Category Archives: cuckolding

It’s Complicated

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Time passed and the doppelganger couple, Lily and Jim, got engaged.  Prior to their engagement, but after Jim’s big reveal, Lily had invited me, just me, out for drinks a couple of times.  My suspicion was that Jim had told her about our conversation.  Now she knew that we knew of their open relationship.  But did they know of our half-open relationship?  Had Lo told her, him, them?  Or did Lily just suspect?

In any case, one thing was very clear to me – Lily was trying to seduce me.  She opened up to me, very casually and very explicitly, about the nature of the “intimacy” issues between her and Jim.

“As you know,” she began nonchalantly, “before I moved here, before I met Jim, I had a very active and interesting sex life.”  Everything about her was always “very interesting,” or at least she tried to make it seem so.

I just nodded my head as if to say, “Go on.”

“I was with a lot of men.”

This was clearly a ploy to get me to want her.  It was the fish hook that she thought she’d use to reel me in.  Nothing sparks desire for a woman like knowing that that woman is desired.  But what she didn’t take into consideration was my total contentment to Lo.

“They taught me things,” she said, alluding mysteriously to techniques and esoteric sex lore.  “And they were good.  Big and good.”

I didn’t need eyes that could see around corners to see where this was going.

“And Jim,” she continued, “I love him.  But. . .”

She didn’t say it, so I did, “But he’s small.”

“Yes!”  She felt relieved.  “So small!”

“Small can be cute,” I suggested.

“Cute doesn’t cut it,” she retorted.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said, not knowing what she was after – empathy, sympathy, understanding, or my cock.

“Thanks,” she said flatly.

“So that’s why you’re in an open relationship?”

“Yeah, but it’s not working out as I had hoped.  I was hoping that I’d be able to get some satisfaction in bed and he’d maybe learn a thing or two.  You know he’s very inexperienced sexually.”

I nodded or grunted or some such thing.

“But he just hasn’t been able to seal the deal with anyone else and it’s making the whole situation untenable.”

I thought for a while about the obvious question and then, throwing caution to the wind, I blurted it out.  “Why don’t you teach him?  I mean, if he has a lot to learn in bed, who better to teach him what you like?”

She leaned in very close to me and said in a more hushed tone than the bravado voice she had been speaking in up to now, “Because I’m a sub.  I don’t want to teach him.  I want him to take me, teach me, tell me what to do, and make me do it.  But he’s so nice,” she said it like it was a bad word, “he defers to me all the time.”

“Ah,” I said, leaning back and taking it all in.

She was still leaning towards me, which placed her eyes slightly below mine and so she was looking up at me with an expression that said, “I want you to take me, teach me, tell me what to do, and make me do very bad, dirty things.”

Just at that moment, I perceived ever-so-faintly the melodic voice of Camila Cabello waft through the restaurant singing:

 

Am I out of my head?
Am I out of my mind?
If you only knew the bad things I like
Don’t think that I can explain it
What can I say, it’s complicated
Don’t matter what you say
Don’t matter what you do
I only wanna do bad things to you
So good, that you can’t explain it
What can I say, it’s complicated

 

Yes, she wanted to do bad things to me.  Very bad things.  Though the image of Sabina Spielrein being spanked over Carl Jung’s lap (as depicted in the movie A Dangerous Method) crossed my mind for an instant, I wasn’t going to have it.  First, Lo.  Second, I like Jim and if he’s already beside himself with jealously, then I’m not going to put our friendship at risk for a tryst.

But in that moment I struck on an idea.  “What if Lo taught him?”

“Lo?” she repeated, sitting back in her chair, pondering the possibilities.

“Naked Brunch”

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“Lo!” I called from the bedroom into the bathroom through the closed door.  “LO!  What are you doing in there?!”  As if there were any question, really.

“Grrrrr, you’re not helping, you know!” came the response.  “This water pressure sucks!”

“Jim will be here in fifteen – no, ten minutes.”

You see Jim, of the “doppelganger” couple, was to come over for brunch that Sunday morning.  Lilly, his girlfriend, was out of town for a week and he had called me and asked if I would have time to talk.  When I told him that Lo and I were free Sunday morning, he clumsily apologized and said, “Oh, I meant just you and me.  I’m going through something and I. . .”

He was clearly uncomfortable and I felt bad for my assumption.  I didn’t put him through having to explain it all on the phone, so I simply said, “No worries.  Come on over at eleven and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Well, now it was ten to eleven Sunday morning and Lo had been in the shower, no doubt sitting on the tub’s floor with the showerhead between her legs, for the better part of half an hour.  She was supposed to be out of the house by now and I was getting irritated by the lack of consideration.  When I presented the plans to her, in typical Lola fashion she took umbrage at not being the center of attention.  “What could he possibly have to say to you that I can’t hear?  Do you think he’s breaking up with Lilly?  Do you think she left him?”

“Lo,” I said, “I don’t know.  But I do know that he’s a friend in need and I will find out the whole story on Sunday.”

“Well,” she said, insulted, “I have two ears just like you do.  I’m a good listener.  I can dole out advice.  I’m a comforting soul.”

“All of that is true, Lo,” I said, “but, hard as it is to believe, maybe he needs to talk man-to-man.”

“Harrumph!” she said, dramatically, “I could have a penis too, if I wanted one.  I’ve got like four or five different strap-ons under the bed.  Maybe if I had a penis he’d want to talk to me.”

“Lo, most men want to talk to you most of the time – penis or no penis.  Can’t you accept that this one time a guy wants to talk to me. . . alone?”

I got her to promise that she’d let us alone for a few hours so that I could hear whatever it was that Jim had to say to me.  But now she was dangerously close to intruding upon that precious one-on-one time.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a plume of steam into the bedroom.  From within the cloud, the naked body of Lola appeared like the epiphany of a goddess out of heaven.  Under normal circumstances, this would be the perfect opportunity to bend her over the edge of the bed and get on my knees to worship her posterior.  But we had a guest – no, correction, I had a guest – scheduled to arrive in mere moments.

“You like, Daddy?” she asked, seeing me soak her visage in with my eyes.

“Lola,” I said in my Ricky Ricardo to Lucy voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a jiffy!”

I took her word for it and went into the kitchen to take out the ingredients for the brunch I was preparing.  The doorbell rang and I welcomed Jim in, explaining that Lo is just getting a bit of a late start.  He greeted me with a smile and a bottle of champagne, “For mimosas,” he said.

