Category Archives: Dildo
11/11
1
What does Single’s Day mean to you?
“Today is Single’s Day,” she said, looking up from her computer screen. She was on the couch, naked under the throw.
“What’s that?” I asked, sitting at the table, drinking a coffee.
“Single’s Day!”
“You can repeat that as many times as you want, I don’t understand.”
“Eleven eleven.”
I made a confused face.
“One-one, one-one. Get it. Singles. A bunch of singles.”
“What a stripper picks up after her third dance.”
“It’s not a riddle. Today is Single’s Day because the date spells out four ones.”
“So is it for people looking to have a four-some?”
“It’s for anyone who is single.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, I’m wondering if I’m single or not?”
“How do you identify?”
“Hotwife.”
“There you go.”
“But people are always confused because they think that implied in ‘hotwife’ is wife. So they think I’m married. But I’m not. I’m single.”
“Single, but attached.”
“Single, but dating.”
“Dating, but not faithful.”
“Faithful, but not monogamous.”
“Non-monogamous, but. . .”
“OK, that is too much! Do you think I should celebrate today?”
“Celebrate being single?”
“Yeah.”
“How would you celebrate?”
“I don’t know. It’s Single’s Day, so maybe I should have solo-sex.”
“You do that every day.”
“But today I could do it intentionally.”
“So other days it’s accidental?”
“Well, today it would be as part of an international event.”
“Only you could make masturbation an international event!”
“I didn’t do it, Daddy, it’s on the calendar. It’s just math.”
“Mathematical masturbation, now I’ve heard it all.”
“If you’re into the math, I’ll invite you to observe my figure.”
“Whatever the problem is, that is the correct answer!”
It may be a holiday, but Lola is open for business
Happy Families
The next morning, over coffee, while I was cooking up some eggs, Lo asked me completely out of nowhere, “You know what Meri told me when I asked her why the hell she is still with Scott, who has no penis to speak of?”
“No, Darling,” I said, “what?”
“Meri told me that she’s with him because, ‘He calls me: Daddy’s fat little babygirl.’ Can you believe that?”
“What’s not to believe?”
“What’s not to believe?!”
I flipped the eggs, looked at her, and raised my eyebrows in curiosity.
“I mean, well, she’s not fat.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“He’s fat if anyone’s fat.”
“Again, maybe he just likes to think of her that way.”
“She may have put on a few pounds after pumping out three boys, but she’s not fat. She’s a sexy MILF. Sexy… MILF… Meri,” she said, gazing off, looking over the brim of her coffee mug.
“You still here or have you gone back down your rabbit hole?”
“And you know what else?”
“No, Darling, what?”
“When I told her about how none of the boys shut the bedroom door while they each had at me –”
“Toast?”
She nodded her head ‘yes,’ as if yesterday’s full day of fucking had famished her.
“She told me that Scott never shuts the bedroom door.”
I carefully put the two eggs and toast in front of her. I did the same for myself before getting up to grab two glasses and the O.J.
She licked her lips and dug right in, tasting it briefly before continuing.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said, sitting across from her, taking a bite of my breakfast. “He never shuts the bedroom door.”
“Never, since the kids were small. They just fuck there. Doesn’t matter who sees, who’s there, who knows. She says that he believes it shows their love for each other, so why hide it.”
“I take it you disagree.”
“Yes, I disagree.”
“So fucking doesn’t demonstrate love?”
“You know what I mean. Certain things are not meant for children to see. Aren’t you shocked at all?”
She was nearly done with her food already.
“Lo, honestly, nothing about Meri really shocks me.”
“What does that mean?”
I finished up my toast, took the last sip of my juice, and got up to collect the plates and glasses.
“You can’t just say something like that and leave it there,” she insisted. “What do you mean by that?”
“Different families have different internal cultures and norms,” I said, philosophically.
“This is not a study in cross-cultural family units,” she objected. “This is your typical suburban middle-class all-American family.”
“Typical families are all alike – each has its own hidden little secret,” I said, poorly paraphrasing Tolstoy.
“Don’t you mean, ‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way’?” she asked. I love Lo because she’s one of the only humans on the planet with whom I can allude to literary lines and not only be understood, but be corrected.
“Show me a happy family and I will show you a family with a secret.”
“But that’s just it,” she retorted emotionally, “it’s like this family doesn’t have any secrets. They leave it all out there.”
“Is that so?” I asked snidely. “Then why have you and Meri been afraid that the cops or social services might rap on the door at any moment since you got back from your camping trip? If Meri leaves it all out there, then why is she living in fear?”
“That’s different. I mean, within the family, they all just live and let live.”
“More like fuck and let fuck.”
“Either way.”
“So?”
“I just find it interesting. Well, strange.”
“You said you don’t think it should be like that.”
“Maybe I don’t.”
“And clearly Meri doesn’t either.”
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
“Because she asked to use the brothers (or let the brothers use her) so that she could get her kicks outside of the family.”
“Or maybe she just needed bigger kicks,” remarked Lo, alluding to the genetic trait that Meri’s husband shared with his three sons – the trait that left Lo so unfulfilled.
Lo looked into her empty coffee mug and back up at me sadly.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“What’s warm, wet, and makes you horny?”
Warm, Wet, and Stimulating
“Is this a riddle?”
She showed me her empty cup.
“Oh,” I said, comprehending. “You need me to fill you up.”
I poured more coffee in and she looked up at me seductively and said, “Just add cream.”
“Well,” I said to her, “I need something warm, wet, and stimulating to get up.”
“Here I am, Daddy,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“I was speaking about coffee, but really?” I asked because I thought she had been too well-worn to fuck.
“Well, I’m functional enough to give you a handjob.”
We finished our coffee and then walked to the bedroom where she reached down between my legs to assess the situation. She felt me and then reached down between her legs. I heard her smack her pussy a few times and then rub it. A little factoid about Lola – she never uses lube and certainly never spits in order to lubricate me or herself. She is almost always so naturally irrigated that she can always use her own secretions to get things slipping and sliding. She began stroking me. Despite the fact that she had showered and changed the bedding, I could still detect a whiff of the cum from eight people on her and in the room.
As she was distractedly stimulating me, she got a text. I heard her chuckle.
“What?” I asked.
She showed me a photo of her, naked, looking disheveled on the bed.
I want my family to see how I fucked you, slut
“After Meri had licked me clean, and was getting dressed, she said to me, ‘Did you like how I fucked you, Lola? Let me get a photo of you for my husband and my sons. They’ll want to see just how wrecked I left you, slut.’ She can be cruel sometimes.”
I looked at the photo and pictured all that happening as Lo coaxed me, “Cum. Please cum. That’s it, in my hand. Feel better, Daddy?”
Sweet Service
I had deposited a warm load in her palm. She licked it like a kitten cleaning her paws. I began to nod off as the waves of well-being washed over my weak body.
“Oh no,” said Lo, “No sleep for you! You promised you’d clean up all your books today!”
“I need a mancave to hibernate in,” I said groggily. “I’m just going rest for a little bit.”
“And I need a womancave!”
“Luckily, you have one.”
