The Orgasm Heard ʼRound the World or Orgasmic Orchestral Accompaniment

Posted on May 2, 2023 by Lola Down

May is Masturbation Month, but Lo’s self-pleasure cums three hundred and sixty-five days a year. It turns out that May is also Mental Health Awareness Month. Coincidence? I don’t think so. A large part of mental health is sexual health, sexual pleasure, and sexual self-stimulation. So, go for it. Yes, you may! Yes, you should!

In honor of this annual celebration of manual manipulation of the genital variety, I bought Lo two gifts: a Lovence Lush remote-controlled vibrator and concert tickets to see the philharmonic.

These were separate and distinct gifts, but leave it to Lo to combine the two.

She put on her sexy, contour-fitting blue dress with a little black jacket over it and her new toy securely and secretly inserted in her hideaway under it.

Lo, Dressed for Success

Off we went to hear some beautiful music.

On the ride there, Lo said to me, “I want to take this sexy little pink plaything for a test drive during the performance.”

“But Lo,” I tried to protest.

“But Lo nothing,” she said, shutting me down. “The vibe is a gift and so are the tickets and I want to enjoy both simultaneously.”

She is a master debater and am no match for her oral skills.

We filed in and the show began with a contemporary violin concerto with which I was unfamiliar. Lo had her right hand on my left knee and indicated that she was not impressed. But then, without intermission, the main event of the evening began – Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony.

Lo indicated that now was the right time to test out her new gift. I inconspicuously pulled out my phone and turned on the toy. Throughout the first movement I gently and thoughtfully applied the vibrational intensity to the mellow and subdued melody of the orchestra. But, as the piece transitioned to the second movement, increasing in passion and drama, I followed suit with the controller I had in my pocket. I could feel Lo’s grip on my knee holding on for dear life and I saw her bite down hard on her lower lip.

Her legs pressed tightly together. The she crossed her legs, one over the other, pressing her inner thighs against each other as she rocked back-and-forth a little. She began to perspire just a bit on her brow. And then, she let out a primal scream like I had never heard before that echoed and reverberated throughout the acoustically dynamic hall.

From my long experience with Lo, I knew that this meant she was also simultaneously squirting and that her Kegel strength was clenching on the small but powerful device. I immediately shut off the remote and pretended to be looking forward as if nothing were happening, but as soon as she regained control of her vocal emanations, I could see, without drawing attention to it, the small puddle that had accumulated under her seat.

Thankfully, the band played on and eventually, people stopped staring at us.

It was impossible to get up and leave in the middle of the piece without further drawing the ire of the polite audience upon ourselves and, in the process, demonstrating Lo’s very wet bottom. But as soon as the symphony was over, we made our way out of the concert hall as the audience around us was still applauding. Lo held in her hand the little pink conductor whose baton had caused her crescendo. She placed it in her clutch and we slipped into the night.

Little did we know that her vocal accompaniment to the concerto would be caught on tape and that her little performance would headline the evening. Perhaps she has a future as an opera singer.

One thing is for sure, Lo’s lullaby proved that there is a permeable line between art and porn.

The End

Protected: V-Day is Cumming

Posted on February 12, 2023 by Lola Down

Protected: “Paint me like one of your slutty girls.”

Posted on September 4, 2022 by Lola Down

“J.O.I. de Vivre”

Posted on May 7, 2022 by Lola Down

Uh Oh, someone got busted looking at Lo’s tits while working from home!

For those few of you who might not know, “J.O.I.” stands for “Jerk Off Instructions.” It’s a rather popular form of porn that has been part of intimate bedroom play for as long as there have been masturbators and those who love to instruct them. Lola has engaged in this special type of kink for a long time now – telling her friends and fans exactly how she wants them to cum to her, remotely or in person. During the COVID lockdown, this became one of her favorite ways of getting herself off safely.

You also may recall our newlywed couple, Jane and Andrew, who discovered each other’s kinks on their wedding night. Turns out Jane’s kink was reading Match, Cinder & Spark while denying Andrew and Andrew’s kink was wearing women’s lingerie while being denied by his bride.

I’m happy to report that they found a way for them both to get off, using the tertium quid of Lola.

“Lola, Andrew has two work-from-home days next week. Please tell us instructions for his torment,” wrote Jane.