“Wonderful idea!  Shall I pour two now?”

“It is brunch time,” he said.

I went into the kitchen and popped the cork and poured the bubbly in two long-stem glasses with OJ.  The kitchen is half-way between the living room and the bedroom.  From where I was in there, I could hear Lo beginning to moan.  I hastily grabbed the two glasses and returned to the living room where I said, “Some music?”  I turned on a Sunday blues station louder than was necessary, exclaiming, “I love this song!”

“Oh, who is it?” asked Jim.

Truth be told, I had no idea.  I just wanted something to drown out the inevitable cries of pleasure that would reverberate down the hallway.  “I forget, but I haven’t heard it in a long time,” I said as I felt beads of sweat on my brow.

We sat in the living room talking in raised voices over the music, just catching up with each other since it had been a while since we last spoke in person.

“Refill?” I asked when I saw his glass was empty.

He passed me his glass and I went to the kitchen.  I went to refill his glass and quickly darted over to the bedroom where I peered in the door.  Lo was naked on the bed, Hitachi between her legs.  She looked over at me and whispered, “Sorry.”

“Are you done?” I whispered back, accusingly.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I closed the door and brought out the mimosas to the living room, turning down the music now.  We chatted some more and then Lola walked into the room wearing her thin, tight, black yoga pants and a crop top, exposing her midriff.

“Hi Jim,” she said, flirtatiously.

“Hi Lola!”

“Don’t mind me.  I’m just on my way to the gym for a yoga class.  I know you boys want your time alone.  I just have to get my gym bag.”  Though her gym bag was in the hall leading to the living room and she could have simply picked it up, she made a production of turning around, bending over, protruding her tail in the air and then picking it up.  It was a classic stripper move designed to provide the best view for Jim.

“Doesn’t that class start at eleven?” I asked facetiously.  “You’d better get a move-on.”

“I’ll hightail it there, D—”  She almost said “Daddio,” but stopped herself mid-consonant.  “Don’t worry about me,” she stammered.  She gave me a kiss goodbye and was finally out the door.

I observed with keen interest how Jim’s eyes followed Lo’s ass as she sauntered away.

When she was definitively gone, I got up and said, “Want to accompany me as I prepare the brunch?”

He followed me into the kitchen where I sliced and diced, fried and prepared the meal as he made some small talk.  We sat down, ate, drank some more mimosas, and then, finally, he got to that which was on his mind.

“You know that Lilly is in Miami now,” he said.

“Yeah, how’s that going?”

“Well, she’s been away for four days and. . .”

I thought he was going to tell me that they had broken up and she wasn’t returning back, even though – or perhaps because – they had just moved in together.  But that’s not where he was going with this.

“Well, you might not know this,” he continued, “but she and I are in an ‘open’ relationship.”  He made air-quotes around “open.”  No.  No, I had not known that.  Does he know about Lo and me?  I hadn’t told him.  Had Lo?  Why bring this up with me?  Had he found our blog?  So many things ran through my mind at that moment.

“Until now,” he continued, “it really was an understanding between us, an operating principle, but it wasn’t put into practice.”

“Ah ha,” I nodded, indicating my understanding.

“But she called the other night – it was the first night she was down there – and she asked if she could sleep with a guy she met at the bar.”

“Oh,” I said.  “And?”

“That’s just the thing – I was already asleep.  I didn’t get the message until the next morning and by then it was too late.”

“Too late?” I didn’t know if he meant the opportunity had come and gone or if the opportunity had cum and stayed.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?  Did she?”

He swallowed hard and admitted, “Yes.  She didn’t hear back from me and, operating on our understanding, she slept with him.  She did try to ask permission and she waited for a reply,” he said in defense of her before I even had a chance to react.

“How are you doing with that?”

“That’s just the thing, I’m doing horrible with it.”  The distress was clear on his face.

I still hadn’t figured out why he had chosen to confide in me about this.

“What, exactly, is upsetting you about it?”

Let’s be clear here, in most situations if a fella came to his friend’s house and told him that he just found out that his girlfriend had slept with another man, there wouldn’t be any question as to what, exactly, was upsetting about it.  But this wasn’t most situations.  He got that and I did too.

“When I agreed to an open relationship, I did so because I knew that that was what she was used to and what she wanted.  It was at the beginning of our relationship when you feel like nothing could derail the connection.  But. . .”  He took a deep drink of mimosa and I refilled his glass.  “But since then we’ve had some issues. . .”  Long pause again.  “Intimacy.  She says that we don’t connect sexually and spiritually.  She says she loves me in every other way, but. . . and this is really hard to admit, she’s just not satisfied with my performance in bed.  So, to hear about her with another man, it’s driving me nuts!”

I thought to myself, “You can either let it get to you or embrace your inner cuck and love your hotwife for who she is.”  I didn’t say that to him, of course.  I just lent a compassionate ear to his tale of woe.  I gave some worldly advice, perhaps revealing more about myself and my relationship with Lola than I had intended, but not stating anything explicit about my relationship with her.  I was eager to find out the root of their sexual disconnect, but careful not to pry.  I knew that, had Lo been there – had she been the Lady Confessor – she would have been able to coax it out of him.

No sooner had I thought this than in the door appeared Lo.  Jim put on his best smile and greeted her.  “How was the yoga class?”

“So good,” said Lola.  “How was your brunch?”

“We’re just finishing up,” said Jim as he cleared his plate and, as it seemed to me, hastily began to say goodbye.

As soon as he was out the door, Lo looked at me and said, “Did I scare him off?”

“I think you did,” I said, as surprised as she by the abrupt departure.

“Good,” she said, “now we’re alone.  Tell me everything!”

“First, young lady,” I said in a scolding manner, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Hearing my rebuking tone, she turned tail and said, “I’m sorry, Daddy, spank me!”  She bent over in her yoga pants and put her bum in the air.  I gave her a good, hard, thrashing with my flat, open hand.  It was clearly having an arousing effect upon her.

“Why are you spanking me, Daddy?”

“First,” I said, giving her bum a whack, “for jilling it in the shower.  Second” and another whack, “for being late out the door.  Third,” Whack! “for jilling it in bed.  Fourth,” Whap! “for walking out in those yoga pants.”

“You noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“I think you know.”

“Your cameltoe?”

