Autoerotica


Lo, at it again

            “Come,” I heard her yell from the bedroom down the hall as I walked into the house after a long Friday at work.  She might have been saying “Cum!” to a lover.  There’s never any way to tell from the sound of her voice – only on the page. 

            I cautiously walked down the long hall to the bedroom.  What would I find?

            The door was open a crack.  I peeked in.  She was naked, on her tum, her round rump nicely illuminated by the setting sun.  Her legs were bent at the knees and her bare feet dangled up in the air, twined around each other.  In her hand she held her phone. 

            “Come in, Daddio,” she said without turning her eyes from the screen in front of her. 

            I walked in and removed my jacket and tie. 

            “What you up to?” I inquired.

            “I bet you’d like to know.”

            “That is why I asked,” I said flatly as I removed my shirt and undid my belt. 

            “Get naked, get hard, and get in me,” she commanded.

            “I’m already hard,” I said.

            “As you should be,” she replied, moving her hand to her mouth, licking her fingers and then moving her hand to her ass and circling her wet fingers around her special spot. 

            “Oh,” I commented, “You want it like that?”

            “No, Daddio,” she said, “I’m just enjoying myself.”

            Always coy when it comes to her ass.  Always for someone else, or for her own pleasure, but never for me. 

            I got behind her and tried to look at her phone by leaning forward over her back and seeing over her shoulder. 

            “Get up there and fuck me,” she instructed, her finger still rounding her sweet spot as I slid into her puss.  “I’ll tell you what I’m looking at.”

            I did as she said and she told me that a fellow blogger, a woman named TJ, wrote to us saying, “I love reading your blog.  It gets me so wet.”

            “Really?!  Do I know this TJ?” I asked as I thrusted harder.

            “She writes The Lustful Empress.”

            I slowed down a bit trying to remember which erotic blog that was.

            “Don’t stop!” Lo said as her hand grabbed the girth of my cock and she pushed her ass back into my hips, bouncing off of my bare bodkin. 

            I resumed my powerful, pleasurable, pelvic pounding. 

            “Look,” she said, putting her phone up on her back for me to read the email.  It said:

I love how accepting you are of Lola’s magnificent sexuality. You guys seem to have ‘it’ don’t you? I wish I could masturbate as openly as you do, Lola. I feel self-conscious, like an addict or something. But I fucking love fucking myself. . . it’s the best. I am more autosexual than anything else I think. Keep celebrating each other.

Fan mail like that makes it all worth it.  Well, that’s not completely true.  I know that I would be writing all this whether no one read it, or only one person read it – Lola.  But knowing that others read it, enjoy it, and get off to it is the icing on the cake. 

            Speaking of icing, as I read the email, Lo began to climax as one hand worked her ass and the other, from underneath, worked her clit.  Her Kegel muscles contracted and I was squeezed out of her as she curled into a convulsing, throbbing ball, squirting uncontrollably.  The more she pushed her knees up to her breasts in a tightly bound fetal position, the more she sprayed the bed and my knees.  I lifted up her phone to prevent it from being ruined by the liquid. 

TJ, author and model of The Lustful Empress, getting off to Lo

            “Fuuuu-uuuuck,” she groaned as the last bit of lady juice spurted out of her.

            When she regained control of her limbs, she slowly got up and pulled the soaked sheets with her, dropping them in the laundry basket.  “I’ll clean up, Daddy, but right now I have to get ready.”

            “Ready for what?” I asked, holding my throbbing, hard rod in my hand.

            “My date.”

            “Date?”

            “With Robert.  I told you, didn’t I?”

            I just looked dumbfounded. 

            “We’re going to the movies.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes.”

            “And what are you seeing?”

            “The Favourite.”

            “Is he your favorite now?” I asked, demoralized.

            “No, Daddio, she said, caressing me and looking up at me with those beautiful big brown eyes.  “That’s the name of the movie.  It’s a period piece.”

            “Really?  Not a porno?”

            “Well, I hear it has a lot of woman-on-woman sex scenes.”

            “I knew it!”

            “But that’s not why we’re going to see it.”

            “You’re going to see it to have sex in a crowded theater.”

            “Oh, Daddy, you always impute to me the most debased of motives.”

            “So why are you going to see it?”

            “It’s historical.  It has great sets, acting, and costumes.”

            “And?”

            “And probably to fuck in a dark theater.”