“When he works from home, is he on Zoom?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, he should only be dressed from his waist up. You should hang my photos all over the house. Whenever he gets up – to get a coffee, to eat lunch – and walks past my photo, he must stroke until he is good and hard. But he may not cum. Take photos of it.”

“Excellent. And on the second day?”

“On the second day, same, but at the end of the day you will stroke his hard cock to my photos and this time he is allowed to cum, but only by means of your touch.”

“Thank you, Lola! You have no idea what this means to us!!!”

Lola sent them select photos for them to print out and frame. Here are the results.

You should try this at home too and send Lo the results!

Smalltown Strumpet – A Room with a View

Posted on September 25, 2021 by Lola Down

Part I – A Room with a View

Book Cover, Excerpt

How do you like the view?

My friend John has a large house out in the woods. After fifteen months of COVID lockdown, he and his family were eager to get out and go on a vacation. He called me up one day and asked if Lo and I would be interested in a house swap. We’d get to use his country farmhouse and they’d get to stay in the city at our apartment. Lo was game. A weeklong vacation in June sounded good to her. “We’ll have a love-fest,” she said, licking her lips.

“When you say it, it sounds like a sextival.”

“Yes, that does sound better!” She looked off into the distance. “Imagine,” she said, “Merry-go-arounds, Ferris wheels, haunted houses – all for sexual variety.”

“Don’t forget the fun we could have with cotton candy.”

“We could do that at home.”

“The only downside to this swap is that John had asked if I would install a couple of windows in their kitchen so they could look out on the front lawn when doing dishes.”

John, though very skilled, knows that I worked as a carpenter in my twenties. He preferred that I do the window framing because he was concerned his amateurish abilities would lead to leaks and other problems.

“Do I have to help you?” asked Lo.

“No, I don’t think I’ll need help.”

“Well, then it sounds like a great plan to me!”

We arrived Friday night and Lo made an excellent meal with the provisions John had left for us. As a token of his gratitude, he left a very expensive bottle of Scotch for me.

The next day was sunny and warm. In fact, that was the forecast for the whole week. I was glad for it, since it meant I wouldn’t have to worry about the weather while I cut a hole in the wall of the house, framed out the windows, installed them, and then did the finish-work on the outside and inside.

As I was arranging my tools for the job, Lo came downstairs in a skimpy bikini.

“And where are you going?” I asked her.

“To tan.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Right there,” she said, pointing to the front lawn. The backyard was basically woods. The front lawn was flat and open, but the house was on a fairly busy street – busy for the country, that is. Cars were constantly driving by – maybe one or two a minute.

“Lo, are you seriously going to suntan like that?”

“Like what?”

“Wearing that thong bikini.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because. . . because, uh, your pussy lips.”

“What about my pussy lips?”

“They’re too big for that thong. They’re hanging out and over, flapping on either side of it.”

String Thong

“So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’?”

“I mean, bikinis are meant to accentuate the positive.”

“And you have positively large, long, and loose pussy lips.”

“I prefer to think of them as limber,” she said, pulling at her labia to show me their elasticity.

“Call them limber, call them lithe, call them labia-lobes, I don’t care what you call them, they are flopping in the wind, exposed.”

“Since when have you become such a prude?”

“Suit yourself.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll do. And I fully expect to find many suitors at the beach this summer.”

“I’m sure that they will expect to fill you too.”

“The more meat between these thighs the better!”

“Well, need I remind you, this is not the beach. We’re in a rural town in the sticks and you’ll be flashing your wares on the front lawn. I wouldn’t be surprised if the village vice squad slapped a fine right on your ass.”

“I bet they’d like to touch this fine ass too!” she said, turning tail and walking out the front door. I could see the silhouette of her labia in her thigh gap as she strutted away. I watched as she set up her lounge chair on the lawn, close enough to the road for everyone to get a good look. She purposefully spread her legs as she adjusted her bikini top. Cars were slowing down as they drove by, in order to get a closer look.

I watched her for a bit before taking a drill to the wall and cutting a hole right through to the exterior.

“Hey Lo,” I called across the front lawn.

She turned around.

“Come here, I want to show you something.”

She didn’t look pleased that I was interrupting her exhibitionism, I mean relaxation. She sauntered across the lawn, flaunting her ass in the thong to the throngs of people in the street. At least in her mind that was what she was doing. In reality, cars were passing by at their usual rate.

“This better be good,” she said.

“Look,” I said, pointing to the circle I had cut in the wall.