“So you did notice?  I didn’t wear any panties under the yoga pants.  I pulled them up tight so that when I walked out my pussy, with all its clearly outlined folds, would be eye-level with Jim as he sat in the living room.”

WHACK!

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, licking her lips at the pain and pleasure.  “I was bad.  I purposely teased him.  Did you like that?”

I pulled down her yoga pants and spanked her bare bottom now.  “Fifth, for returning so early and teasing him again!”

“Take me in the bedroom and tell me what happened.”

I took her and told her the whole story.  She masturbated to each detail and then said, “Do you think he came to you because he suspects I’m a hotwife?”

“Yes,” I said, “and not only that, but I think that what’s really going on is he’s feeling threatened that Lilly will get all the action and he’ll get none.  I think his coming to me was his way of asking permission if it would be ok to fuck you, just so he can play too.”

“Really?!” asked Lo, very excited.  “What makes you think that?”

“Just my gut.  But I think he’s way too shy or uptight to actually come out and say it.”

“Do you think he has a small cock?  Or trouble getting it up?  Or. . .”

“Lo, I really don’t know.  I haven’t put too much thought to it, but I’m sure you could be the cure to whatever ails him.”

“Oh, Daddy, hurry up and get in me!”

As soon as I had penetrated her puss to the hilt, she came in waves, gushing all over me.  It took nothing more than that initial lance before she was convulsing upon my hard shaft.  When she was done, she asked, “Did he like your brunch?”

“I think he would have preferred to have your naked peaches and cream.”

Original art by Jo Koss

Lola Left to Her Own Devices

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We were separated for a week.  She went out of town.  When we are reunited, I slip into bed next to her naked body.  She wakes enough to ask, “Did you masturbate while I was gone?”

“No?”

“Did you hook up with anyone?”

I chuckle a little bit.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because, darling, I didn’t even leave the house.”

“Did any one come to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean, someone could have cum to me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.  There are whole hosts of people who could have cum to me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I simply mean that I, er, rather, you and I, get emails quite frequently from people who tell me, I mean, er, us, that they have cum to me.  That is, to my stories about you.  Any number of people could have cum to me anywhere around the world while you were gone.  And many times at that!”

“Oh,” she says.  “Well, that’s not what I mean.  You just forget about all of them, because you have got the real thing, naked, right here in bed with you right now.”

“Well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you masturbate while you were gone?”

“Frequently.”

“Did you hook up with anyone?”

“Fuck me and you’ll find out.”

“I haven’t seen you for a week.  Can’t we get reacquainted first?”
“Sure.  That sounds like fun.”

I lean in to kiss her.  Our lips meet.  Her tongue finds mine.  She begins to maneuver so that I slide to her neck and her breasts.

“So much for our reacquaintance,” I say.

“I want to get to know you, like really know you, in the biblical sense.”

“I see.”

“My legs are spread, now get in there.”

“Ah,” I say as I slide down her torso, “sweeter words have never been spoken.”

I give soft, gentle kisses to her labia.  She moans. Within moments she is pressing my head hard down onto her clit.  She climaxes without warning.

“Now fuck me, Daddy,” she whispers.

“But I just ate you out.  Don’t you want. . .”

Before I could finish, she says, “Pussy isn’t like cake.”

“What?”

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too.  But you can eat me and have me too.  Now, have me.”

I slide in, penetrating her dripping pussy.  She moans.  She cums.

“I thought you were going to tell me about your time away,” I say, eager to hear her voice and the stories she has to tell.

“Just stay in me and I’ll tell you everything you want to hear.”

I hold her body tightly in my arms and she begins to tell me about how at the hotel bar a guy approached her.  She describes his attractive features and stylish suit.  She adds, “But I knew he wasn’t actually interested in sleeping with me.”

“Why’s that?”

“As we were talking, he told me what I already suspected.  He was gay.  I said to him, ‘What’s a nice gay boy like you doing following a slut like me?’ and he said, he just wanted someone to talk to and I looked approachable.  We talked for a while and then we politely said goodnight.  I went to the elevator to go to my hotel room, horny, but glad to have met someone new.  Just as I got to the elevator at the hotel lobby, a whole team of college hockey players had just arrived on their bus from who-knows-where.  I got to talking to them and a bunch of us went up to my room.  Basically, there were a lot of guys packed into a tight space.”

“Wait,” I said, as I fucked her with more intensity, eager to hear where her story was leading, “are you talking about your hotel room?”

“I was talking about my pussy.”

Before she could go on, I pull out.  (It had been a long time.  The idea of Lo knowing that she looked like a slut in the hotel bar, being approached by a guy, and acknowledging her sluttiness was almost too much for me.  But then, to hear those words from her lips – well, that was beyond my mortal powers.)  I cum and I cum quickly and a lot.  I project a “shooting star” up and over her head, landing on the pillow.

Lola complains that she was just warming up.

“Let me remind you that you came twice to my nill.”

“As it should be,” she says, precociously, adding, “But aren’t you good for at least one more?  I mean, it’s been a fucking week!  A week of no fucking.  You gotta be hard-up enough for one more shag.  All I want to do is bone, but you won’t give me your bone to do it with.”

“I can’t.  I don’t have a bone.  It’s the missing link.”

She takes out her Hitachi to do herself in bed as I go take a shower.  When I’m done, I open the bathroom door to look at her.  “You may go.  I’m busy here,” she says dismissively.

“You may cum,” I reply.  “You certainly seem to love yourself,” I say.

Looking up from her horizontal position on the bed, she says to me, “I feel most confident when making myself climax.  Or maybe I climax just when I feel most confident.  Either way, I’m good at it.”

“Well, all your admirers enjoy it,” I reply, snapping a photo of her.

She looks down between her legs and sees me with my camera out.  She pulls away the Hitachi, spreading her legs wide.  “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille,” she says as I get her puss in focus.

“Say cheese!”

Instead, she lets out a long moan while ejaculating.  I just barely avoid a disaster with my non-waterproof camera.

“I hope you got the money shot,” she says, catching her breath.

“You know, as much as I love you and love to fuck you, it’s difficult to compete with how much you love and fuck yourself.”

“It’s not about quantity, it’s about how deep the love is.”

“How deep is your love?”

She giggles, humming the melody to the song, “How Deep is Your Love,” before telling me, “Masturbation is what self-love looks like in public.”