“And you’re not welcome in it until you clean up the books.”
I fell asleep.
When I woke up, Lo was going at both her womancaves with the plungers – blue in bum, pink in pussy.
Blue for Bum, Pink for Pussy
She was looking at her phone.
“DP? Really?” I asked.
“Oh, Daddy. You know I love double-penetration. And if you’re not going to give it to me, well, I have to get it somehow.”
“What brought this on? I thought you were too sore even for me.”
“It’s call desire.”
I was confused.
Once she noticed that I was watching her, she came and came hard, yelling out to me (and all the neighbors within earshot) that she was cumming in her ass and her cunt.
“I call it, ‘Desire'”
When she was done, I asked, “Desire?”
“Yeah,” she said matter-of-factly, “Scott and Meri each texted me separately that they want me.”
“And that’s what made you horny enough to ride dueling dildos?”
“Being desired is my aphrodisiac.”
Polyglot
Markus Apegren painting
“That’s one thick slick dick!” she said.
“Lo, I’m in my pajamas and I’m not even hard,” I replied.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” she said, not picking up on my sarcasm. “Look,” she said, holding her phone to my face so I could see the surprisingly serpentine appendage which had provoked her initial comment.
“An admirer?” I half stated, half asked.
“This whole COVID quarantine thing has been crappy, but it has also produced some unexpected yet pleasant surprises. I’ve never felt so connected to my fanbase as I do now.”
a hung fan
“Not connected enough, it seems,” I added, under my breath.
“Well, it’s true that I’ve been getting off to them, but the relationship is reciprocal. I’ve heard from guys, wives, husbands, single girls, older folks who live alone, even one coed who had to move back from college to live with her parents and was so horny that hearing her parents going at it in their bedroom turned her on.”
“Luckily she had you to turn to,” I said.
I don’t think she heard me. She was indulging her natural need for self-copulation under the sheets.
“And don’t forget your sister,” I added.
She came.
“Is that the whole shebang?” I asked, wondering if she had any desire left for me. You know, her ole man lying there next to her, in the flesh, ready, willing and able to gratify her every lustful whim.
“That’s the hole shebangs,” she quipped, slapping her puss. I could hear how very wet she was.
“The hole who bangs?”
“Anyone and everyone.”
“How about this one?!” I asked, thumb pointing to my chest.
“You want me, Daddy?”
“How did you guess?”
“Then have me,” she said, holding her phone in one hand, spreading her legs as she lay missionary position on the bed, allowing me to enter her.
“Are you seriously texting while I fuck you?” I asked when she raised her other hand to the phone and was going at it with her thumbs.
“Does it bother you?”
“I’d like maybe ten percent of your attention.”
“You have one hundred percent of my pussy. Go to town.”
I didn’t stop going to Lola Down town, but I was frustrated.
“Who the hell are you writing to?”
“I have a following to satisfy, you know.”
“When you look behind you to see your following, I’m the first in line!”
She didn’t respond. She was engrossed in her text exchange.
“Are you at least sexting? – telling someone about how amazing I am in bed?”
“Yeah,” she said, unconvincingly.
“Tell the truth, Lo.”
“Well, I was actually telling a couple how sexy they are when they mutually get off to my pics.”
In my head I heard the lyrics, “Cause if you like the way you look that much, oh, baby, you should go love yourself.” But loving herself (or fucking herself) was exactly what she had been doing next to me for the past hour or so. I wanted her to respond to me.
“How about you tell me something?” I requested, not politely.
Again, she didn’t hear me. She was texting.
I pulled out.
“What are you doing?” she asked, as if I had just splashed ice water on her.
“I’m stopping.”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re not into it.”
“I was into it. I was into you being in me.”
“I’m a whole person, not just a penis.”
“And I’m a hole for your penis. Put it in me.”
“Put down the phone.”
I was on my knees, looking down at her as her legs were spread with her knees on each side of me. She could see my cock dripping with her juices.
“Please, Daddy,” she whined. “Please fuck me.”
“Not until you put down the phone.”
“But it enhances the experience for me. Come on,” she said, reaching down between my legs and fondling my testicles, feeling how soaked they were. “You know you want it. I can feel how full you are. Just use me. Fill me up. Fuck me. Get your rocks off. Cum inside me.”
I couldn’t resist her voice, though I knew I should. I entered her again.
“That’s it, Daddy. Use your little girl. Drill that dirty whore.” She was saying the words as if reading a script. Her eyes were glued to her phone screen. She was typing again with her thumbs. “Yeah, Daddy. That’s it. Feels good, right?”
Speaking words to me, typing different words to some virtual lover. She was a polyglot.
I finally let myself go. I didn’t care anymore. I released my full load deep inside her. She held me for one second with one hand, pressing it to my back, and then was back at it – typing away.
I pulled out with a sploosh and she rolled onto her tum, her legs dangling in the air, her feet touching at the toes, her pussy dribbling my ejaculate out slowly.
She pulled her right hand away from the phone just long enough to rub it between her legs and then lick some of the cum off her fingers.
“I love you, Lo,” I said as I rolled over to go to sleep.
“You too, Daddio.”
Lola pumps
99 Problems: A Valentine’s Day Tale
[Dear Lovlies, this story was published in the February 2021 issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine. If you would like to get your free Match, Cinder & Spark book, send us an email at: downloladown@gmail.com]
“Well, Darling, I guess it’s just you and me: Santa and his little sexy elf,” I said to her as she snuggled up to me under my arm on the couch. She was still wearing her sleek red dress and nothing else. We had the fire going (on the T.V. thanks to Netflix).
Lola’s Good Cheer
“It was a nice day,” she said, a touch of melancholy in her voice.
We both knew it wasn’t like Christmases past. It was COVID Christmas. No kissing friends and strangers under the mistletoe or unwrapping presents with a large crowd looking on to see your reaction to their gift.
We had spent the day delivering goodies to friends and family, driving all around town, making stops from noon until nine at night. Each stop was accompanied by a little chat outside in the brisk air with a shot or two to warm us up. It was good to see familiar faces and bring them gifts, even if we couldn’t hug, kiss, dance, or sit in their comfortable living rooms for some schnapps and grog.
We were determined to make the day as special as we could. Now that we were home (and a little tipsy) I told her she could look under the tree to see what Santa had brought for her.
“Have you been naughty or nice?” I asked.
“Which gets me more gifts?” she asked as she rummaged under the tree and found the little box I had carefully hidden.
She immediately knew what it was. She opened it extremely carefully. The diamond ring was illuminated by a tiny light that automatically turned on when the ring box was opened. It looked magical in the dimly lit room. The cute case glowed with an aura of heavenly mystique.
“Oh Daddy!” she said, giving me a big kiss. “How did you know?”
She was being very facetious since she had designed the piece of jewelry, ordered it, and tracked its delivery. All I did was pass her my credit card and then wrap it when it arrived.
“Is there anything there for me?” I asked.
“Yes, there is. Wait here and come into the bedroom when I call you.”
A few moments went by before her sing-song voice invited me in.