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s the bottom left corner of where the window is going to go. I’ll use the Sawzall to cut out the rectangle, but that’s what I’ve done so far.”

“Are you going to have me praise each and every step of your progress?”

“No, I just thought you’d want to see it because right now it could double as a glory hole.”

“Not for you it couldn’t. That wall has to be at least eight inches thick.”

Deflated, I said, “You may return to your previous position as lawn ornament.”

I pulled out the Sawzall and recalled how a while back Lo and I looked into converting reciprocating saws into sex machines. We ultimately passed on the idea because, after a bit of research, we found that a number of women had sustained serious injuries from the DIY project.

I cut through the wall and hung a tarp over it. That was enough work for one day.

I went to the front porch, opened a cold beer, and watched as Lola played the part of town strumpet for the passersby.

The next day I had to frame the rough cutout I had made. I measured twice to insure cutting once.

With the three-by-six foot gaping hole in the wall, I had a direct view of my little Lo as she allowed her slightly smaller gaping hole be on display in the front yard. She wore the same bikini as the day before and today promised to be a repeat performance.

However, word must have spread among the locals, for now there was pedestrian traffic whereas yesterday there was none. This is a town without sidewalks, mind you. People – excuse me – men had to go out of their way to stroll casually down the street as if they were on an errand. No such errand existed because there was nowhere to go.

One of the men, wearing overalls no less, stopped to ask if John was home.

“Nope,” said Lo, looking him up and down over the top of her dark sunglasses.

“His wife home?” asked the gentleman.

“Nope.”

“Anyone home?”

“Just me and my ole man,” said Lo, pointing her thumb in my direction.

At a loss, the overalls observer moseyed his merry way down the street.

A half hour later another voyeur just happened to be passing by. He was a little more clever than the first one. He politely asked Lo if she might have a glass of water for him on this brutally warm day. This had the desired effect of getting Lo up and letting her strut her way across the lawn back to the house to fetch him some water.

He drank it in one swig, all the while looking Lo over from head to toe.

“Thank you,” he said, realizing his reason for standing there was no longer valid.

I swear, Lo should have been collecting admission fees!

You would think not a single man in this town ever saw a sexy woman.

The third day I was all set to lift the window into the frame and secure it. To my great astonishment, a friendly neighbor came over to offer me some help. He was in his early twenties and he spoke to Lo, who was again lying out in front, first, asking if I wanted a hand with the window.

She directed him my way. I said I’d be happy to have another man help me ease it in and hold it there while I leveled it all out before screwing it in good. I do believe he was eager to do all those things, just not with the window.

He assisted me in the task which took only a quarter of an hour and then he asked if I needed help with anything else. I told him I was all set. The rest was just finishing work I could do myself.

He said he’d get going and he walked up to Lo to say goodbye (and take one more good look at her).

She looked at him over her glasses and said, “Like what you see?”

“Yes, yes I do,” he said.

“You hard?”

“No, not right now.”

“Get hard,” she said.

“What?”

“Get hard and jack off.”

“Here?”

“To me. I like that.”

“Here?” he repeated.

“Where else?” she asked. “I’m sitting here ain’t I?”

“Yes, but.”

“You can keep it in your pants. Just let me see the cum stain when you’re done.”

He reached in his pockets with both hands and, watching her lying there, her meaty mound surrounding the thin thong, and he came within a few minutes.

“Good boy,” said Lo. “Feel better?”

“I can hardly walk, but yeah.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this, ok? It’s our little secret.”

“Sure. See you later,” he said as he hobbled away.

I brought her a cold drink once he was out of eyeshot and she looked up at me, accepting it as if she had ordered it from a cabana boy, and said, “Still got it.”

I should tell you, dear reader, that each and every night, after her hours of daytime display, Lo would be hungry for my cock. Being away from home and her toy chest, she used me to the full extent of my abilities which, as always, was not nearly enough for her. Those nights, I saw her fuck: a broom handle, a bedpost, and a shampoo bottle. None of this is new. I’ve seen it all before, just not in rapid sequence. The retreat to the country was like a recharge of her sexual energy.

“How about tomorrow we go to town and explore a little?” I asked. “I’m nearly done with the window. I can take a day off.”