I turn to leave the room and leave Lo to her own devices, but just as I step into the hall, I hear her screaming at the top of her lungs.  I open the door and see her spouting from between her legs as if a pipe had burst.  She tries to close her legs to shut off the waterworks, but it’s futile.  Might as well let it all out.  When she’s done she turns to me and says, “I came, I saw, I came,” victoriously.

“What did you see?” I ask.

“I think I saw God.”

 

My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

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“I’m so fat!” she decried as she stood in her bikini looking in the mirror at her reflection.

“You say that like fat is a bad thing,” I said with a smile.

“Shut up.”

“What?  All I’m saying is I like some meat on your bones.  You always tell me how much you like my meat and to bone.”

She threw a pillow at me.  “You’re tapping into my greatest insecurity.”

“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.

“Your weakness is me.”

“I know.  I know.  Lola, you’re my Kryptonite.  I’m the Man of Steel.  But after being around you I go soft as a Slinky.  But seriously,” I said, “come here.”

She walked to me like a child who had just been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She stood in front of me.  I grabbed and kissed the small bulge above her bikini line.

“Stop it!  You know I hate that!”

“But I love it.  It’s so sexy.”

“I have to work on my beach body.”

“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”

“We both should exercise.”

“Exercise?!  Are you kidding me?  I just heard about a forty-year-old man who dropped dead – DEAD! – while on the treadmill.  Oh no.  Not for me, thank you.”

“What are you talking about?  He probably had a preexisting condition.  He probably had heart problems or was overweight.”

“That’s proof!  Proof that exercise is bad for you.  Positively lethal!”

“That’s not proof.”

“All I’m saying is that you never hear of a perfectly healthy forty-year-old man dying on his couch while reading a book.”

“Give me a break!” she said, throwing her arms in the air.

Lo and I went down to the pool of the hotel.

It was Valentine’s Day, we were on vacation in a warm-weather city, and Lo was looking like one sweet-tart.

Lo thought that, as usual, I had failed to make any plans for V-Day.  There she was wrong.

After some hours by the pool where she only got jealous of the other bikini babes walking past me, lounging in the reclining chairs, or dangling their feet in the water, we both were hungry and, after changing, I surprised her for the first time that day by actually having a lunch destination suggestion.

“Chinese?!” she questioned, both skeptical and disappointed.

We drove through the grid of the city to the special Chinese restaurant I had scoped out.  This wasn’t just your average Chinese joint; it was a newly opened, chic, “Asian-fusion” place simply called Red that was all the rage.

Luckily, Lo was impressed.

After our meal, Lo’s Fortune Cookie read: “Emotion is energy in motion” and I added “in bed.”

When we got back to the car, a compact, two-seater, Lo laughed as she got in.

“What?” I asked, curious as to what she found so amusing.

“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.

“I want to know.”

“I’ll tell you later, when you’re older.”

“Lo, I’m older now.  I’ll always be older.  So, out with it.”

“Where are we going now, Daddio?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Where would you like to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. . . some dive bar.”

“That should be easy enough,” I said as I got the car started and, put the top down, and pulled out into the busy road by the beach.

No sooner had we gotten stuck in the see-and-be-seen crowd of the resort road, than Lo leaned back with one high-heel shod foot dangling seductively over the edge of the door and the other up on the dash as she flashed me, venting up her skirt in the warm, humid, sea-salty air.

“Lo, you’re doing it again?”

“Doing what, Daddio?”

“Flashing in public.”

“Am I?  But we’re in the privacy of our own vehicle.”

“Lo,” I said, as I gave her a side-long glance, trying to focus on traffic.

“You like, Daddio?” she asked.

That night I surprised even myself by having dinner reservations, chocolate, cupcakes, roses, and a card all lined up.  Good job, HH.  I congratulate you.  When we got to the red rented convertible, I popped the top down and looked in the back seat, saying to Lo, “Oh, look there, someone must have left something in the car before we rented it.”

She looked over the bucket seat and saw, sitting on the leather behind her, the scarlet box of chocolates, the bouquet of roses, a box of pink-frosted cupcakes, and a cardinal colored envelope.

Hopping in, she tore into the card.  It was an e. e. cummings poem and a little note from me.

She read the e.e. cummings poem and looked at me seductively and said, “Soon I’ll be-e cumming too.”

She then opened the cupcakes and slowly sank her mouth over the pink-frosted top, taking a slow, seductive bite.

“Lo!  We’re on our way to dinner,” I jokingly rebuked her.  “You can’t eat dessert before dinner.”

“But Daddy,” she said, looking at me with frosting on her lips.  “you know that I can’t pass up a good cream filling.”

“How did you know it was a cream filling?  You’ve only just had the frosting.”

“I wasn’t talking about the cupcake,” she said as she bit into it again.  She then leaned over the seat and gave me a big, wet, frosted kiss.  “But I know that you know that cream filling is my favorite and so I figured you got me what I wanted.”

Secretly, I delighted in seeing her eat the cupcake.  A certain kink, that is, if she was into it too, which she most definitely was not.

We got to the restaurant and Lo was wearing a cute, short red dress and matching pumps.  She looked adorable.  I could tell that all eyes were on her, just as she likes it.

“Lo,” I said as we sat at our romantic, candle-lit table, “you look better than ever!”

“Oh, go on,” she said, vainly.  I love her vanity.

“Really, they say that men get better looking with age and that may be true.  But you, my dear, look better to me every day we’re together.”

She slipped her right foot out of her sexy shoe under the table and lifted it to rub my leg up and down, showing her appreciation of my sincere, but flattering words.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Why not, Daddy?”

“Because I may have to ravish you right here and now, rather than wait until we get back to the hotel and in bed.”

“Sex is not just something that happens in bed.  Sex is a lifestyle.”

“You should write adult fortune cookies.”

She continued to rub my leg up and down, stretching now to touch my crotch.  Her antics were hidden by the long tablecloth draped over the cozy round table, but I have no doubt an onlooker would be able to tell what she was up to.

After our meal, the waiter asked if we’d like dessert.  I looked at Lo.  “I really shouldn’t, I had the cupcake in the car,” she said.

I looked at the waiter and ordered an espresso and the red velvet cake for the lady.

After the waiter left, Lo said to me, “Daddio, I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then do it.  Why not?  It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

The cake and espresso came and I almost did too as I watched Lo eat the decadently delicious confection.