She was wearing a new red satin negligée. “My Santa suit. Second only to my birthday suit.” She spread her legs to reveal that she also had shaved.
Lola’s present for Daddy
“No more Hannukah bush?” I asked.
“You know what they say.”
“What’s that?”
“Hair today, gone tomorrow.”
“You’ve been hanging around me too long. Leave the puns to dads who like dad jokes.”
“Do you like, Daddy?” she asked as she gently tugged at her pussy lips.
“Very much.”
“You’re not hard to please. You know that?”
“Yes, but when you please me, I am hard.”
“Show me! Let me drink your eggnog.”
“Your ring looks good on your finger,” I remarked as she stroked herself.
“Yes, now maybe you’ll make me a proper hotwife!”
“Oh no, Lo. I can’t make a descent woman out of you. You’ve spent a lifetime cultivating being an indecent woman.”
“True. But you know, either way, I’m happy. Deep, deep inside, I’m happy. And you can be too.”
“Be happy?”
“No, deep, deep inside me.”
She stood up from the bed, bent over, and looked at her exposed rear in the full-length mirror behind her. “It’s weird,” she said, “how horny I get looking at myself naked.”
I have to admit, she had me excited just looking at her like that.
I fumbled to remove my pants as she pouted, “Daddy, I just can’t wait.”
As swiftly as I could, I slid into her impatient peonies petals, already wet with dew.
Within moments she sensed the inevitable and spun around in order to receive her reward.
Though that may have been my climax, it is not the climax of our story.
Drunk on my cum, she looked up at me and asked, “Which part did you like the most: the first ten seconds or the last ten seconds?”
“Hey, I might have been fast, but what or who can give that much pleasure in so short a time?”
“Are you talking about my ability to give pleasure or yours? Never mind. I’ll show you what can give even more pleasure,” she said as she reached under the bed to take out her Hitachi.
Lo gushes for her mechanical lover
As she was on her solo journey to Pleasure Town, I pulled out my laptop and read a few emails written to our shared downloladown account. There were a number of thank you notes from the men, women, and couples who had received our “XXX-mas” gifts – a free Match, Cinder & Spark book or audiobook.
It was nice to hear from our fans that we helped cheer them up in this otherwise dismal time.
After Lo had ‘spouted off’ in the best possible way, she sat up to look over my shoulder. Glancing at the screen, I sensed she was a bit disappointed.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“No, it’s something Lo. What is it?”
“Just the thought that put me over the edge was that you were looking at photos of me, not reading emails.”
“Well, it’s the next-best-thing. They’re emails about you. Besides, why would I look at photos of you on my computer when you’re lying next to me vibrating your va-jay-jay till the levee breaks?”
“Exactly! And why would you be reading emails when you have this at your disposal?!” she said, slapping her sloppy puss for emphasis.
Changing the subject slightly, I asked, “Do you think it was egomaniacal of me to give my own books as a Christmas gift?”
“I think it’s egomaniacal of you to write those books.”
“That wasn’t egomaniacal. That was a gift to humanity.”
“Never have I seen such a self-satisfied narcissist!”
“Didn’t you just look in the mirror?”
“Shut up and pass me Glindo,” she said, referring to her glass dildo that was next to me on the nightstand.
Lo and ‘Glindo’
“Why? What are you up to now?” I asked, seeing her with her legs spread wide on the bed, dildo in hand.
“Nothing, but I’m open to doing something.”
“What are you open to doing?”
“You.”
“Now?”
“Well, after I do myself.”
“Again?”
Never one for false modesty, she implored, “Read to me some of the things people are saying about the book.”
“While you jill it?”
“Yeah, it’s a turn-on to know that I get guys hard and women wet.”
“Well, one person called you a slut and said that you do all this just for attention.”
“That is not true,” she said emphatically, “being a slut is its own reward.”
“You could call the attention a fringe benefit.”
She was too busy now to laugh at my pun.
Overcome by her perspicuous paramour, Lo lunged forward with a long, lusty moan.
As she recovered from her self-inflicted squirt, I asked her, “Do you think we should do it again for Valentine’s Day?”
“I’m hoping we’ll do it long before then!”
“I mean a free book for fans.”
“Oh,” she said, realizing her mistake. “Sure. Maybe we could ask our readers to send in their Valentine’s Day stories and send a free book to the top ten that we publish.”
“That’s a great idea!”
“Photos are also welcome,” she added. “Now do me, Daddy. I’ve only had two orgasms tonight and you know I need at least three.”
“Lo, you really are a slut for attention!”
“I got 99 problems, but being a slut ain’t one.”
Be My Valentine
Sound
[This story, in case you don’t pick up on it, is dedicated to the incomparable, Jupiter Grant. You can find her work here, here, here, here, and here.]
“In physics, sound is a vibration that propagates as an acoustic wave, through a transmission medium such as a gas, liquid or solid. In human physiology and psychology, sound is the reception of such waves and their perception by the brain.”
Lola’s Tum
It had been a wet month. The typical English spring attempted to outdo itself with unrelenting grey skies, showers, and sopping English gardens. Jupiter Grant, or Jupi, as she likes to be called by her friends, had not gone out for weeks. Her groceries had been delivered and her supply of wine was dwindling. It had been months since she had seen her ersatz lover, H. She referred to him only as H and thought of him as “ersatz” because he was a Husband to another woman and had a family in London. Jupi was the proverbial “other woman,” the “mistress,” the “seductress.” At least that’s the way the judging world would see her. The judging world being the monogamous, heteronormative world. Between Jupi, H, and H’s wife, there was an open understanding. Still, that cozy relationship was of no use during the long COVID lockdown.
From Jupi’s point of view, she was the guest always late to the party. She and H had chemistry that they both acknowledged. Not just sexual, but spiritual. They knew they were meant to be together, but their paths had crossed many years too late in life. As a compromise to life’s cruel humor, they connected when and how they could; neither one demanding more of the other or disappointed by the other since they both knew that this was the best arrangement for all parties involved. Yet Jupi was not late to the poly-party. Thank goodness, she thought, that she lived in and was a part of the polyamory zeitgeist.
A Happy Fan
Yet the knowledge that they were two lost souls doing what they could to find joy in a largely painful and sad world provided little relief for Jupi when her deepest needs swelled up to fill her entire being with desire – desire to be held, touched, caressed, kissed, fondled, spanked, sucked, filled, and fucked. At those moments, a quick fap merely whet her ferocious appetite. She needed more. She craved the comfort of H’s strong, firm flesh pressing down on her own soft, welcoming, warm body.
Unrelieved in her needs, she turned to compensatory pleasures and perversions. Much of her sexual energy, she found over the years, could be diverted into creative power. Writing erotica was her main outlet. But lately she discovered a new medium into which she channeled her plentiful reserves of poetic and prurient lust and her craving to perform: her voice. Through a series of happy coincidences, she discovered that not only could she narrate literotica, she could nail it with every ounce of sexy she felt swirling through her sensual spirit and her beautiful body.