The next day, instead of Lo donning her microbikini and me sweating away at the carpentry, we put on our rural regalia and ventured out to taste the local flavor. Apropos of the occasion, Lo was wearing her “Daisy Dukes” and a little flannel shirt. She tied the bottom front corners of the shirt into a bow in order to display her midriff. She looked sweet walking down the street in the sunlight. We hit up the nick-nack stores, the antique shop, the bookstore (of course) and grabbed some lunch followed by ice cream.

She got some long stares from passersby on the sidewalk and in the boutiques. In the early afternoon, as we were cruising around the countryside just taking it all in, what should we espy on a desolate corner but the local strip club.

It was COVID times, so the establishment had converted a large part of the rear parking lot into a fenced off cabaret. There was a roughly constructed stage of two-by-fours and plywood, a few small tables and chairs set up for the patrons, and scantily-clad waitresses running drinks from the bar inside to the thirsty men outside.

They were all men, except Lo. Did they think Lo was a stripper when she walked in with me? I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

We sat down at a table and ordered a couple of beers. We watched the ladies of the hamlet dance and, if I’m being honest, they couldn’t hold a candle to Lo’s flame. The men were intrigued by the female foreigner in their midst and eyed Lo more than they eyed the day’s entertainment. Lo knew it too. She nudged my arm for me to observe the attention she was getting and then nodded in the general direction of the fence where, in handwritten scrawl, a sign was posted that said, “NO MASTURBATING.”

I know the question that was going through Lo’s mind at that moment: Does that apply to women too?

I saw her reach down and undo the button on her shorts, reach her right hand down under them and under her panties (if she was wearing panties), and saw the outline of her small hand rubbing her mons pubis. It made a bulge in the front of her shorts as her bare legs were spread wide and she watched the women on the stage in various states of undress. Her head fell back, her mouth opened just a bit.

Lola outside, short-shorts

To Be Continued. . .

Quick Anal Hookups

Posted on May 28, 2020 by Lola Down

Quick Anal Hookups

[The mini-series “Mount Bliss” continues from “Alliterative Agony.”]

The next morning, Sunday, Lo was very slow to wake up. I, like clockwork, was up with the sunrise at around 5:30. Very gently and stealthily, I extricated myself from her naked embrace and found some clothes to slip into before sneaking out of the room in search of coffee. Lo is my drug of choice, but caffeine is my drug of necessity. Without it first thing in the morning, I develop a terrible headache, become susceptible to intrusive thoughts, and can be very unpleasant company.

In those newly minted minutes of the morning, the sun from yonder horizon streamed into the various windows of the “cottage,” designed perfectly to catch that brisk, new day aura. I was glad to have my alone time and, even better, I had discovered Collin’s very fancy, very expensive Italian espresso, cappuccino, and coffee brewing machine.

I made myself a steaming mug and went outside to take in the fresh air comingled with the aroma of the rich, calming coffee. A deep breath in and a long exhale out. For a moment, all the drama of the previous night seemed as unreal as a dream. I looked out over the light shimmering on the waves of the lake and felt as if everything was reborn that morning.

Just as I was taking it all in, feeling good about myself and my choice to join Lo and company up in this retreat, I heard the sliding door behind me open and, as I looked, there I saw Lilly, barefoot, in her panties and a tank-top, no bra, slip outside with me. She too was holding a mug of hot coffee.

“Can I join you?”

“Sure,” I said, concealing the pang of resentment I always feel when my morning solitude is interrupted, no matter by whom.

Lilly stood next to me and, for a brief moment, we both enjoyed the near silence of the breeze blowing the leaves, the birds singing their praise to the day, and the dance of the sun’s rays on the little waves. I could see her erect nipples reacting to the mountain morning air.

She broke the spell of the meditative moment by turning toward me and saying, “I don’t know what you’ve heard from Lola, but I want you to know that I never meant any harm.”

I had heard only small fragments at that point since my communication with Lo was so infrequent due to all the entertainment Collin was providing for her and Lilly.

“I don’t know much,” I said, but you can be sure that I was curious to know more. And, not only that, I wanted to hear it from Lilly’s lips so that I could later, in bed, compare it with Lo’s version. “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve missed.”

We sat on the lounge chairs and Lilly began from the beginning.

She recounted for me how Uncle Collin had always been for her almost a mythical figure. He was bold, daring, full of stories of his adventures, wealthy and generous, lavishing gifts on her and her family. Ever since she could remember, she adored him and looked at him with stars in her eyes.