“Let’s go to the hotel and order a whole cake for you to eat while I eat you out,” I suggested, eager to have my luscious little Lo.

“Not yet, Daddio,” she said.  “It’s early.  Let’s go out for a few drinks first.”

“But I want you so much right now,” I said as I watched her tongue lick her red lips of the crimson cake crumbs.

“I’ll give you an appetizer in the car.”

We got in the convertible and Lo turned toward me in the red leather bucket seat.  She spread her legs and rubbed her pussy over her cherry colored panties.

“I like how your entire outfit matches.”

“I’m good like that.”

I drove down the main drag of the city and Lo let the seat go back, lifted her feet onto the dashboard, and removed her panties.  “I won’t be needing these where we’re going,” she said as she tossed them high in the air.  I saw them fly upwards and then down onto the road behind us.

“Lo!” I scolded.

“She laughed.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of us.”

“Oh, Daddio,” she said, rubbing my arm, “don’t be so rigid about the rules.  Are you rigid?” she asked, moving her hand down to my cock.

“Like a ruler,” I said.

“If only you were twelve inches!” she exclaimed.

I parked the car and we went into a cute little bar called “Rosebud & Thistle.”

“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said as we walked to the joint.

“Rosebud.”

“What about it?”

“That was the last word he said.”

“And the name of his sled.”

“Did you know that it was also what William Randolph Hearst called his wife’s clit?”

“Now you’re just making that up,” she said skeptically.

“I appreciate your esteem of my creativity, but that’s a fact.”

“Well, why don’t you have a pet name for my clit?” she asked peevishly.

“Because, to me, you’re so much more than your clit.”

“Good save,” she said as we walked in the bar.

Inside was drenched in dim, romantic, rubicund light with lots of tufted leather love seats and a long bar with classic, 1950s style shiny red leather and chrome stools.

“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.

She scanned the space and settled on the bar, leading me to the far corner.  We found two vacant stools kitty-corner to each other.  She made for one that was next to a lone gentleman who stared into his dwindling drink.  She interrupted his ponderings to ask if the stool was taken and he politely invited her to sit.  She slid up on the stool which, given her diminutive size, meant that her feet didn’t touch the ground.  She smiled at him and I could see her eyes penetrate his dark soul.

Immediately she initiated small talk with him, telling him that we are from out of town and never had been to this place before.  “Is there something pretty and sweet that catches your eye?” she asked before adding, “on the menu.”

He began to make a recommendation, but before he could even get it out, she interrupted him and said, “You know,” grabbing his elbow, “I’m in the mood for something stiff.”  He looked at her, his eyes growing a little wider.  “What are you drinking?” she asked.

He simply said, “Whiskey.”

“Straight?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Well, I’m not straight,” she said, “I want something complicated.”

She looked at the drink menu and put her finger to her lips, contemplating the choices in her mind.

I cleared my throat since throughout this award-worthy performance, I had remained silent.

“OH!” said Lo, introducing me, “This is my man, HH.  HH, this is. . .”

Obviously she didn’t know his name.

“Ron,” he said.

“Hi, Ron,” I said.

“HH, will you order me a pomegranate martini?  I’m going to freshen up,” she said as she attempted to scooch off of her stool.  But the sliding down lifted up her red dress and nearly exposed her rosebud.

“Whoops!” she exclaimed, waiting just long enough for Ron to see before pulling down the front of her dress.

Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.

I sat at the bar making conversation with Ron for a few moments before Lo returned.

“So, Ron,” she said almost immediately, “why are you here all alone on Valentine’s Day?”

I felt that that was none of Lo’s concern, but there was no putting the question back in between her just glossed lips now.

Ron went into a long story about breaking up with his girlfriend of four years only a few days ago.  Turns out she was cheating on him.

“What can I do to cheer you up?” asked Lo, sliding her dress up.

“You’re already cheering me up,” he said with great appreciation in his voice.

Lo’s drink came.

“How’s your drink?” I asked as she took a sip.

“It’s wet.”

“Your drink?”

“That too.”

Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.

I took great delight in seeing her eat her third dessert and flirting with Ron as I sipped my Manhattan.

“Mmmmm, this is so fucking good!” she said as she took another bite.

“‘Fucking’ is unnecessary and vulgar,” I replied.

“I don’t agree at all.  For me fucking is completely necessary and appropriate.”

“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.

“That’s what I meant,” she responded immediately.  “Why, what were you talking about?”

“I was talking about your vocabulary.  You have a dirty mouth.”

“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”

Then Lo turned and offered a taste of the cake to her new friend and he took it.  “Isn’t that just heaven?” she asked as her right hand rested his left arm on her bare leg.  He nodded yes and I could see him rubbing her thigh.  When the cake and drinks were consumed, Lo paid the bill, pulling some dollars out of her ruby purse.

“I would have got that,” I said as the bartender took Lo’s cash.

“That’s ok, Daddio,” she said, “this has been my treat.”

Lo kissed Ron on the cheek, slid awkwardly off the stool again, and wished him a happy Valentine’s Day, adding, “Next time, let her cheat – it’s more fun that way.”

Lo put her arm around mine and we went out to the car.

“Lo, you were very bad in there,” I said.

“Was I?” she asked, feigning innocence.  “I thought I was very good.”

When we got in the car, she kicked off her heels and put her feet up on my lap.  “Rub them, Daddy,” she said.

I caressed her toes and instep with my left hand and she moaned.

“Did you like Rosebud, Daddy?” she asked.

“You mean the bar or your clit?” I asked back, looking at her rub her pussy as I pulled out of the parking spot.

“Yes,” she said enigmatically.

“I liked watching you eat three desserts,” I said.  “Maybe tomorrow I’ll get donuts for breakfast.”

“I’m like the perfect donut – delicious, hot, fresh, with a lovely hole.”

“You sure have a way with words,” I said.

“My tongue is wicked, that’s why it’s red, but my soul is pure as the driven snow.”

“Well, that wicked tongue of yours was really charming the pants off of good ole Ron.”

“Can it charm the pants off of you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked as I looked at her, driving distracted.

“Take your cock out.”

“Lo, I’m driving.  In a convertible.  On the main street of this city.”

“Exactly,” she said, wiggling her toes over my lap.

At a red light, I unzipped and pulled out my hard shaft.

We drove on and as we did her feet and toes caressed me. The surprise of it all brought me to an unexpected climax as well, covering Lo’s toes with my warm jizz.