Volume I
A manuscript had arrived: Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl. “Hmmmm,” she thought, “this could be interesting. Or, it could be a colossal waste of time. Thousands of words, hundreds of pages of driveling, second-rate, even third-rate pablum ‘poetry’ for pubescent boys.” She poured a glass of red wine and opened up the document on her computer. She began reading:
“Tell me,” she said, “tell me what I am.”
“You’re a slut.”
“Yes,” she said, encouragingly.
“A whore. A fucking sexmaniac.”
“Go on,” she moaned, biting her lower lip. But I was too occupied with banging her from behind. I needed to catch my breath.
“Tell me,” she demanded, “tell me what I am.”
“A cum-bucket. A little cum-hungry tramp.”
“Yes,” she screamed.
“A sex addict. A nymphomaniac!”
I slapped her ass hard as she screamed with delight. Her wet little snatch secreted her luscious, warm juices all over my hard cock.
After she collapsed into the bed of blankets, I reached around her from behind and whispered in her ear, “Good girl. That’s my good girl.” She purred like a little kitten.
Artistic Tribute Photo
She felt a tingling between her legs. She kept reading, taking small sips of wine as she felt her mouth watering. As she continued, she felt something else getting wet. She tried reading the words aloud, just to hear how they would sound in her voice. Could she do the male lines? It was narrated by Lola Down’s lover, H.H. Was she the right voice for that? Wouldn’t a man’s voice be more appropriate? She tried it out, experimenting with various octaves and tones. Clearly these two characters were American. Should I pronounce “ass” the American way, or as I would pronounce it – “arse”? Technical questions like these kept appearing, but she liked what she read. She liked it a lot. To her surprise, she especially enjoyed embodying the male narrator’s role. Yes, she thought, yes, I’ll take this on.
A week later she was in her tiny makeshift “recording studio” – actually a closet with a light, a microphone, and her computer. It was the most soundproof room of her flat. She was in the middle of recording a story, “NYC,” about Lo and her raconteur’s trip to a strip club in Manhattan:
She slowly eased her way down Lo’s body, pressing her perky breasts and nipples directly in Lo’s face. She took Lo’s hands and encouraged Lo to apply them to her body, caressing the dancer’s ass and legs. As she slithered over Lo, she inconspicuously pulled Lo’s strapless dress down over Lo’s breasts, exposing them so that they could rub up against her own. She then got down between Lo’s legs and gracefully pulled the hem of Lo’s dress up and up, rubbing her soft hands over Lo’s thighs and then sitting on Lo’s lap and rubbing her ass deep into Lo’s crotch. All the while, Lo licked her lips and ran her tongue over her teeth in that sumptuous way that indicates that Lo is hungry.
Jupi found herself breathless. She couldn’t continue with the narration. There in the narrow confines of the darkened closet, she reached down under her skirt and panties and her fingers fondled the fount of her effulgent creativity. She read the lines again and again in her mind and switched roles in her mind from being Lo to being the stripper to being H.H. observing it all. The dance of subjectivity stimulated her mind as much as her digits released her pent-up puissance by penetrating her pulsating pink pussy.
Browsing the Literotica section
Wave after wave of relief and gratitude poured over her as her legs gave out and she slowly crumpled onto the now wet wooden floor of the closet, panting and heaving. She opened the door to let in more air. She desperately needed more air.
Eventually, she was able to finish recording the story. She liked it so much that she wanted to share it, prematurely, with someone. No, not with someone. Not with anyone. With H. She needed to know his opinion of it. Was it any good? Was she any good as a narrator? But there were so many doubts that accompanied her wish. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought she was weird for even producing it? What if he was turned on by Lola?
Ultimately her desire for validation and attention outweighed her insecurities and she hit “SEND” and immediately wished she could unsend it.
An excruciating day, then two days, then three days went by without a word from H. She couldn’t record another page before hearing back from him. She was in a frenzied state. Why hadn’t he called, texted, emailed, something???
But, just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, there was an unexpected knock at her door.
A visitor? No. Couldn’t be. Probably just a grocery delivery. She hastily put on her robe and furtively opened the door. There he was. H. Unannounced. Unexpected. Un-fuckig-believable! She was ecstatic. Jupi threw the door open wide and let him in. But then she remembered the recording. Was he here to break things off?
“Hi,” she said shyly, her nerves shot.
“Hi.”
“I wish I knew you were coming. I would have. . .”
“I didn’t even know I was coming. But I’ve been. . . I’ve wanted to. . . I just started driving and I found myself here. I’ve been listening to your recording on repeat.”
“And?”
“Your voice is so fucking sexy.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I’ve been hard-up for days.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to. But I wanted to see you and tell you.”
“Way to drive a woman crazy!”
“Who wrote this? Who is this Lola?”
Suddenly Jupi felt nervous again. She felt butterflies in her stomach. “What if?” questions started forming in her mind like they did before. Incessant, annoying, pervasive questions filled with self-doubt and fear. Her anxiety ramping up again. She needed to get grounded.
“Come on in,” she said, taking his coat. “Want a drink?”
She took out the wine and two glasses. She let her robe drop, revealing her bare body just beneath the sheer negligée she was wearing under the robe. It was sexy, but it was also comfy. He looked at her, soaking in her visage. She was a shy hermit full of inner life – sensual, spontaneous, artistic, creative, smart, witty, emotional, and most of all, madly in love with him. Seeing her filled him with passion, just as the sound of her voice speaking those salacious sentences had made him crazed for three days. Her flesh. He wanted it.
She sat down next to him at the small kitchen table and opened her laptop. She clicked on mysexlifewithlola.com and scrolled through the plethora of Lola’s porno pictures.
“Oh. . . oh. . . my,” he said slowly with long pauses in between exclamations. “Um, wow!” Images of Lola naked were replete on the screen. But not just naked – naked with her 12 inch dildo, with her princess plug, with pearls on a string streaming from her ass, with her man, H.H., sucking his cock, filled with his cum, overflowing with the cum of other men, and stretching herself wide with one of the largest replicas of a horse cock H had ever seen!
“Yeah, she’s a handful,” said Jupi, resigned to sharing H’s attention with Lola.
“She reminds me of you,” he said, looking up at her downcast eyes.
“What? Really?”
“Yes, if I had met you ten years ago. I think she’s the spitting image of you.”
“Ten years ago?” Jupi echoed.
“Oh, no. Come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You sure you don’t want some young sexy thing like Lo?”
“No, Jupi, I want you.” He leaned in to kiss her. Her stomach’s butterflies flew in a flutter, suddenly startled by the unexpected availability of his lips and everything else he brought to the table.
“I was just about to record another chapter.”
“Really? Can I listen?”
“I don’t think you’ll hear much. I record it in the closet,” she said.
“Which closet?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Oh. Well, go right ahead. I’ll just be lying on the bed. Maybe I’ll hear something.”
They got up to go to the bedroom. She took the computer and disappeared into the walk-in studio. “Wait here quietly,” she said before shutting the door behind her.