She, so far as she could tell, was his favorite niece and he and Suzanne, having no children of their own, treated her as if she was his own daughter. He took her on vacations to France and Algeria, Italy and Spain. He spoiled her. He indulged her every whim with an amused satisfaction at the simplicity of her pleasures.

Just around the time she hit adolescence, he had his equestrian accident. She informed me about his injury and the damage it did to him. As she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes. After that, she recalled that Suzanne’s attitude toward her changed. She was cold. Aloof. She attended fewer and fewer family gatherings. She and Collin grew further and further apart.

She told me about going to Catholic school, wearing the school uniform and picking up on Uncle Collin’s subtle, yet perceptible interest in her girlfriends. In an offhand way, she mentioned that it was around this time, her freshmen year in high school, that she discovered the “A.O.L. alternative,” as she put it.

I played dumb, as if Lo hadn’t mentioned it to me. “A.O.L.?”

“Anal Only Lifestyle.”

“Is that a Catholic girl thing?”

“It was my thing. And, I guess, a lot of the girls I knew. But none of them took it as far or as frequently as I did.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but was curious to find out. I guess I raised my eyebrows, expressing my interest and so she continued, “I was into quick anal hookup.”

“What’s that mean?” I ventured. I knew from our previous private conversations that she enjoyed bragging and showing off her slutty side. Maybe there was some competitiveness she felt with Lo, but I was confident I wouldn’t have to pry this information from her.

“You know, just the one-night-stand thing. Or, later in high school, as my reputation spread, well. . .” she feigned being coy and blushing, “on a couple of occasions guys lined up outside in the backyard. We lived in a modified ranch and my bedroom was on the ground floor. I’d open the window, put my lubed butt out, and the guys would line up, one-by-one, for a chance at my ass.”

Sounded to me like her reputation wasn’t the only thing to spread.

“They wore condoms, I hope.”

She laughed.

“No?”

“We were in high school. They had like zero sexual experience. And. . .”

“And what?”

“I liked being filled up.” As she said this, she rolled over on her tum and added, “Oh, the sun’s just high enough to tan.” She clearly wanted me to look at her ass in those panties and imagine the backyard line-up.

She saw me eyeing her and said, “How did we get onto this topic?”

I had no idea at that point. I was much more interested in how she managed with what little Jim had to offer her by way of anal penetration. As I looked at her small ass in those even smaller panties, I thought that, despite her previous experience, it must not take much to fill her that way.

“Oh yeah, Uncle Collin’s accident,” she reminded me.

She then described how he appreciated having a house full of her friends, throwing house parties for them and, on occasion, spending the night with one or more of them. “That’s how it started,” she said. “It was all very innocent back then. I just wanted to cheer him up when he was going through the throes of depression and was wheelchair bound.”

“So, you’re saying that. . .” I was beginning to comprehend. She helped me.

“I knew Uncle Collin would love Lola. And I already knew you wouldn’t mind.”

That last little afterthought upset me. Maybe it was because normally I wouldn’t mind, but this time I did. Maybe it was something else.

“So it was a setup?” I asked.

“I would call it a little match-making.”

I must have had a dumbfounded look on my face, because then Lilly sat up and began explaining, rapid-fire, the pieces of the story that I also didn’t know: Uncle Collin’s erectile dysfunction; Suzanne’s sexual frustration; Lo’s resorting to masturbation to relieve her own pent-up desire for Collin. Much of what she had to say resolved some questions, but raised multiple more questions for me.

“How did you know that Collin was impotent?” I asked, picking a question at random from the array of choices in my mind.

“Let’s just say that I have my ways.”

I wondered what that meant, but didn’t dare ask. Nor did I need to. She willingly, almost eagerly told me all about the vacations in France, the nude beaches, the multiple attempts she made to get a rise out of her Uncle. His eventual confession when they were alone and sharing an intimate moment.

“I suppose, if I’m guilty of anything,” she said, “I’m guilty of leading on Lo into thinking that Uncle Collin could give her what she wanted. I knew he couldn’t, but I let her find out for herself. In that, I may have been wrong. But I didn’t feel like Uncle Collin’s story was mine to tell.”

She certainly had a warped conception of her role in this twisted, incestual scheme she and her uncle had going on. But, as a friend once said, don’t yuck my yum. I guess.

Just as she was getting to the acme of her story, the days the three of them spent at the clothing optional hotel, Suzanne walked outside, joining us.

