look,
but he can be forgiven since he is from Miami after all.
I offered them drinks and they both
gladly elected for the harder stuff, passing over the beer and wine. I was surprised. Before theater events I find I can’t have
anything too strong, except coffee, lest I pull a Jack Nicolson and fall asleep
during the performance and begin snoring.
As I was entering with drinks in
hand, Lo made her stunning appearance. I
had seen her little, short black dress, but to see her with the sexy, shiny
black heels, her full makeup on, and that smile of hers was really
something. I wondered if she was still
commando or if she had elected to wear panties.
Ah, those perennial philosophical questions that I ponder in my life
with Lo.
We sat in the living room talking
since we had plenty of time before we had to leave for the play and somehow the
conversation turned to the topic of tattoos.
I pointed out that neither Lo nor I have any tattoos and we were
discussing what and where we’d get them if we chose to do so.
“Do you have any tattoos?” asked Lo
of both of them, but she touched Mark’s arm as she asked it.
“Lo, don’t you remember? – We went
to the beach with them. I didn’t see any
tattoos on either of them,” I interjected.
“Actually,” Mark said, “I do have a
tattoo.”
“Na-ah,” said Lo in disbelief,
grabbing his arm. “Where?”
“Well, I’m actually not too proud of
it.”
“Come on,” she said. “Where?” she asked, turning to Stephanie for
a hint.
“There,” said Stephanie, pointing at
his crotch.
“Na-ah,” said Lo again. “On his. . . ?”
“No,” said Mark. “Not on
it. Just above it.”
“What is it, I have to know,” said
Lo.
“If you’re that curious, I’ll show
you,” said Mark, standing up and moving to undo his belt buckle, but obviously
joking. But Lo didn’t take it as a
joke.
“Really?!” she said, the word
escaping her mouth faster than her brain realized what she had said and with
how much enthusiasm she had said it.
“No,” said Mark. “You don’t really want me to show you, do you?”
Lo unwittingly licked her lips and
nodded her head “Yes.”
“Fine,” said Mark, “I’ll show
you.” He actually unbuckled his belt.
I suddenly got up and said, “I’m
going to refresh my drink. Can I get
anyone anything?”
I was met with no answer. I looked at the tableau. There was Lo on the couch on one side of
Mark, her head directly level with his pelvis, looking intently. Mark was standing, undoing his belt buckle, a
big smile on his face. And Stephanie was
sitting on the other side of Mark, almost unable to see the action, her legs
crossed, a slight frown on her lips, watching her husband’s movements in front
of this woman who was over ten years her junior.
I was in the kitchen and I suddenly
heard Lo’s admiring voice coo, “Wow!
Impressive!”
When I returned to the living room,
Mark was buckling up his belt.
“So, why an eagle?” asked Lo, now
touching his knee.
“I was in college, I was drunk, and
I thought that. . . now this is really embarrassing.”
“Out with it,” demanded Lo.
“I was into the symbolism of spirit
animals and I felt that the eagle was my spirit animal and this,” he said,
running his hand across the top of his pelvis, “was the seat of my spirit.”
Lo did her best not to giggle and to
really stroke his ego (though she wanted to stoke something else, I’m sure). But then she said abruptly, “Oh, fuck, I
forgot, I have to send a quick email for work.”
I was confused and I saw her grab
her phone and scurry off. “I’ll be right
back. Just five minutes. Promise.
I just have to take care of this little bit of business.”
OH!
I thought, Is that what she’s
up to now. You see, “TCB – Taking Care
of Business,” is our little code for her masturbating. That’s what she texts me when she can’t come
to the phone because she’s busy cumming to something else.
And just as quickly as that
revelation hit me, a second, more menacing one alighted, “She took her
phone. Oh, shit!”
But that second realization was just
a bit too late in arriving. She must
have already gotten into the bedroom or bathroom, took down her panties, if she
was wearing any at all, and already found a dirty little video to watch because
suddenly the music on the Bluetooth speaker switched to the sounds of two (or
more) people fucking. Yes. Right there in the living room, the pornographic
soundtrack filled the air like an ambient disembodied orgiastic orchestra.
“Ha ha,” I fumbled, “must be a
random connection crossing paths with our wireless.” I jumped to shut off the speaker and couldn’t
find the confounded button fast enough!
Finally, in the awkward silence, we sat just sort of looking at each
other as I struggled to fill the air that was now devoid of sex sounds but
pregnant with nothing. Small talk into
the void, I thought, not finding the words that would penetrate those deafening
drawn out moments of muted embarrassment.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, that shriek of Lo’s
climax cut the stillness with “Oh FUCK!”