She was just finishing up the story, “Horsing Around.” She read loud enough for H to hear:
I was in jeans and I could feel my cunt getting totally saturated, soaking my panties through and through. I spread my legs and rubbed his cock back and forth until finally he exploded. It was a ginormous shot of cum over my head, but, as his cock slackened, he dripped some remaining cum down into my hair and on my face. I had to unbutton my jeans and pull them and my panties down as I got on my knees. As I sat under his dangling cock, I stroked my pussy till I too came in a giant puddle on the cement floor.
When Jupi was done with the story, she emerged from the closet. She found H lying on his back, his trousers down around his ankles, his massive hard-on clenched in his right fist which stroked up and down from tip-to-base and back again.
“Could you hear?” she asked, astonished.
“MmmmmmGrrrrrrrrrAaaaaahhhhhhh,” was all he could say as his member erupted like a spewing volcano sending its warm lava all over the surrounding countryside and dribbling down its sheer cliffs, covering his hand in goo. “Fuuuuck!”
“Did I do that?” asked Jupi innocently.
“You have the most sexy voice,” he answered.
Though flattered by his visceral standing ovation, Jupi was at least slightly disappointed that she wasn’t going to get any of her man’s patronage that day. Never one to miss an opportunity, she got between his legs and licked up the mess he had made.
“Can I get an advance copy of that audiobook?” he asked.
Jupi smiled, looking up at H from between his legs. “Of course,” she said.
After he left, she sent the audio files to him via email.
A few days later he texted her and said, “Jupi, you have no idea how happy you have made me. I know that we can’t see each other, but I’ve been listening to your recording in the car every chance I get. It’s incredible.”
“Glad you like it.”
“I’ve even started listening to it in bed. I told my wife that it’s just a guided meditation to help me sleep, but, in fact, it has the opposite effect. After she falls asleep, I pull out my cock and stroke to your voice.”
A week later he was at Jupi’s flat again. This time they had an actual date planned. After a small meal, they went into the bedroom and, lying down on the bed, he asked, “Can we, uh, listen to the audiobook?”
“But I’m right here,” Jupi replied.
“I know, but it turns me on.”
She agreed.
He had another request. “Can I have you doggy style?”
“Yes.”
“And. . .”
“And what?”
“Never mind,” he said as she got on all fours on the bed and he stood next to it, ready to enter her from behind.
“What?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Can I put your laptop here?”
“Really?”
“I mean, I won’t if you. . .”
“No, go ahead.”
He placed the computer on her back, opened it up to Lola’s photos, and, listening to Jupi’s narration, entered her wet and waiting pussy.
Not Jupi, but a fan photo
Lo picked up her head and said, “Stroke it again as I rub my pussy.” Lo leaned back across from Bill in the back seat and spread her legs wide. Her right leg was lying on top of Bill’s knee. She still had her cute little heels on. Bill stroked his cock as he looked on, salivating, at Lo’s spread pussy. With her left hand, Lo spread her pussy lips wide and with her right hand she was fingering her clit and her cunt.
Bill was treated to a feast for the eyes. Lo came and came again to her own digital manipulation. She so love’s to see men jerk off, but the only thing she loves more than that is to see them jerking off to her. This Bill did with enthusiasm and then he started asking Lo, “I bet you want me to cum on your pussy, don’t you, you whore?”
“Oh yeah,” responded Lo in her low, deep, sexy, guttural voice.
“You want me to shoot my load all over that hot pussy, don’t you?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, do it,” she said in response as she continued to spread her legs and finger-fuck her pussy.
He got up from the seat and almost stood over her, frantically yanking at his cock.
“Come on, come on,” Lo encouraged, “cum on my pussy. Come on.” And then finally, in an explosion of cum that fell like rain all over Lo and her dress and her stomach and her pussy, he came and came and came and came some more. Lo was shocked by how much he came on her. She had never been drenched that much by a guy in her life. . . and she loved it.
As they listened to the story, they too came together. . . and loved it.
Lying next to each other, sprawled out on the mess of a bed, the computer screen still displaying Lo’s cum-covered body, H said, “You know, my wife has been listening to the stories as well.”
Lo Bathes in Beauty
“No,” Jupi said incredulously.
“Yes. She found me out. She discovered it wasn’t a ‘guided meditation.’ And so now, whenever she’s in the mood, she puts in her earbuds and listens with her computer open in front of her, while I go at her.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Jupi.
“I’m sorry. Does that upset you? I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“No, I can’t believe that little trollop.”
“Who?”
“You know who: Lola Down. She’ll be getting off all of London before long.”
“No, dear, you’ll be getting them off with your voice.”
Thank you Lola. Thank you Jupiter Grant. Thank you H. Thank you everyone who reads, listens, and gets off to these words dripping with love and lust, jizz and juices. Thank you.
The End
The Body Politic
[An excerpt of the following appeared today in Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine, November, 2020 issue. Waring, political stuff ahead.]
It’s November of an election year. And not just any election year, but perhaps the most vitriolic, divisive, and ugly election year ever. Well, except for 2016. As I’ve stated before, this sacred, sexy space of ours, this small column in the vast expanse of contemporary writing, steers clear of politics, except for the fact that nothing is a-political anymore. Writing about sex, celebrating sexuality, and depicting a strong, independent, sexually explicit woman like Lola Down is itself a political act.
Lola as depicted by Roman Doodle
But in this very politicized climate, it is nearly impossible to provide a playground where the ubiquitous partisan battles don’t bleed over the boundaries we have created. People on the right have appropriated the term “cuck” as a pejorative for the left. Queer men on the left have appropriated “Proud Boys,” to the consternation of that far-right group. Just beneath the surface of these slogans and slurs is a swirl of sexual energy, frustration, confusion, and subliminal eroticism misdirected and perverted into hatred and violence.
Misogyny, racism, sexism, gender identity politics, transphobia, homophobia, xenophobia, and politization of polyamory are all interrelated issues, impossible to easily separate into isolated questions.
We live in strange times; times I never thought I’d see. The President of the United States is a man married (his third marriage, mind you) to a woman born in a different country who had a career as a model, occasionally posing nude and with other nude women in homoerotic images. And yet, he’s not a radical leftist liberal, but embraced by the conservative Christian right! He has had numerous affairs with porn stars and other women, yet that hasn’t prevented him from gaining the backing of the Bible Belt. But his exoneration by the religious right has not been equally applied. Those who work in the sex industry were not similarly embraced or given the same shame-free-pass as the President.
In 2016 the first female presidential candidate was eviscerated, mainly for wearing a pantsuit. Yet, in 2020, between Hope Hicks, Kayleigh McEnany, Ivanka Trump, Omarosa Manigault Newman, Mercedes Schlapp, Lindsay Walters, Zina Bash, the First Lady, and others, it is sometimes difficult to tell the difference between the White House and the Playboy Mansion. Perhaps that is Trump’s appeal to many; he fills the void left by the death of Hugh Hefner.
Hope Hicks gender bending at the W.H.
And all of this tumult and turmoil, not coincidentally, floats to the surface in the wake of eight years of an African American man occupying the White House.