            “Don’t get caught.”

            “But getting caught is at least half the fun.  Does that make you jealous?” she asked, as her hand stroked my hard cock. 

            “So you’re leaving me home alone on a Friday night?”

            “Not totally alone,” she said, “You have TJ.”

            “Who?”

            “TJ, the woman from the blog.”

            “Oh, right,” I said to my consolation prize.

            Lola made the bed and I watched her tits droop as she bent over to tuck in the sheets.  Her naked body moved like a delightful dance as she unfurled the blanket. 

            “Look,” she said, as she hopped back in the bed and took up her phone.  I sat next to her.  Her left hand stroked my hard erection up and down as she scrolled through TJ’s blog with her right hand. 

            We read and looked at the photos together. 

Lola
TJ of The Lustful Empress

            “She sounds like she could be your twin sister,” I said as I read about how TJ becomes aroused by her own naked body. 

            “Hold this,” she said, giving me the phone. 

            Now, with her right hand she was stroking her pussy and I scrolled through the blog. 

            “Oh boy,” I said, “You want her.” 

            Lo bit her lower lip.

            “Lo,” I cautioned, “You just made the bed.  You don’t want to. . .”

            Before I could finish my sentence, she had jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before releasing her ejaculate all over the tile floor with a scream. 

            When she had regained her composure, she got some paper towels and got on her hands and knees to clean up the mess. 

            “What time is your movie?”

            “Eight,” she called back.  “But we’re meeting for drinks first.”

            “Well, you’re going to be late,” I told her. 

            She jumped in the shower and I continued to look at the blog, hard up. 

            “Hey,” she called to me, “you’re not allowed to cum.  You know that, right?”

            “I still don’t understand how that is fair,” I said, taunting her.

            I got up and looked at her in the shower.

            “Get!” she screamed.  She hates when I see her in her shower cap. 

            “How is it fair that you get to cum twice and then go on a date with another man and I’m not allowed any autoerotica myself?”

            “First,” she said from behind the shower curtain, “it’s not autoerotic if you use someone else’s pictures.  Second, you didn’t count the three times I came before you got home.”

            “Lo, now you’re just. . .”

            “And third,” she cut me off, “this has nothing to do with fairness.  It has everything to do with me.  What I want.  What I allow you.  Got that?  Don’t forget it.”

            Lo jumped out of the shower and hastily dried off before slipping into a blue dress and blue heels.  No panties. 

            “You’re going to be cold like that,” I cautioned.

            “I’m planning on things heating up quickly,” she said. 

            Soon enough she was out the door, leaving me alone. 

            I scrolled through TJ’s blog, which I recalled I had seen before, and I thought to myself, “She said no cumming, but she didn’t say no edging.” 

            I spent about an hour going through each and every post before I thought to myself, “If I don’t stop this right now, I’m going to explode!” 

Stoya Left, Lola Right

            In order to take the edge off, I switched to photos of Lo, which are always fair game, and I pulled out the old Stoya Fleshlight.  Lubing up Stoya and myself, I imagined what Lo was up to with Robert.  I didn’t even need to see Lo’s photos.  Soon enough I was cumming and cumming hard and deep in Stoya’s pussy, just thinking about Lo in a dark theater, legs spread, and Robert discretely moving his hand up her smooth thigh until reaching that wet pussy, pulsating with anticipation.  Gently he would rub and flick her pussy lips, clandestinely making her cum.  I pictured her hands gripping the seat and her upper teeth biting down on her bottom lip to prevent the scream from escaping her mouth.  That was enough to bring me over the edge and release me into a deep sleep. 

Hot & Cold


Oh, Hi!

            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. 

Writing Down Lo


            What does it mean to be an “underground” author in the age of the internet?

            Lately I’ve been reading a lot of and about Charles Bukowski.  Largely ignored for most of his life, he submitted his rough, distinctly “low-brow” poetry to independent and small press journals.  Through these he gained an “underground” following that slowly grew by word of mouth until other independent and small press publishing houses printed his works in book form for that “underground” fan base.  Bukowski’s work caught the eye of other writers and musicians, mostly in the L.A. and San Francisco areas, until eventually he caught on nationally and even internationally. 