“I’ll just go to check to make sure
everything’s ok,” I said, in haste to remove myself not only from the living
room, but, if possible, from the continent.
“LO!” I whispered as I entered the
bedroom and found her with her dress up over her waist, one of her dildos up
her crotch, on hand manipulating it as her other held her phone as she was
kneeling on the bed. She scampered to
make it look like she wasn’t up to no good, but there was no evading her
shenanigans.
“What?!” she angrily asked, also in
a whisper.
“They heard you. They heard everything.”
“What?”
“Yes. The porn, the orgasm, all of it. Now, put your toy down and get out here. Oh, and make up some sort of an excuse.”
I returned to our guests, looking as
if nothing was wrong and said, “Oh, Lo just, er, dropped her computer on her
foot.”
“Is she ok?” asked Stephanie, seeing
right through the ruse.
“Oh yeah,” I said, waiving my hand
as if to say, nothing to worry about.
No sooner had I done that than Lo
came out, in her heels, smiling, and she said, “Sorry about that, I just found
out that something terrible happened at work.”
“How’s your foot?” asked Stephanie.
“My foot?” asked Lo, perplexed. “Fine.”
“We were all worried,” I said,
“about the computer you dropped on it.”
“Computer I. . .” she began.
If I could have stepped on her foot
to give her the hint, I would have, but as it was, I think my eyes were saying
everything.
“Oh yeah,” said Lo, “my foot’s
fine. Just a little bruise,” she
said. “Will you rub it?” she asked me as
she sat on the couch and took off her heel and put her foot up on my lap.
“I thought you rubbed it.” I said,
accusatorily.
“Oh, I did. I did rub it, but it still hurts,” she
said. “It needs more rubbing,” she
added, and I could just hear her saying, “Daddio,” but she kept that to
herself, thankfully.
She shook her foot, as if to demand
my attention, and I said, “Wasn’t it your other
foot Lo?” just to mess with her.
“No, silly,” she said, “I think I
know which foot I dropped my computer on.”
So I began caressing her foot. We all continued our little chat, but this
time without any ambient music.
Eventually it was time to go and we
went to see the play.
Prior to that evening, I had no idea
what the play was about. I hadn’t even
heard of it. But ever since, that play
has been etched into my mind. In brief,
it is the story of a late 19th century doctor who treats women with
hysterical paroxysms. He used to induce
them digitally, but now he has discovered this newly invented medical device
that uses the also newly invented technology of electric power. The device?
A vibrator! The wife, who is
sexually frustrated, becomes curious about this mystery treatment and uses it
on herself, to her delight. I won’t give
too much of the wonderful story away here, lest you, dear reader, go to see it
– which I highly recommend.
But for the four of us to see that
play together, well, I can only surmise that this was the scheming of Lo’s
cunning mind. For, as you know by now,
Stephanie and Mark have been struggling with rekindling the sexual spark in
their marriage. In many respects, they
may have felt like they were watching their relationship play out on
stage.
Lo’s little foreplay at home may
have been an elaborate prelude to the main event. A little masturbatory appetizer for our
guests, only in order to fete them with a full course meal of onanistic
explorations. During the performance, Lo
was squirming in her seat as she sat, very conveniently and strategically
between me and Mark.
At intermission, Stephanie pulled Lo
aside, leaving Mark and me to get drinks at the crowded bar. I was thankful for the distraction, for I
honestly didn’t know what to say to him.
When we did have a moment of awkward interaction, he asked, “What do you
think of the play?”
I answered, “Wonderful, wonderful,”
ambiguously.
“I can see what Lo likes about it,”
he said, just as ambiguously.
“What wouldn’t she like about it?” I
asked rhetorically.
Just then the ladies returned and
the lights flashed off and on indicating time to return to our seats.
The final act was a very satisfying
one, especially if Mark and Stephanie saw themselves in the main
characters. After the final curtain came
down, Mark and Stephanie said hasty goodbyes, claiming they had to get home to
relieve the babysitter. But who knows
what the actual cause of their haste was.
When Lo and I were alone, I rebuked
her for her bad behavior.
“Are you angry, Daddy?” she asked.
“Lo, why did you give in to your
carnal desires when we had guests? Were
you just prepping them for the play or were you too much in lust after seeing
Mark unzip his pants for you?”
A couple getting off to “Match, Cinder & Spark” and mysexlifewithlola.com together
“A little from column A,” she said,
“and a little from column B.”
“More like a lot from column B,” I
added. “What exactly did you see?”