“Good morning, Suzanne,” I said politely, feigning ignorance of her interaction with Lo the previous evening.

“How are you today, HH?” she asked, just as politely.

Ever notice how politeness and manners puts a distance between people? They are designed to assist civilization and society in running smoothly, but the means by which they do that is by preventing us from getting too close to one another and grinding our gears.

After the events of the night before, only some of which I was present for, this artificial social barrier between us was felt much more tangibly than it would have been otherwise.

As usual, Suzanne was wearing a suggestive, sheer robe over mere skimps of clothing and was accompanied by her ever-present pooches.

“Lilly, dear, why so covered up while sunning yourself?” asked Suzanne. “You wouldn’t want tan lines on that coveted ass of yours.”

“You’re right,” said Lilly, sitting up, taking a sip of her coffee, and slipping out of her tank top and panties. It was a good thing I had ejaculated last night in Lo, because, had I been as backed up as I was when I arrived, I might have revealed my arousal. As it was, all I wanted to do was escape back to Lo’s side (and then sneak inside her sweet spot).

Suzanne then sat across from the two of us, her hounds at her side, her legs crossed.

“Tell me HH,” she began, “I’m so curious. I know it’s none of my business, but what is your secret?”

I had no idea what she was talking about and I got the sense she phrased it exactly like that to keep me guessing.

“My secret?” I asked.

“I mean, with Lo.”

Still, very intentionally ambiguous.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” I said nicely.

“Come on,” she insisted. “You know.”

She was really enjoying teasing me. Or perhaps hoping that I would inadvertently answer the wrong question, revealing something I shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Suzanne, I don’t follow.”

“You and she. You’re a December/May relationship. She’s in her very first bloom of May, in fact.”

“And I’m practically in January?”

“No, not at all. But how do you. . .” she searched for the right word, “manage.”

“Manage what?”

“Oh, no need to be shy. We’re all friends. Her dalliances. Her infidelities.”

I was thinking that I could ask her the same thing, but I then realized, she probably wanted me to.

“Lo does what Lo wants. If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“You mean, Lo does whom Lo wants.”

“Either way,” I said.

“And you?” she asked.

“What about me?”
“You do whom you want as well?” she asked, looking over at the nude Lilly. I noticed that Lilly had put in her earbuds and was blissfully ignorant of our conversation. In any other situation, such behavior would have come across as rude, but in this instance, it was clear that Lilly was sending her aunt a message: “I don’t give a shit what you have to say.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I’m content with Lo.”

“You don’t ever have a longing for something else?”

It was a weird way to put it.

“Something?” I asked.

“You know, when all you’ve had is cheap wine, you might want to taste something of a more mature vintage,” she said, uncrossing and spreading her legs.

At just that moment, who should walk out the door but Lo, with a perfect view of Suzanne’s crotch in front of me and Lilly’s nude sunbathing to the left of me.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” asked Lo. I heard it as, “You’re in BIG trouble, mister.” Entrapment! I am an innocent man! Yes I am. An innocent man.

Suzanne & Bandit

Southern Comfort

Posted on April 20, 2020 by Lola Down

[The mini-series, “Mount Bliss,” continues from “Asses Up” with a story of reuniting lovers.]

Lola’s Nectarine

There we were, the six of us, finally, all together. Lo and Lily, naked as water nymphs wading in the blue lake. Collin, a seeming avuncular benefactor to his young niece and her attractive friend. Suzanne, sitting bemused by her husband’s masochistic tendencies. Oh, and the two dogs, Shadow and Bandit, lounging in the warm sun, too lazy to bark at Jim and me as we approached the backyard, they merely lifted their heads and looked over with expressions of mild curiosity mixed with ennui.

After Lola had greeted me and Lily greeted Jim, the two of them had made proper introductions of me to Suzanne since, as of yet, I had never met her. I could see a spark of interest in her eye as I shook her hand politely and Lo showed me off like a prize on a game show. I didn’t want to be Suzanne’s prize. I just wanted to be unwrapped by Lo.

I greeted “Uncle Collin” with an external warmth and “manly” handshake that masked my deep-seated antipathy toward him. Collin and Suzanne were hospitable, offering us lunch, cold drinks, and to change clothes if we wished to enjoy the lake.