I mention our current and past political theater as a preamble to confronting a porn/erotica trope as ubiquitous and with as long a history as that of the “Lolita” nymphomaniac figure. I speak of the so-called “Mandingo Myth.” This deep-seated belief, whose pedigree can be traced as far back as Ancient Greece and Egypt, holds that African men wield sexual appendages that dwarf those of fair-skinned Europeans. Throughout the ages, the image of the hugely hung black man has been perpetuated as well as perverted in order to promote a racist agenda: The longer the penis, the more bestial the sex-drive, the less human the man and thus the greater the threat to white society, especially its womenfolk. (See A Mind of Its Own: A Cultural History of the Penis, by David M. Friedman, chapter III, “The Measuring Stick.”)
Lo’s idea of a perfect date
Over the centuries, the long black appendage has been compared to a Priapus (that is, the male fertility god), a donkey, stallion, buck, and even a pre-Adam serpent of the Garden of Eden responsible for Eve’s seduction and the Fall. Throughout the ages, but most prominently in America from Reconstruction onward, this archetype of the African American man’s exceptional endowment has been the focus of white fear and fetish, engendering multiple myths, none of them ending well for the African American man. This theme is almost comically depicted in the various King Kong films, but most explicitly in the 1976 version. Plot: The Petrox Oil Company seeks to plunder a remote island of its oil. They find no natural resources to make their venture profitable, but they do find and trap King Kong, a preternaturally large black ape. They return to the U.S. with their unusual cargo. However, Kong has fallen in love with Dwan (a scantily clad, blonde woman played by Jessica Lange). Unable to allow such an unfathomable relationship, Kong is killed. (In the original 1933 version, he climbs the giant phallus, the Empire State Building. In the ’76 remake, he climbs the World Trade Center buildings, thus doubling the phalli.) The allegory is quite transparent: white colonialists set out for raw materials, they return with slaves from Africa whose unusual size threatens their white women and must be killed.
Jessica Lange in King Kong 1976
A year earlier, in 1975, the same myth was played out, only without the allegorical trappings, in the film Mandingo, based on the 1957 novel by the same name, from which the “Mandingo Myth” gets its label, though its predecessors in white Western mythology predate it by millennia.
Lo and an admirer in the park
How do you measure up?
Unfortunately, today we still find this trope used as both the focus of taboo fetishes (“Blacked” porn, which fetishizes both black men with large cocks and white, usually blonde and petit, women) and phobias for political ends. For instance, in 2017, Enrique Tarrio, the leader of the Proud Boys, posted a tweet in which he asked if white women would be more willing to donate $20 to Trump’s campaign or walk past a group of black men while wearing a sundress. (The Daily Mail, 10/1/2020, “Leader of the Proud Boys is the State Director of Latinos for Trump”)
Lola’s fan
In today’s tribal public sphere, there is little we can agree upon, but one thing that is unimpeachable is, as David Friedman says, the one place where race and sex (and we can add politics) converge is the black penis.
Lola’s COVID Gang-Bang Datenight
The long black dong is the symbol of white, male fragility. It signifies the fear of masculine inadequacy and the homoerotic desire for sexual prowess. Both symbol and signifier are pointers and the thick, strong, dark schlong is frequently depicted as pointing at the helpless, weak, innocent white blonde. Copulation by contrast. This ubiquitous trope penetrates deep in the psyche of our culture.
Just as black men are often reduced to their primal virility as exemplified by the penis, so too women are subtly and explicitly made into a medium for the message communicated by the patriarchal culture. In recent memory, the collective unconscious probably recalls images from silent black-and-white films of a damsel-in-distress tied to the railroad tracks by the sinister mustachioed villain. This image is emblematic of an archetype that transcends time and space: the bound female. Ancient stories span the globe of women tied up – as sacrificial victims, concubines, slaves – from the abduction of Sita in the Ramayana to the afore mentioned Dwan of King Kong and, of course, Princess Leia in her famous Jabba the Hut scene in Return of the Jedi (1983) – project and perpetuate the idea of women as victims in need of a hero.
Lola’s Sexy Shoes
From nude or nearly nude women dancing in cages at clubs, raves, and music concerts, to Taylor Swift reenacting the railroad scene in “Mean,” this trope is conspicuously depicted and sexualized, but there are far more nuanced ways of sending the same message. What is the message? Women are weak, needy, helpless, and their power, like Prometheus (an example of gender inversion of the architype) is under wraps. Notice, if you will, women’s fashion, from undergarments to gowns. What is a recurring theme? Straps, bows, knots, strings, and all manner of imagery suggesting restraint while simultaneously revealing skin. Beyond that, almost every article of clothing is designed to depict weakness, vulnerability, and impotence. Watch your local or national news, for instance. How are the men dressed? Buttoned up shirts, ties, long sleeve jackets revealing the least skin possible. They are formidable, as if wearing body armor. And the women? Blouses cut at the shoulder, plunging necklines, form-fitting soft colored tops. Imagine for a moment what you would think of a male news anchor reporting in a halter-top made of thin, silky material.
Lola Upskirt
Beyond the blouses, there are the skirts. Dresses were, perhaps, originally designed to conceal the shape of the woman hidden beneath all the folds and flourishes. But today, dresses and skirts are designed to inhibit freedom of movement, conceal as little as possible, and leave the woman wearing them vulnerable to the inadvertent upskirt.
Lola in a cute little bow
Working our way down, we next arrive at women’s footwear. High heels keep a woman off balance. Not only do they prevent any aggressive action, they inhibit flight. Women’s dress shoes, for the most part, make them a helpless victim in the face of any danger. Beyond that, they continue the ligature leitmotif. Straps, bows, chords, all depict the female foot in a shibari shoe.
Tied Up
It’s important to recall that liberating oneself from the cultural baggage one inherits by virtue of merely being born into a particular time and place is not accomplished by merely adopting the opposite position. In the dialectical structure, inhabiting the antithesis merely reaffirms the thesis. It does nothing to diminish the power of the thesis. Rather, twisting free of the rigid and possibly oppressive cultural constraints is a tricky and subtle art. It requires first understanding the nature of one’s servitude and then becoming master of it.
Lola is by no means exempt from our culture’s conventions any more than you or I. However, she does like to play with the tropes and taboos just the way that a good composer doesn’t merely adhere to the rules of the times, but will surprise and delight by contorting them in unexpected patterns.
Lola’s Cock
Of course, in our relationship there is the patent hotwife – cuck/stag – bull roles to be played. But we emphasize the play of that is inherent in any roleplaying. Lo has her soft spot for knots (of all variety) and strappy heels, dresses, bras, panties, and even corsets. She also has her wet spot for BBC. But it also delights her to wear her strap-on, to wield her cock, and to fuck like a man. Call her a switch if you wish. She also oogles and drools over the many fan photos she gets from black bulls endowed with length, girth, and heft she has rarely met in the flesh. But she also loves her male trans fans who send photos of themselves in their wives’ panties or cumming in their pantyhose. For, when it comes to sex, the one rule that holds is that nothing is essentially anything. Existence precedes essence, as the Existentialists mantra goes, meaning, before we had determined male/female, man/woman, straight/queer, black/white, there were just people doing stuff. Their names, definitions, categories, and expectations of norms all came later.