            But in today’s media world, what does it mean to be an “indie” author or to have an “underground” following? 

fan pic

            This indie author, whom you are now reading, dear valued patron, has a substantial following, or, shall I say, a much larger following than I ever imagined would sprout from my initial blog posts about Lola.  As I have explained in various interviews elsewhere, this compulsion, which borders on graphomania, came into being because, after a few months with Lo, I discovered that there was almost no literature out there about being in a relationship with a nymphomaniac.  Since no one else was writing about it, I figured I’d toss my hat in the ring and give a first-person account of what it’s like – the proverbial trials and tribulations as well as the orgasms and titillations.

            Before I knew it, I was suddenly gaining a following and garnering the praise and accolades of other fellow sex-bloggers.  Women were sending me fan mail and nudes of themselves, much to the consternation of Lo.  Men and women were writing to Lo and sending her all sorts of salacious selfies, much to her lurid enthusiasm. 

The Beautiful Faye Daniels getting off to Lola Down

            Our subscriptions and unique visits to our blog went up and soon we were being featured on sites like Bustle and Top Sex Blogger lists. 

            I compiled various stories into books and those sold swiftly.  And now, today, we have over 20,000 followers on our various media outlets. 

            However much those numbers might dwarf the reach and following of a Bukowski back in the day, with the potential of today’s technology, that seems far less impressive than it would have been when the only way to get your writing in front of a reader was through the mimeograph machine. 

            Are you, dear confessional confidant, part of an underground audience?  Does it even make sense to speak of such in today’s complex and multilevel media ecosystem?  Or is “underground” just a term that is used retrospectively to describe a core following of people that read a certain author before he or she hit the mainstream?  Is it something that can only be applied with hindsight? 

            I don’t know the answers to these questions and I suppose, on some level, it doesn’t matter since I write about what I love and I love what I write about – Lo.  As long as the love is good, I feel the writing will be good as well.  And though the letters and gifts from the readers are flattering and the money (what little there is) earned from the writing is appreciated, what matters most is that I really enjoy doing what I’m doing. 

Accessory to a Masturbator


Lo’s Nightly Companion – Her Phone

            I was asleep, to begin with.  There is no doubt whatever about that.  It was 4:45 in the a.m. and I was stirred from my slumber by the sonorous buzz of Lo’s vibrator, the rhythmic rattle of the bed, and the blue glow illuminating her face that was so contorted with a look of singular focus and intensity that I thought I was seeing a ghost.  She was lying on her tum, both hands buried under the covers and under her body, the phone propped up on a pillow about six inches in front of her.  From the sound of the Hitachi’s hum and the shaking of the bed, I deduced that she was working her clit with the Magic Wand and her puss with a dildo, leaving no hands free. 

            I opened one eye first and, upon seeing her apparition, I surprised myself with my ability to remain inconspicuous.  I didn’t stir.  I tried to give no hint that I was, in fact, awake – inconsiderately propelled out of my torpor.  I saw her struggle to keep the pleasure points stimulated while simultaneously fumbling through her phone for images. 

            Acutely aware that no mortal would be able to withstand the auto-erotic stimuli that Lo was producing, I announced my awakening by asking Lo, “Can I help you?”

            I was hoping she would be grateful if I would get behind her, replacing her dildo, freeing up one hand so she could scroll through the photos.  But no. 

            “Yeah,” she said, not surprised and unconcerned that I was awake, “swipe left.” 

            I did as she commanded.  I looked at her phone and there were pics of men, women, couples – all getting off to her photos.  As she gazed at each image, she took in the content, and then said, “Swipe.” 

A fan

            She was demanding, insistent, and a tad rude about it.  But she had a goal and nothing was going to get in her way – certainly not good manners. 

            “Swipe,” she said.  I did as told.  Another photo of a guy jacking to her pics.

An Enthusiastic Fan

            “Swipe.”  A photo of a woman jilling to Lo. 

            “Swipe.”  A picture of a couple; the woman gives the guy a blowjob as Lo’s image is on the computer in front of them.

Stella’s Tribute

            “Swipe.”  A man with what looks to be a 12 inch cock.  He holds it with two hands as if wielding it like a weapon.  I hear Lo whisper, “Fuck.”  She scrunched up her legs under her like an inchworm.  The bed rattled.  It’s a big, heavy, solid bed.  It takes a lot for it to rattle. 

Lo said, “Fuck!”  Louder this time.  More angry almost.  I heard the Hitachi click into high gear.  Lo squeezed her eyes closed tightly. 