I didn’t know how to say, “Can you all please just allow Lola and me some private time to ourselves before we join you?” So I didn’t say that. Not to mention, Lo seemed quite content with making me suffer by continuing my physical deprivation of her body and my mental agony of seeing her show off her assets before my nemesis, Collin.

As I said, Lo and Lily waded into the placid lake as Jim and I sat on lounge chairs, tall Gin and Tonics by our sides, making small talk with Collin and Suzanne. “How was the ride?” “What the hell’s happening in the big city?” “Have you heard all the adventures that we’ve been up to here?”

That last question, spoken in his boisterous tone by Collin, landed like a grenade in my lap. I wanted to say, “Yeah, I heard about how you have been living out all your fantasies of seducing girls one-third your age, one of whom is your niece no less!”

I suppose this was a writer’s karma coming back to bite me since a while back I had written lurid, lengthy passages about The Nutcracker and Clara’s relationship with her Uncle Drosselmeyer. Here, life was imitating my art (or philosophical musings) as Uncle Collin played the prurient host to titillate Lo with his perfectly choreographed vignettes of vice. Of course, that’s not the way Lo saw things. According to her, Collin was a perfect gentleman, showering upon her all the kindness and attention that she rightfully deserved. Vanity skews reality terribly.

The girls sat down on their towels in the sun as Jim, Collin, and I sat in chairs. We were all facing out toward the lake. Collin offered to get the girls another drink. Lo asked for a tall glass of ice water in addition to another G&T. It seems to me that there is an unwritten rule that women must do things in pairs, never solo, and so Lily also asked for a tall glass of water on the side.

I tried to be a good guest and offered to help Collin, but he turned me down and encouraged me to “get reacquainted” with Lola.

Suzanne returned with a tray of drinks. In her absence, she apparently changed into a skimpy outfit. Not quite nude, but not hiding anything either. The dogs were dutifully by her side.

Lola accepted the drinks graciously and then Jim and Lily got up to play a game of horseshoes on the lawn. Lola remained, sitting on her towel across from me. She sat up and bent her knees, displaying her crotch to me.

“Hot today,” she said with a seductive sip of her straw.

She pulled out an ice cube from her glass and ran it over her lips, under her chin, down her neck, over her nipple, and down to her crotch, over her clit and, eventually, slipped it right in her cunt.

“That feels goooood,” she said. “Miss me?”

I was practically drooling as I looked at her.

She repeated her performance with another ice cube, delighting in my discomfort.

Then she took the remaining four or five ice cubes out of the cup and slipped them into her pussy.

“Do you want to play, Daddy?” she asked.

“Play what?” I queried.

“A game,” she said ambiguously. She then crawled on all fours toward me and, when she got right between my legs as I sat in my lawn chair, she kneeled in front of me and put her elbows on my knees and looked up at me. She said, “I missed you.”

It was nice to hear those words from her mouth. But I shouldn’t have been fooled. She was not being sweet, she was being sexy. Just after the words I longed to hear dripped off her lips, the ice cubes she had been harboring inside her hot snatch dropped from her sopping pussy onto the grass.

“Whoops,” she said. “I guess I’m not as tight as I used to be.”

“I’m interested in seeing our sleeping quarters,” I said to her.

“Oh, Daddy, you’re in such a rush. Let’s enjoy the weather while it’s still sunny out.” She could see my raging hard-on through my shorts and she said, “I’ll make it all up to you later.”

“I’m not going to enjoy anything until I hear about your time here.”

She knew what I meant by hearing about her time. Our special pillow talk.

“Oh, Daddy, it’s been so much fun!” she almost squealed. “I wish we could go back and do everything again with you!”

“What did you do?”

“You’ll hear all about it tonight. But right now, let’s make some new memories together.”

She got up and Suzanne called us to join the others to eat. Lola and Lily put on some skimpy shreds of fabric and we headed up for a late lunch.

They had grilled out on the deck and I was famished.

As we sat around the table in the backyard, I tried to tamp down how much I despised Collin and did my best to avoid the flirtations that I perceived from Suzanne.

“It’s too bad you couldn’t join us, H,” said Collin in his booming voice that made everything he said sound like a brag. “You would have really enjoyed it. I think the girls did.”

“The girls?” I thought. Such a chauvinist. Where was Lo’s feminist streak? I guess it washed off in the lake or she shed it while streaking around the back yard.