This presented a problem.  My trousers were soaked.  The seat had a puddle.  Everything was wet and sticky.  How were we to get into the hotel to clean off?

“Well, isn’t this a fine mess you got us into?” I asked, mimicking Oliver Hardy’s constant refrain to Stan Laurel.  But the allusion was lost on Lo.  Different generation.

“What do you mean I got us into?!”

“Just kidding, dear.  But what are we going to do?”

“Not a problem.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Just drive up to the side entrance of the hotel.”

“What are you going to do, put on your invisicloak?”

“Sort of.”

I drove up and Lo said to me, “Leave your phone and wallet in the car and follow me.”

I followed her and she used her hotel key to let us in the pool entrance.  She walked as if she was tipsy and, as if she were walking a balance beam, she tiptoed along the edge of the pool before “accidentally” falling in.

After a split second of shock, I kicked off my shoes and dove in after her, fully clothed.

A few of the guests and the staff ran over to the pool.  I held Lo in my arms, her red dress clinging to her breasts, her little bare feet kicking and splashing.  She faked coughing.

“It’s all right,” I called out.  “I got her!  But could someone get us a couple of towels?”

Men rushed to help and we both got out of the pool even more soaking than we had been a few moments ago.  We wrapped ourselves in the plush white terrycloth towels and I turned to Lo and said, “Pure as the driven snow.”

She looked at me, her mascara dripping down her face, her hair matted down, and she smiled saying, “You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome?!  I saved you!”

“By letting you save me, I saved you.  Happy Valentine’s Day Daddy.”

Back in the hotel room, after a long hot shower, as I lay naked on the bed watching Lo brushing out her hair, I put on a song that summed up Lola’s V-Day shenanigans.  It’s called, “What Ever Lola Wants,” sung by Sarah Vaughan

 

Whatever Lola wants
Lola gets
And little man little Lola wants you

Make up your mind to have (your mind to have)
No regrets (no regrets)
Recline yourself resign yourself you’re through

I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for

Whatever Lola wants (Lola wants)
Lola gets (Lola gets)
Take off your coat
Don’t you know you can’t win (can’t win you’ll never never win)

You’re no exception to the rule
I’m irresistible you fool
Give in (give in you’ll never win)

I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for

When she came out of the bathroom, she said, “Damn straight!  And now I’m coming for your cock.”

She crawled on the bed and, just to tease her, I said, “I thought I’d read a little.”

She spread her legs and replied, “Read between the lines,” as she placed her middle finger between her lush red labia.

“Looks like it says, ‘Rosebud,’” I said as I indulged in my dessert.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

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It was one of those lovely summer days when you look out the window from your office and see everyone walking on the crowded street in t-shirts and miniskirts and you just wish it was the weekend and not Wednesday.  I had walked to work in the morning and, though I knew it would be a scorcher walking home in my suit, I couldn’t wait to get out of the office.  Finally five-o-clock arrived and I walked under the still blazing June sun back home, feeling the sweat soak the back of my shirt, but glad to be outside.  It was like some sort of primitive instinct.  We are sometimes more animal than human and this was one of those times that my body knew with greater intellect than my mind that we were not made to sit eight hours a day under florescent lights.

Walking up the street to home, I saw Lola sitting on the front stoop in her little blue Daisy Dukes and very loose-fitting tank top (no bra) talking with two young men.  As I got closer, I could see (without hearing the words spoken, just from their body-language) that the two guys were simply making small-talk in order to keep looking down Lo’s shirt.  I could also see that Lo was more than happy to let them, feigning complete ignorance of what was happening.

I got a little closer yet and now, even from the distance where I was, I could see Lo’s nipples through the white T.  She was smiling and saying something that I could just about hear.  Oh, that’s it, she’s complaining about how dry it has been and what it’s doing to her flowers as she crouches down to caress one of her prized plants.  This was just a rouse, of course, to allow them to see more of her breasts and to get her eyes level with their groins.

It was at that point that she spied me walking home.  She stood up and said, “And this is H.H.”  She nodded in my direction and added, “Like I said, he’s going to be away this weekend.”  I greeted the two young fellows with a handshake, and they introduced themselves as Roy and Gary.  “They live there,” said Lo, standing a bit on her tiptoes, pointing down the street.  “They just moved in a couple of weeks ago.”

The boys picked it up from there, explaining that they’re brothers and one of them just graduated high school, the other is a freshman in college and they just moved in up the street.  I introduced myself and Lo again said, “It’s too bad you’ll be out of town on business Friday through Sunday cause it’s supposed to be perfect beach weather.  I can’t wait to start my tan!  Maybe Friday, after work, I’ll lie out in the back yard.”  Though she was saying all of this to me, it wasn’t meant for me at all.  It was meant for the boys.  A transparent code for, “I’ll be alone this weekend and in a bikini (or less) and you should definitely come see me.”

The boys, big grins on their faces, knowing that they got away with something, made their excuses for having to go back home and said, “Nice meeting you,” as they left.

“What was that all about?” I asked Lo when they were gone.

“Just being neighborly.”

“By letting them see your tits?”

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.  Does that upset you, Daddy?”

“Plan on throwing a little party for them while I’m gone this weekend?”

“I hope they’ll both come!” she said, running her tongue over her lips.

“I’m sure they will.  You’re very lucky that such good looking guys moved so close.  You could be their go-to slut.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Should I drill a couple of holes in the fence?”

“Oh, Daddy, you’re bad!”

“No, you’re bad.”

“Well, if you have time before you have to leave and it’s not too much trouble. . . ”

“Lola!”

“Just kidding.  Why don’t you go inside, take a shower, and then drill me.”

With Sexy Company

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Just saw that mysexlifewithlola.com was included among the top 13 erotica sites for women! The best part about it is that the list includes so many of our favorite bloggers! Very glad to be among them!!!  Thank you!

[Illustration by JoKoss. If you want us to read your blog, just write to us: downloladown@gmail.com]

Sexy Shorts: Master Debater

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In the bar, I held my cold beer and watched from a distance as some stranger tried to pick up Lo.  A smile ran across my beer-froth-covered lips as I saw her sitting on the barstool in her tight dress looking delectable with her curves in all the right places.