“FUCK!!!” she called out.  I heard the dildo shoot out of her followed by the sounds of her geyser gushing onto the bed.  She convulsed, clutching the bed sheets, burying her head in the pillow and screaming at the top of her lungs: “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!”

Then silence.  Peace.  Stillness. 

She struggled to lift her head.  When she did, she looked at me.  Tears were streaming down her cheeks. 

“You ok?” I asked.

She nodded, a little ashamed. 

“Feel better?”

She nodded again.

“Ready to sleep?”

She nodded a third time. 

I pulled her head to my chest where she rested it comfortably.  One wet leg was lying flat on the bed nest to my leg.  She lifted the other wet leg and placed it over my legs, parallel to her arm which reached around my chest.  She was wrapped around me like a marsupial clinging to a tree.  I felt her puss still slippery and perhaps ejaculating a dribble more like a leaky faucet on my hips. 

I kissed her forehead and said, “Sleep.”  There was no need.  I could tell by her breathing that she was already in dreamland.   

Meanwhile, my cock was rock hard as the first light of dawn began to illuminate the windows. 

The Porn Identity

“You are beautiful.  Your eyes are beautiful.  Your mouth is beautiful.  Your breasts are beautiful.  Your cunt is beautiful.”

Lola Down, spread wide

I was reading a message Lo received on her phone from an admirer of the blog.

“A regular Shakespeare, that one,” I said.

“I think it’s sweet,” she responded, as her left hand began to fondle her pussy lips under the covers.

“Sweet?!  He left out your hair, your nose, your neck, your shoulders, your tum, your ass, your legs, your feet, and your toes!”

“I’m sure he was going to get there,” she said matter-of-factly. 

“Can I get there?” I asked, sounding a bit desperate for affection, or her attention. 

“Get where?” she asked, playing with me.

“Anywhere.  Between your legs, ideally.”

“Let’s see where this goes,” she said about her internet friend, unfortunately, and not about my bid for her caress. 

“I know where this goes,” I said, putting her hand on my hard rod.  I was hard because her internet friend had sent a slew of photos of himself jacking off to her pics and cumming all over them.  She looked good in the sexy photos.

“Daddy,” she said, protesting, “I’m busy trying to please my loyal fans.”

“I don’t mind, as long as you do it while spreading your legs.”

“I’m spreading the love.”

“Can you spread the love wide enough for me to get in on it?”

“Your pussy looks pretty and gorgeous,” wrote another fan.

“It is pretty, gorgeous, wet and waiting to be filled,” she wrote back.

“Me, me!” I said, “Pick me.”

“Calm down, Daddio,” she said, full of vanity fed by her fans’ flattery.

“Tell me more about you,” wrote another internet correspondent.

“Read the books,” typed Lo, “There’s too much to tell and too many people to tell it to.”

“You’re hard, girl,” responded the inquirer. 

“Funny, everyone tells me I’m easy,” quipped Lo, “and that makes them hard.”

“I love your stories,” wrote one female fan.

“H.H. writes.  I inspire,” wrote Lo to her.

“Do you inspire with your body?”

“And my wit.”

“I’m inspired right now!” I said to Lo as I grabbed my cock firmly.  “They all are cumming to you.  Can I cum to you?”

“Cum to, on, in, with, over, under, around, beside – I provide the pussy.  You pick the preposition,” she said, dismissively. 

I got up on my knees and stood over her, jacking my cock. 

“Just don’t cum on my phone,” she said as she continued to scroll through her contacts.

She continued to fondle herself beneath me for a while before she said, “Daddio, lie down next to me.  I’ll help you.”

I lay down and she grabbed me by my shaft.  “I’m your righthand man,” I said as she jacked me off with her right and scrolled with her left. 

“My wife is nothing like you,” wrote one desperate, sad husband.

“You two should read our blog together.  It would open up her mind. . . and pussy.”

“I could never suggest it,” he wrote, “she’d freak!”

“But you like it?” asked Lo.

“God yes,” he sighed through the medium of type.

“Tell me what a young, sexy, slutty person such as myself does for you.”

“I’d love to eat your yummy, sloppy, used, cum-filled holes,” he wrote.

“Another bard!” I opined sarcastically.

“Shut up and cum,” commanded Lo as she tugged more aggressively.

“Are you in a rush?” I asked.

“Both hands are full,” she said, “leaving nothing for my snatch.”