TV fan of Lola
These observations are meant neither to condemn nor condone the complex cultural code with regard to BBC or BDSM as it manifests in veiled, seemingly innocuous symbols such as popular movies and fashion. Rather, this thought piece is more along the lines of semiotics (the study of signs and symbols in culture) than a cultural critique. Signs and symbols perform a function; they point at something. In this piece, the sign/symbol with which we began was the black penis, which is, innately and ironically, also a pointer. Perhaps it is pointing at our radical possibility for the future. I simply wanted to point that out.
Smaller Big Fan of Lola
Medicinal Masturbation
“Are you going to sleep, Daddio?” she asked, rubbing my flaccid member under the sheets.
“Guurerumph,” I inarticulately mumble.
“But what about me?”
“Sleep.”
She continued gently stroking my rod up and down with just her fingertips, ever-so-lightly. I could feel my cock growing. Her curious fingers moved lower, tickling my testicles.
“You’re so big. So full. Are you sure you want to sleep?”
No response.
After dallying on my scrotum for a while, she explored further down below, gently circling and prodding.
“Oh come on Daddy, I’m feeling randy! What do I have to say? What do I have to do?” she whined.
“Fine,” I said, groggy. “Roll over and spread your legs.”
“But I’m on my period. It’s heavy. It will make a mess.”
“Grrrrrrr,” I grumbled. “Now you’ve got me hard.”
“I didn’t do that.”
“You certainly had a hand in it.”
“Jack it for me.”
“Lo, I’m too tired to jack it.”
“I like seeing you jack it.”
“You like seeing anyone jack it, or jill it, or whatever it.”
“True, but I’m tired of being a boner donor and of just seeing cumtributes. I want the full 4-D experience.”
“Four dicks?”
She laughed, “No, silly. Though that would be nice. Three dimensional, plus the added fourth dimension of the smell, taste, and feel of cum on me when you’re done.”
“Is that what they mean by 4-D?”
“That’s what I mean by it.”
By this point I was up and awake.
“Do you want me, Daddy?” she asked, despite having just told me I can’t have her.
“No,” I said out of frustration.
“Your Truth Stick says otherwise.”
“You can’t handle the truth,” I said.
“The truth is hard.”
“The truth is hard to swallow.”
She leaned over and looked up at me as her mouth descended on my ‘Truth Stick.’
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll jack it.”
“You will?!”
“But only if you let me use Stoya.”
Now it was her turn to grumble.
“Why can’t you just jack it with your right hand like a real man?”
“Because I am a real man with real calluses on my hands. Stoya feels better. . . and she makes you jealous.”
“Fine, I’ll take whatever I can get. My fucking cramps are killing me. You get Stoya all lubed up and I’ll be right back.”
She went into the bathroom and grabbed a heating compress. She put it just above her Delta of Venus.
“OK, I’m ready to watch you now,” she said, her legs spread and her little tampon string dangling from between her pussy lips.
I stood over her, looking at her pussy, fucking Stoya’s.
Strings Attached
“That’s it, Daddio,” she said, encouraging me, her red tongue gliding over her white teeth. She reached over the side of the bed and pulled out her glass dildo, ‘Glindo,’ as we call it, and her Hitachi Magic Wand.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Medicinal masturbation. It will make me feel better.”
She applied the Hitachi to her clit as she inserted the dildo up, next to her tampon.
“Keep going,” she insisted.
Her various objects of sexual self-pleasure were blocking my view. In order to enhance my excitement, she said, “You know what Kaylee told me the other day?”
I kept thrusting into Stoya, but I was listening.
“She said, ‘This guy I hooked up with told me that sometimes when he fucks girls, he pictures other girls in his mind. But, when he is fucking me, he just pictures me.’ And you know what I told her?”
She didn’t really expect me to answer.
“I told her that when guys fuck other girls, they picture me. In fact, they look at my naked photos to get hard for their wives and girlfriends.”
“What did she say to that?” I asked her.
“She called me a dirty slut.”
“Really?”
“She said I’m an attention whore and a nympho.”
“She knows you well.”
She dropped the Hitachi by her side. “Fuck me, Daddy,” she said.
“What?”
“Fuck me.”
“You just told me not to because you’re on your period.”
“Shut up and get in me!”
I wasn’t in a position to argue with her. I slid out of Stoya and into Lola, accompanied by her tampon and the dildo.
“Do you like to share me?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like it if there were two other cocks in me, instead of just this tampon and dildo?”
“Yes,” was all I could say.
“Me too,” she said and I could feel her begin to convulse under me.
It was so snug, yet so wet. I was crushed, but I enjoyed the feeling of finally filling her up.
She could sense my body tensing in anticipation of cumming. “Cum in me, Daddy,” she said. “Fill me more. Cum deep in me. I’m your whore.”
I fulfilled her wish and then slid out. I was still cumming. She dropped her dildo and sat up and sucked everything she could out of me. When she had extracted every last drop, she licked her lips and said, “You know what Joseph Campbell says?”
“That’s an odd thing to ask at this moment. But I’ll bite. What does Joseph Campbell say?”
“The demon you swallow gives you its power.”
“Do you feel powerful?”
“MmmmHmmmm,” she hummed.
She got up out of the bed and headed to the bathroom.
“Where are you going”
“I have to take out the fucking tampon you lodged in my throat!”
When she returned, I asked, “Did you get it?”
“Yes,” she said, “but I just remembered.”
“What’s that?”
“I have my OBGYN appointment first thing tomorrow morning.”
I pulled the covers over me and was quietly drifting off to sleep.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“You know what Benjamin Franklin says?”
“I’ll bite. What does Benjamin Franklin say?”
“Early to bed, early to rise.”
“Well you better rise in the morning,” she said squeezing my cock with her hand, “cause I’m going to want more of this then. It’s the only thing that relieves my cramps.”
“Don’t worry, the doctor will be in tomorrow.”
Stress Relief
It was Thursday night. I walked in on Lo taking a shower. “Why is there a wineglass in here?” I asked.
“Because I thought I’d have a sensual, romantic evening.”
“Only you would make a sensual, romantic date with yourself in the shower.”
“Hardly. But, if you must know, I had originally planned on a bath, surrounded by candles.”
“And?”
“I wanted to cut to the chase.”
I looked in at her and saw that she had the hand-held shower head between her legs.
“Only you could cheat yourself out of a romantic date in order to get lucky – with yourself!”
After her climax, she got out of the shower and as she was drying off, she said, “I’m trying to cultivate pleasurable habits.”
I snickered.
“What?”
“Pleasurable habits are your forte. I don’t think you need to ‘cultivate’ them.”
“No, no. Not those sorts of pleasurable habits. Normally it would be things like getting coffee at a café, strolling through a museum. Doing yoga. But during these pandemic times we’re in, I need to discover and foster different pleasurable habits. What are your pleasurable habits?”
“You.”
“Damn straight.”
“Glad we’re agreed on that because I was afraid you were going to tell me to work out or eat better, or, God forbid, cut out beer!”
“Speaking of that. . .”
“Oh no!”
“No, no, no, silly. I was just going to say that since I can’t go to the gym, I am going to have to find a way to do workouts at home.”