Earlier that night Lo and I had met up with the doppelgangers, Lilly and Jim, for the first Presidential Debate.  None of us were up to the task of hosting, so we decided to enjoy the political poppycock in a public forum.  We found the smallest, saddest, scuzziest dive-bar we could and went in there hoping for a subdued crowd of barflies.  We got what we came for and the little old man tending bar was more than accommodating to us.  Not only did he turn on the debate, but he had no objection to turning up the volume when a crowd of boisterous twenty-somethings filtered in (after being thrown out of some other place, no doubt).

When we arrived, Jim sat to the left, then Lilly to his right, and then Lo.  I stood behind the three of them because I wanted to both hear the TV and also be able to hear everyone’s conversation.  But that had the unintended, yet most welcome, consequence of making it look like Lo was unattached.

A middle-aged man in a flannel shirt came into the bar.  I saw him glance over all the possibilities before he sat on the stool next to Lo and ordered a beer.  Within mere moments he was talking with her – asking her what he had missed of the debate and soliciting her opinion about the opponents.  At first, Lo was rebuffing his advances.  I could tell by her body language.  She repeatedly turned her back to him and tried to talk with the doppelgangers.  But, by his second beer and repeated conversation starters, I could see that she was beginning to let her guard down.  At one point she looked over her shoulder at me and, no doubt, saw my devilish grin.  She responded with a mischievous, seductive look in her eyes, as if saying to me, “I’m going to leave this bar with you and fuck you later, but first I’m going to make you good and hard by flirting with this guy next to me.”

If that was her plan, she performed it to a tee.

Since Jim and Lilly have no inkling about Lo’s secret hotwife-life, when the guy at the bar got up to use the Loo, Lo took that opportunity to say to them, “I just realized, with HH standing back there and me here, it looks like I’m a third wheel!  Like I’m single!”  She said it as if it were astonishing, but I knew it was all an act.  She added, “I think I’ll have some fun with this.”

When the man returned to his barstool, Lo turned to him, tossing her hair with her hand, and began a deep, heated conversation.  I could only hear snippets of their words because they were talking in the hushed tones of an intimate exchange; no longer the public commentary on the debate.

Lo opened the conversation with, “So, are you married?”

“No, divorced,” I heard him respond and then he went on to explain for a while, much of which I didn’t catch.

Lo nodded her head and looked deep into his eyes, feigning empathy.  At one point she put her hand on his and said, “Oh, you poor thing.”

Soon he was inching his stool closer to Lo’s and put his hand on her back and rubbed it up and down a bit.  Lo leaned into it and made him feel comfortable doing it.  She was flirting with her eyes and tongue.

I was rock hard in my pants as I pretended to be a bystander watching the debate, but I was actually watching the two of them very closely.

They talked and talked as the debate went on and on.  Finally, when everyone stood up to leave, Lo introduced the man to Jim and Lilly and then turned to me and said, “And this is my boyfriend, HH.  HH, meet So-and-So.”  I didn’t catch his name because I was too enthralled by Lo’s dramatic flair for bringing her flirtations to an end.  I extended my hand and shook his and then Lo and I left the bar, arm-in-arm, with the doppelgangers.  When we were outside, we all had a pretty good laugh about it.

Back at home, Lo and I had a very good tryst in bed, as I told her what a bad girl she was and she repeatedly teased me with what a slut she is and the various things she would do with the guy from the bar.  She admitted to me that the only reason she didn’t bring him home was because we were out with the doppelgangers and she didn’t want to take the chance of frightening them off.  Let them find out more about us, little-by-little, first.  She’s a wicked one.

Money, Booze, Sex, & Lola

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“Did you see this?” she said, holding a piece of mail in her hand and waiving it in the air.  I could tell by her tone and the scowl on her face, we hadn’t won the Publishers Clearing House prize.

“What?”

“You bounced our rent check!  That’s what.”

“I bounced it?!”

“Yeah, you.”

“Well, it’s our checking account.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one responsible for balancing the books.”

“Oh, so because I do more than my fair share of work, I am also responsible?  No good deed ever goes unpunished in this house!”

“You’re not responsible because you take on the balancing, you’re responsible because you fucked up the balancing.”

“How the hell am I supposed to balance a checkbook when you have the debit card and spend through our cash?”

The fight went on like this for some time before I finally walked out the door.

My phone rang.  I didn’t answer.  I was in the car with no particular place to go other than away.

The phone rang again.  Again I didn’t answer.  I just grew even more heated.  Why should we talk when we’re both angry?

A text came through, “You’re being conflict-avoidant again.”

At a red light I texted back, “And you’re being annoying again.”

The light had changed and the guy behind me honked his horn before I had time to hit send.  I gave him the finger.  Asshole.

I drove to my office – my refuge from the storm.

She called again.

“What?!” I said, answering the phone.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a contrite voice.

I wasn’t expecting an apology.  I was expecting a continuation of the fight.  My tone was completely over-the-top.  But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet.  Her apology was met with silence.

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she asked.

If she was looking for a reciprocation of an apology, then she was sorely mistaken.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Come home,” she said.

“No.”

“Are you going to the bar?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but that’s a good idea.”

“No!  Come home!”

“I might.  It depends on if I’m coming home to a hornet’s nest or not.”

“You won’t!  I promise.  You’ll come home to a horny-nest!”

“Lo, sex isn’t the answer to every one of life’s problems.”

“I’m not looking for answers, I’m looking to get off.”

I returned home, a little more calm.

We talked about money a bit more in quieter tones.  I explained that our finances are just a bit short right now, “but I’m confident things will be better next month.”

“That’s just the problem,” Lo said, exasperated, “you always think that next month will be better than this month.  What if it’s the same?  What if it’s worse?”

“So you’re saying that my worst quality is that I’m an incorrigible optimist? – I can live with that.”

“No!  I’m not saying that’s your worst quality, but that’s what you hear because you are an incorrigible optimist.”

I fixed myself a whiskey on the rocks.

We talked some more before agreeing to revisit the problem another day.  She suggested going out that night.

“Out?!” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.  “Let’s go out and have a good time.  Maybe you can watch me flirt with someone.”

“Here we are, scraping together the pennies from our spare-change jar to pay the rent, and you want to go out?  I’m sorry, I just find the idea of going out tonight repugnant and odious.”

“At least you can masturbate with your words.”

I shot her a look before taking another sip of whiskey.

“Well,” she said as she spread her legs on the couch and rubbed her pussy, “if we can’t go out, can you at least cum in?”