“I’ll happily fill that gap.”

“You stay right where you are,” she ordered.

“Has she ever caught you jacking off?” wrote Lo to her married man.

“No.  It would be a big deal if she did.  It would be an even bigger deal if she caught me jacking off to you and not to porn.”

“I am porn,” protested Lo.

“I mean, it’s one thing to get off to anonymous, vacuous, impersonal, professionally produced porn and it’s quite another thing to get off to you.”

“That’s more like it,” responded Lo.

“That’s it, I’m getting up and out of bed,” I said.

“But nooooo.”

“Yes.  You’re just treating my cock like it a joystick to your favorite video game.”

“A game I always win.”

She continued stroking.

“Are you into length or girth?” asked her internet interloper.

“I’m into cock.  And cock gets into me.”

“Once again, I must protest!” I said.  “You’ve got a very capable, compatible, and coveted cock right here, but you’re not letting it into you!”

“What, ole man, my right hand isn’t enough for you?”

“Not when you’re teasing those guys about how fast and loose you like to play.”

A new fan chimed in, “I have to stop sinning.  I’m religious, that’s why I can’t go on doing this.”

“Sex is spiritual.  And I’m a sex goddess.  Worship at my alter,” replied Lo.

“Now you’re offering theology lessons?” I chided.

“No.  Just encouraging them to be good semenarians.” 

“That was terrible.  Low hanging fruit,” I replied.

She cupped my testicles and said, “Very low hanging.”

“Oh, does your wit never cease?!”

Now she squeezed my balls to show me that I had better be careful about mocking her.

Another woman asked Lo if she liked taboo tales.  To which Lo responded, “How taboo are we talking here?”

The woman said she was into watersports and bestiality.

Lo wrote back, “Let’s knot.”

“Don’t you mean. . . oooooh, I get it,” I said. 

“Woof!” she said to me.

The woman, whose name was Mila Beijne., went on to tell a little story.

I was a model a few years back and after doing a shoot I was talking a bit with the photographer, the lighting guy and his assistant.  They invited me to their home.  I trusted them and liked them.  We were all horny and I was willing, I admit.  At the photographer’s home we had some drinks and then they slowly undressed me.  They got naked too. They were all good looking men and one was really hung. They kissed me everywhere and started fucking me in my mouth, pussy, and ass.  I was very horny. After quite a long time, they changed positions, each taking a different hole.  Then they rotated again and fucked me a long time again till I was exhausted.  They filled me up in every place they could.  But the fun was not over yet.  One put me on the floor and the other started urinating over me. Then the other two joined in.  It was a lot and all over my body and in my long hair.  There was no shower, so it was a special experience driving home.  It was my first time doing that and I liked how the act showed their dominance over me.

Mila asked to be included.
Mila B. through the years

            I could see Lo getting increasingly more excited as she read the short little story from Mila.  She quickly wrote back, “Yeah, HH does that to me.  I love it.  Being below him, feeling his warm stream flow over my back and butt.”

            “We haven’t done that in a while,” I reminded her. 

            She ignored me because another fan had written to her.  This guy was old.  I mean, like twenty years older than I and I’m in my 50’s!  His name was Bob and he wrote:

Hi Lola, and thank you!  You are an inspiration to me.  I hope  you can give me some advice.
I’m in my 70’s and I’ve been in a relationship for over 25 years.  No passion or sex for the last 20 years.  I’m at a loss as it has become impossible to talk about it with her.  I’ve made the mistake of combining our lives and living situations this whole time.  It has become all about her for the last several years.  I feel I’m too old to begin another relationship with a woman, yet I still admire all women and all that I see on your blog.  I’ve even become curious about men as I feel that may be the only way to explore my unresolved sexual fantasies.  Yet I’m still conflicted as I long for an intimate relationship that I’ve missed in my life. 

Do you have any suggestions??

            Lola wrote back, “To tell you the truth, Bob, I’m just good wanking material, but I’m not a sex coach or a sex therapist. You might want to check out one of these trained professionals to get some expert advice on having more sex with spirit.” She provided a link.  Then she added, “But if you’re looking for a real hotwife, cum to me.”

            “What?!” I said to her, shocked that she’d even offer that to him. 

She ignored me and typed, “I have a very soft spot for old married men whose wives no longer have sex with them.  Would you like to see it?”

Of course he said yes.  Lo sent him a naughty pic of the place between her legs that she was denying to me. 