Lola Today
She put on her workout shorts and sports bra and told me to get out of the bedroom because she was going to do some exercises. I left and about five minutes later I heard her grunting and breathing heavily.
The next day Lola went into the bedroom to do her exercises again. When she came out she told me about a workout video that got her hot – about burning your buns off.
On the third day, Lola went into the bedroom to do her exercises and I heard her grunting and breathing heavily. I was curious. I went to check on her. I cracked the bedroom door and found her masturbating on the bed to the sexy woman in the exercise video.
“Is this how you work out?!” I said, walking in on her and interrupting the strenuous physical discipline.
“I told you, I am cultivating pleasurable habits. If my exercise turns into a digitally manipulated cardio session, that counts as a pleasurable habit.”
The next day during her exercise time I caught her in the bedroom pounding her pussy with her glass dildo instead of doing pushups.
“I felt like I needed to work out, but needed to work it out first! I had a really hard day.”
“Oh, is this your homeopathic remedy?”
“Why do you ridicule me? I don’t poke fun at you when your idea of exercise is typing fifty-words-per-minute.”
“I’m not poking fun at you. I’m in awe of your capacity for poking your yum-yum.”
“Good grief! Could you leave me to my own devices and take your puns into the other room?”
The following night she began masturbating during a movie we were watching.
“Lo, what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like your finger-fucking your pussy while we’re trying to watch a movie.”
“Keen observation.”
“But why can’t we just watch the movie? Before too long, you’ll make yourself cum and then you’ll want to fuck me and we’ll never get through the movie.”
“We’re watching Brad Pitt take off his shirt. Everyone masturbates to that!”
“You’re extrapolating.”
“What?”
“Because you do it, you’re extrapolating from yourself to everyone.”
“And everyone extrapolates.”
“Now you’re confusing extrapolate with masturbate. Everyone masturbates, but not during every movie.”
“Extrapolate, masturbate, fornicate, what’s the difference? Can you please press PLAY so I can get on with this? You interrupted my rhythm.”
“You’re just going to exacerbate the problem by persisting in it.”
“Exactly.”
As I sat watching the scene unfold, I can’t deny that it got me hard. Lo noticed and said, “If we go to bed, will you stay up?”
“What about the movie?”
“You’ll fall asleep during it anyway. Let’s get into the bedroom where you can get into me.”
I agreed and got up. She remained on the couch.
“Aren’t you coming?” I asked.
“I hope to be soon. Brush your teeth, get in bed and I’ll be right there. I’m just going to finish this up,” she said as if she were in the middle of making a spreadsheet for a work project.
In bed, I fell asleep waiting for her. She must have entered without my noticing, pulled out her Hitachi and, after cumming once, she put it on my back and jolted me awake. “I was just using the defibrillator to bring you back to consciousness,” she said wickedly.
After I awoke, she sucked me off, climbed on top of me, and began riding my erect cock. It is well trained to react to her while the rest of me sleeps. “Fucking you is like fucking a geriatrics patient.”
“You say the most romantic things.”
“I need dick. Give it to me.”
I was almost asleep again as she bounced up and down.
“This is like fucking a cock on a corpse after rigor mortis has set in.”
“You sure know how to turn a guy on.”
“I want your cum, Daddy. Give it to me. Fill me.”
Relieved to hear her request since it meant the culmination of my satisfaction and the fulfillment of her nocturnal necromancy, I released my draught of desire deep inside her to her delight.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said, falling into my arms.
“So, am I on your list of pleasurable habits to cultivate?”
“Of course you are, silly! Number one on the list is ‘Jill it. Drill it. Fill it.’”
“What’s number two?”
“Actually, it’s the only thing on my list so far.”
Stress Relief Tools
Interview With a Nympho
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Working from home? Enjoy mysexlifewithlola as you do.
[I, Lola Down, recently was asked to do an interview about my sex-life under lockdown. Even though HH just wrote an article about it for Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine, I was happy to give an interview in my own words. It ended up on the cutting room floor, but here it is for your reading pleasure.]
1. How has your sex life changed since practicing social distancing?
My sex life with my man, HH, is pretty much the same. I mean, we have lots of time together and, actually, that’s been great for both of us. But, to fill you in on our relationship, he’s in his fifties and I’m in my mid-twenties. His libido isn’t quite where mine is. In fact, he says that my libido outstrips that of a teenage boy. Well, maybe he’s right. So between us, things have remained the same — about once or twice a day. However, with “social distancing” (which is really physical distancing since I am still very social, just physically distant) I cannot meet men and women in person like I used to. HH and I have an understanding. I’m given free reign (to be a ‘hotwife’) and he saves himself for me. But now, all my hotwife activity is only virtual — through email (downloladown@gmail.com) or tweet or other social media. There’s a lot of men and women out there who are trapped. Either they’re alone or they are with partners that don’t satisfy them. They’re happy to find me.
Caught!
2. What is it like when you do decide to leave your apartment, flat or home?
Where we are, when we go out it’s probably much like where you are. People walking around or jogging or biking. Some have masks on, some don’t. I get really upset at those joggers who sneak up on you and don’t have a mask on and they come within a foot of your personal space. Go jog somewhere else! You know? Shopping is a pain, but you know, as they say, we’re all in this together. I can’t complain any more than the next person.
3. How do you control your urges or cravings on a daily basis?
Working from home makes it easy. Simply put, I don’t have to “control my urges or cravings” as much as I would at work. I can simply hop into the bath, turn on the warm water, spread my legs and have a little mid-day me-time. No sneaking around to the office supply closet or an empty bathroom.
Lola Social Distancing
4. What is the hardest part of being a sex addict in quarantine?
Am I a sex addict? Like Jessica Rabbit says, “I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way.” HH depicts me as a sex-craved nympho. I just think I’m sex-positive with a healthy libido. I think that this “social distancing” is as draining on me as anyone. I thrive on social interaction. The other day I woke up and turned to HH and said, “I had such a vivid dream. I was at a restaurant and had just finished an excellent meal and a great cocktail. I even asked for the bill. It was amazing!”
“Was it as good as a sex dream?” he asked.
Honestly, it was better. I just want to be outside with people, dining out, seeing and being seen, dressing up or dressing down and, did I mention, being with people? Zoom just doesn’t do it for me.
Write me!
5. How do you cope as a sex addict in quarantine?
Didn’t the CDC say that sex with yourself is the safest sexy you can have? Well, I try to follow rules. Except when I break them. No, just kidding. That’s a rule I don’t break. I have a lot of self-pleasure sessions. Nothing new there, really. But now I can’t just call up a friend and have him or her come over to give me benefits.
6. Are you still having sex with other people while in quarantine? If so, please explain.
No sex in real life, just in my imagination. I had another crazy sex dream about Peter Dinklage the other night. I know, right? If only he and I were dining together in my dream. . .
7. How often are you watching pornography, using sex toys, or engaging in sex addicts that do not involve a partner while in quarantine?
Daily, hourly, right now. . . I mean, if you’re reading this, I’m engaging with you, right?