“Why this sudden erotic twist?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I’ve always been erotically twisted.”

“I’m in no mood,” I said.  “You’ll just have to man the torpedoes tonight.”

“I know I don’t look so good tonight,” she said, referring to the mascara that had run when she was crying and the old sweatshirt she was wearing, “but I promise, I feel good,” she said as she put her hand between her legs and rubbed her pussy, revealing that under the oversized sweatshirt, she wasn’t wearing anything else.

“Can I just sleep here tonight?” I asked, feeling tired and comfortable on the couch.

“Are you drunk or just an asshole?”

“Can’t I be both?”

“No, you can’t sleep here tonight.  You’re coming in the bedroom. . . and I will be too, soon!”

We went in the bedroom and I got naked and in the bed.  As I waited for Lo to get out of the bathroom, I dozed off to sleep.  I awoke to find her straddling me, naked, grabbing my cock and using it as a dildo to rub her clit.  I heard her moaning and then fell back to sleep.

The next day I saw that she made a Facebook post at two in the morning.  I asked her about it.  She told me that she couldn’t sleep.  I asked her if she jilled it.  She said, yes.  I asked, “To what?”

“I used you.”

“What?”

“I licked your soft, little, good-for-nothing dick in your sleep until it got hard and then I used the tip of it to jill my clit.

“Yeah, I saw that, but that was right before I fell asleep, around ten o’clock.  You made your post after two in the morning.”

“Well, it worked the first time, so I did it a second. . . and a third.”

I went to sit up and get out of bed, but my body ached and I moaned.

“What’s the matter?” she asked me.

“Nothing.”

“You’re hung over,” she stated.

“No I’m not.  I’m sick.  I’ve been fighting off a cold.”

“You’re dehydrated.”  Her go-to diagnosis.

“No.  Didn’t you see how much water I drank last night?”

“I didn’t see you drink any water.”

“I drank it right in front of you.”

“You drank two whiskeys.  Don’t you remember?”

“Yeah, and what was in the whiskeys? – Ice!!!”

“Why do I even try?”

“I wasn’t even going to have one, but I was so agitated, I felt compelled to have a drink.”

“And how do you explain the second?”

“Well, after the first, my throat didn’t hurt anymore and I was feeling quite good, so I thought: if one caused that much improvement, two will be even better.”

“And was it?”

“Last night it was.”

“And now?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, it was a bad idea.”

“I may be great at making bad choices, but at least I’m great at it.”

“You have to preserve yourself.”

“I’ll buy a jar of formaldehyde.”

“As long as you use it to keep your cock stiff and hard.”

“Watch it babe.  One of these days I’ll be dead and then you’ll miss me.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be married to a rich guy and I’ll have his money to console me.”

“Money won’t make you happy.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I’m willing to give it a shot.  Have I told you my plan?  I’m going to marry a rich man and then keep you on the side.”

“Stop promising and hurry up and do it.  I ain’t getting any younger here.  My plan is to grow old disgracefully, and you’re just the gal to help me do it too.”

Red-Handed

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Sunday morning and, uncharacteristically, I slept late.  I usually “arise” hours before Lo – meaning, due to her lovely slumbering, naked body next to me, my cock is up before the sun and then I awake and, wishing to avoid disturbing her, I sneak out of the bedroom and perch myself on the couch in the living room writing erotica about her until she wakes and is ready to have me.

However, that morning was different.  For whatever reason, I didn’t get up before dawn and when my eyes did finally open, I awoke to find Lo on her tum next to me in bed.  Her phone was carefully placed at the head of the bed so she could read or look at something on its screen, her left hand was between her legs caressing her wet pussy lips and her right hand was casually giving my erect cock a hand-job.

Just as my eyes were opening in order to take all this in and attempt to make out the digital numbers on the clock, I heard her orgasm ramping up as she moaned into the pillow.  Her right hand let go of my cock and assisted her left in caressing her pussy.  The moans grew louder and her ass lifted in the air as if she were being penetrated by a phantom lover behind her.  She looked like an inch-worm as her ass slowly descended flat again with the passing of the ecstasy.

Without words, I gently pushed her over onto her back and spread her legs, entering her very wet pussy.  Her orgasm must have been blissful because she was unaware of anything at that moment, allowing me to see what was on the screen of her phone as it was still on, tilted against the headboard.  It showed pictures of Brian.  Apparently he works out a lot and he has a whole page of various images of himself bench pressing, curling, and doing sit-ups – all shirtless.  Lucky Lo.

I whispered to her, “Lo, you’re a bad girl.”

“I know, Daddy.  I’m sorry.”  She didn’t even try to deny it.  She was caught red-handed.

“As a punishment,” I said, feeling particularly entitled to demand whatever it was that I wanted, “you will have to do something for me.”

“What Daddy?” she said with some fear in her voice.

“First, turn over.”

She complied.  I got up behind her as if I were that phantom lover.  I penetrated her and began working at pleasing her pussy.

“What Daddy?” she asked, apprehensive of my wishes.

“When you cum,” and I knew she was going to cum soon, “I want you to call out his name.”

“Whose name?” she asked, poorly feigning innocence.

“You know who.”

“No, Daddy.”  My demand for her to own up to her unfaithfulness during sex seemed too much for her.

I spanked her bottom.  She moaned with delight.  “Yes, Lo.  Brian.  You will call out Brian’s name when you cum.  Do you hear me?”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Good.”

I went at her as I’m sure she had been imagining when she came the first time and, sure enough, within thirty seconds of agreeing to my punishment, she began whispering, “Brian.”  Her invocation grew louder and then she was calling out, “Brian!  Yes!  Brian!  Yes!  Fuck me!  Brian, I’m cumming!”

Hearing her call out another man’s name, knowing what she was thinking about, and visualizing all those photos that turned her on so much was too much for me.  I held out as long as I could and then I called to her, “Turn around and get on your knees!”

She jumped off my cock and swung around as I got to my feet on top of the bed and grabbed my throbbing cock.  I came all over her face as she submissively basked in the rain of cum.

When I was done, I simply said, “That’s my good girl.”

“All I want is to be your good girl, Daddy,” she said.

“I know that’s not all you want, but you’re lucky I’m such a good Daddy and I’m willing to give you whatever it is you want.”

“I know, Daddy.  And you’re lucky that you have a dirty little slut like me,” she said as she ran her tongue over her cum-covered lips.