“Lo, that’s just cruel!” I said.

“What?  Soon you’re going to be that old and you’d want the same from me.  Wouldn’t you?”

“What’s cruel is that I’m that old man who is being denied right now!”

“If what I’m giving you isn’t good enough, then take matters into your own hands,” she said. 

            As she said it, another married man was singing her praises in a message that read, “I’ve come to worship your holy holes.”

            “See,” she said, “I’ve got fans who know how to woo me.”

            “Woo you?  They worship you!”

            “What’s the difference?”

            After some flirtatious back-and-forth, Lo asked to see a pic of the man’s wife.

            He asked why she wanted to see that and Lo responded, “I like to see who I’m beating out when guys are beating off to me.”

            The guy sent a photo.  His wife was beautiful.  But apparently she lacked the ‘personality’ of Lo.  He wanted to know more about Lo and he asked her questions.

“I’m like an open book, there for anyone to read,” she responded, “You just have to know where to find me.  Are you familiar with the Dewey Decimal system?”

            “Like, in the library?”

            “Yeah.”

            “So, I can find you in my local library?”

            “If only,” wrote Lo, “I’m indexed under XXX.” 

            “As in 30?” he wrote with a winkface emoji.  “Still pretty young.”

            “Pretty, young, and slutty.  I’ll tell you what, you can virtually finger my folios at: mysexlifewithlola.com,” she said, “and you can also buy the books there.  I suggest you get a few copies of each and donate the extras to your local library so everyone can spread my centerfold for free.” 

            As Lo was typing, she guided my cock to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip.  She looked up at me as her hand continued to glide back and forth from the base to her mouth.  I began to cum and she hungrily held me in place so as not to spill a drop.  I was so worked up that I couldn’t control my convulsions.  I began breathing deep, heavy breaths.  Lo looked up at me and said, “What?!  Are you having a stroke?”

When I finally managed to catch my breath, I looked down at her and said, “Yeah, I’m having a stroke.  A really good stroke.”

Lo wrote a final line to her fans: “Good night all you kinky sexy rogues.  Dream of me in your debauched nocturnal thoughts.”

She put her phone down, grabbed her Hitachi, lay back, shut her eyes, and began vibrating until she was the one violently convulsing, squirting, and gasping for air. 

When she was done and had removed the Magic Wand from between her legs, she grabbed my hand and placed it on her bare pussy for me to feel how wet she was.  She’s proud that she can turn on the tap almost at will. 

“Pull my pussy lips, Daddy,” she said.  I stretched them.  “Harder.”  I pulled more.  “Harder Daddy,” she complained.

“Lo, if I pull them any further they’ll be down to your knees.”

“Try it,” she said.  She likes the pain or pleasure. 

As I pulled I asked her, “What were you thinking about when you came?”

“I think about you.” 

This line from her was as false as Marlow telling Kurtz’s betrothed that Kurtz’s last words were her name. 

“OK, that’s enough of that,” I said, calling bullshit.  “What did you really think about?”

“I think about you,” she said.  “And I think about cock.  I think about a lot of cock.”

“That’s it?”

“And pussy.”

I gave up there knowing that the litany of licentious thoughts could go on endlessly.  I sat silently and she mistook my silence for judgment. 
            “You don’t know what it’s like to be me!” she blurted out defensively. 

“Oh yeah, you’ve got it so hard,” I said sarcastically.

“I wish,” she said even more sarcastically as she lifted up my flaccid member in her hand. 

“You know,” I said, “your porn persona and your personality are not consistent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“All those people out there thinking you’re a nymphomaniac, thinking that I am so inundated with your pussy that I barely can find a moment’s peace, yet the reality is that you denied me just now.”

“There’s no inconsistency.”

“How not?”

“Because I know you’re going to write about this and so it will be part of my porn persona.”

April Showers


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

            “Wait.  What is ‘guided masturbation’?”

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

            “You did?”

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

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

            “You were working hard, Daddy.”

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

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

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

She grabbed it while licking her lips. 

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

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

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

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

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

            “I meant your ego.”

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

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

            “What do you mean?”

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

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

            “Care to test that hypothesis?”

            “I’m stretched to my limit.”

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

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

            “Oh, so it’s elastic?”

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

            “Depends on who’s using it.”

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

            “Never wears out.”

            “Right.”

            “Like this terrible pun.”

            “What pun?”

            “Are we still talking about ‘limit’?”

            “I wasn’t, were you?”

            “Darling, you certainly do push the limits.”

            “What limits?”

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

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

            “But you called him!”

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

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

            “Well, aren’t I?”

            “Everyone but mine, I guess.”

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

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

            “To show me your unfailing love.”

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

            “I call it giving tribute to my icon.”

            “Because you’re a goddess of pussy.”

            “Now you’re turning me on!”

            “Those are your words.”

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

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

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

            “If you want me to, I will.”

            “Now?”

            “Whenever you say.”

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

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

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

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

“Cum inside me,” she said.

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

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

“There,” she said, “right there.”

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

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

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

“Just in time,” I said.

“Just in time for what?” she asked.

“Tomorrow is the first of May.”

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

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

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

“Me and the rest of the world.”

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

The Masturbation Gap


Lo Masturbating, Art by John Sky

            You, dear reader, already know that Lola is an inveterate masturbator.  You also know that I am forbidden from any onanistic activities, unless either explicitly given permission, or told to do so as a performance for my dear Lola.  The fact that there is a gap in our respective frequencies of masturbatory manipulation should come as no surprise to you, and writing about it here would simply be redundant. 

            However, what I do intend on explaining, or rather, complaining about, is the fundamentally unfair masturbation gap that exists between Lola, me, and her fans.  You see, I am not allowed to engage in solo pleasure, not even to Lola’s sexy photos, unless granted permission by Lo herself.  And she takes so much delight in my stymied suffering and enjoys my engorged balls so much, that she rarely gives me the green light.  But with her fans it is another story.  One might think that Lola has no say over what her admirers do in the privacy of their own homes with her pixilated pussy.  But that is incorrect.  One of Lo’s most enjoyable pastimes is to give specific instructions to her loyal lovers (both near and far) about exactly how they are to worship her image, pay tribute to her form, and pleasure themselves. 

One of Lo’s Long Admirers

            One adoring admirer writes to her and asks, “What’s up?” to which she replies, “If you’re looking at my pics, then, your cock.”  She’s not wrong. 

            Another writes to her and asks very politely, “Morning, Lola.  How are you?” to which she replies, “Horny, as usual.  Now jack it for me.” 

            They are more than eager to comply.  It matters not to them if they are at work, home, or, as Lola really likes, lying in bed next to their sleeping wives. 

A Very Happy Fan

            She commands some of them, especially the diminutively endowed guys, to go to a lingerie store, like Victoria’s Secret, and pick out various silk, satin, and lace panties for women.  Then she instructs them to put the panties on and jack it to her pics and cum in the sexy, sheer, tight material – taking pics of it, of course.  An even more intense kink of Lo’s is commanding those same fabric fetish guys to steal the panties from their wives or girlfriends in order to wear while jacking it to Lo’s photos.   

Lo Loves All Her Fans, Big & Little

            Those are the lucky ones.  There are some unfortunate fellas who are stuck in cock-cages and can only enjoy Lo’s photos without any self-pleasure. 

            And then there are the women.  It is such a complement to Lo when lovely ladies from around the globe take photos of themselves jillin’ off to her.  I will admit that I find it very flattering when the women also make a comment about “the steamy writing,” or say, “that story made me cum five times.”  It is nice to know that every once in a while the literary seduction I work so very hard to create from the raw material of Lo’s sexual exploits is appreciated, especially by the lonely women, the married but unsatisfied wives, and the other sexual insatiables out there like Lo. 

A Lovely Couple – He took the pick of her getting off to Lola

            There was a time, early on, when I actually had a small cadre of female fans who wrote to me regularly.  It was, not coincidentally, around that time that Lo took over the email and other social media outlets, telling me, “You do the blog, I’ll spread the word.”

Reading the Blog

            Spread the word. . . yeah right!  She meant, she’ll spread her legs and then disseminate her photos across the internet. 

            But I’m not complaining.  I am glad that our little corner, or crotch, of the blogosphere makes so many people happy, even if it means that I must deny myself the pleasures that others get from my hotwife Lo.  After all, I have to admit that I have nothing to complain about since fans and her lovers alike all tell me how lucky I am.  Can’t argue there. 

The Author After Cumming on Command

Deep C Fishing

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

Even the radio mocked me with the lyrics:

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh Daddio, so crude!”

“Lo, you don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure of it.”

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

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

“Like what things?” she asked.

“Sucking cock.”

“Just one?”

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

She was getting riled up now.

“Have me, Daddy,” she said.

Finally!  The words I longed to hear all week!

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

“What?”

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

“A condom?  No.  Why?”

“I’m ovulating something fierce right now.”

“I’ll be careful.”

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

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

“Will you stop with that awful analogy.”

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

“Are we good?” I asked.

“Jack it,” she commanded.

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

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

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

“And you didn’t jack it?”

“No.”

“Not to me?  Not to my pics?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

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

“But they jacked it to my pics?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Yes, Lo.”

“Play with it.”

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

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

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

“I missed you, Daddy,” she said.

“Did you jill it when I was away?”

“Yes,” she said.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.  A lot.”

“To what?”

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

“Did you talk on the phone to anyone?”

“No Daddy.”

“Did you have anyone over?”

“No Daddy.”

“Did you want to?”

“I always want to, Daddy.”

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

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Yes.”

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

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

“So full, Lo,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no idea,” I said.

Friday is Boobday!

Hey y’all, every Friday is Boobday over at A Dissolute Life Means. . .

Last Thanksgiving we sent her the photo below.

Quick story of the making of it:

Lola and I were staying were visiting friends for Thanksgiving out of town.  We were invited over for the Thanksgiving Day meal and, just before sitting down, Lo saw that her phone had a message.  She opened it up and looked at a photo that one of her fans had sent.  She bent over to look at it more carefully.  She asked me to fuck her in the bathroom.  I found her irresistible and entered her from behind while she continued to admire her admirer.  I took out my phone and took a quick pic of us in the mirror.

On the right is the photo the friend sent in.

The story is now published and you can read it here: Very Thankful

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cake & Bar – Interview with a Kinky Amateur Porn Couple

In the past we have periodically featured some letters and guest posts from some of our readers.  Because we’ve received so much mail in the past year, we are now including a regular feature of kinky letters and write-in questions.  To start us off, we begin with a lovely couple that go by the names of Cake & Bar (you’ll find out why below.) They have a Tumblr and they post short films of their sexy passion for each other:

Q: Let’s begin with the name.  What’s Cake and Bar all about?

A: Well, Bar loves cheesecake (the actual food) and also loves Cake’s ass, so her name came easy. Bar has a very veiny dick and looks like a big Snickers when it’s fully erect, so that was the inspiration. The name is are also a play on us being an interracial couple.

Q: It looks like you started your Tumblr in July 2017.  Is this exhibitionism something new for you two?  How’d you get into it?

A: We started our Tumblr after being suspended from Twitter permanently for some odd reason. Tumblr was another way for us to share our sexuality and advertise for our porn movies on Manyvids. We’ve been on Manyvids for a year now, so yes we guess you could say we’re new to exhibitionism and porn making in general. Bar has always loved taking pictures of Cake, so one day he asked if we could start posting pictures anonymously to see the feedback we would get it from other people and the rest is history. For the most part it has been nothing but positive experiences.

Q: How long have you been a couple?

A: We’ve been together 15 years and been married 5 years and we have 2 children.

Q: Are you currently monogamous?  If not, what’s the relationship like?

A: Yes, we’re monogamous.

Q: How has been the response to your posting pics and films of yourselves?  A lot of Tumblr folks complain of people being rude or having derogatory things to say.  That hasn’t been our experience.  What about you?

A: For the most part we’ve had positive responses to the things we’ve shared. There’s always going to be some negative, but we take it in stride because it’s expected with the internet.

Q: You don’t show your faces in the pics/vids.  Do you worry that you’ll be found out?

A: We don’t worry per se about being found out, but we like anonymity and the masks give us something else to set the scene with.

Q: Do any of your friends/family know about your kinky side?

A: Only 2 of our friends know we make porn and they’re totally supportive of us.

Q: What do you each like (in terms of sex/porn)?

A, Bar: Straight amatuer porn, mostly Interracial and Black. Some professional porn like the Greg Lanskys stuff.

A, Cake: Doesn’t enjoy watching porn as much as she likes shooting it.

HH & Lo: Thanks so much!!!!

Cake & Bar: You’re welcome and thanks for your patience with our response.

Some photos from Cake & Bar getting off to Lola (more can be found at their Tumblr and at loladown.tumblr.com):