“But don’t think I spoiled them,” he continued. “Oh no. I made them work for their room and board. I think Lo might have even developed blisters on her hands from the effort.”

“Is that so?” I asked, turning to Lo. “Let me see the palms of those delicate hands.”

Lo showed me her hands and said, “I had to tug and squeeze and pull and yank, just to get a little bit of cream. But the taste was sooooo rich and sweet that it was totally worth it.”

“Did you churn it as well?” I asked, playing along with her.

“I sure did. I churned it until all that cream turned to butter.”

“I bet you did. Golden, sweet butter. I can’t wait to taste it.”

“And my peach?!”

“Peaches,” I corrected her. “You picked more than one, didn’t you?”

“There’s only one worth having,” she said. “But did I say peach? I meant, nectarine.”

Collin served up the burgers, steak, veggie kabobs, and Suzanne brought out the salad and more drinks.

“Isn’t he a darling?” asked Suzanne to Lola with reference to me. She had a barely perceptible southern drawl that came out more pronounced in her question.

“I see now,” said Lo, “he is just the darlingest darling.” Her voice was conveying a lot of latent content, most of it hostile to both me and Suzanne.

Suzanne was fluttering around, clearly trying to impress in what was basically her lingerie as she attended to Jim and me. After five days of being a recluse in her room, suddenly Suzanne was eager be the life of the party. She vigorously mixed our martinis in the shaker above her head like a bartender straight out of Cowboy Ugly. She bent over to pour out the drinks into the fancy, handmade, delicate glasses. She strutted her stuff in heels across the slate floor and generally put on a Lola-worthy performance. It afforded me a glimpse into the life of Lola in twenty years (when I’m either dead or in the old-age home).

She had been friendly, in a cordial way, to Lo and Lily, but now she was flirty, vivacious, and playing the role of the vixen.

Collin watched with a just perceptible look of perturbance on his face. Not outright scorn or contempt, but a subtle disapproval of her behavior. Who was he, though, to call her out?

After a few drinks, I stopped avoiding the unwelcome attention of Suzanne and began to enjoy it to the exact degree that it annoyed Lola to witness. And the more I displayed my pleasure at Suzanne’s doting over me, the more Lola was visibly disturbed by the spectacle.

Jim was only slightly less distraught than Lo due to Suzanne’s uninvited flirtation. Lily paid her no mind, as if Suzanne was merely a summer fly that had to be tolerated, but couldn’t ruin all the other benefits of the great outdoors. We sat around the deck sipping our drinks in the afternoon sun, which made the already potent concoctions even more powerful. I was pacing myself, but I noticed that for every drink the rest of us downed, Suzanne had pounded two.

Soon afternoon had turned to early evening and Collin lit the fire pit.

It was as if a switch had flipped in Suzanne’s head and without warning her hospitality and flirtation transposed into hostility and vindictiveness, aimed mostly at Collin.

“What do you think, Collin,” she taunted with spite, “should I take H here on a trip to the hotel? Strip him down naked, and enjoy some eye-candy? Would you like that? Maybe he would like this?” she said, rubbing her hands over her hips. What had seemed charming and attractive just a little while ago, now, with the admixture of too much alcohol, appeared to me rather disgraceful and repugnant.

For the first time since I met him, Collin was visibly uncomfortable, not in control of the situation, and at a loss.

“That’s enough of that,” he said to Suzanne, feigning power, but revealing fear. “Tell me, H, of this big case that kept you away this week,” he said to me, trying to steer our attention away from his wayward wife.

“Yes, H, tell us,” Suzanne said, stealing the spotlight again. “Did you press your point hard? I bet you have such an interesting job. Not just vicariously getting animals to live your life for you.”

I let out a nervous laugh and said, “It’s actually quite boring.”

“Boring?!” squealed Lo.

“Of course, I don’t mean you. I mean work.”

“See, Collin, how he adores her?” Suzanne tossed in his face.

“That’s enough,” began Collin.

“And he doesn’t even hold it against her that she’s a little slut for you.”

“Hey,” I said, feeling like I needed to come to the defense of Lola despite the fact that we’ve never before regarded the S-word as a slur. But between us it isn’t meant as an insult.
“No, no,” said Collin, “let her talk. Let her show you who and what she really is.”

Now it was getting very tense at the table and Lo, always the social lubricant, interrupted it to say she’d help clear the dishes. She got up and grabbed a few plates from in front of us and sashayed toward the house.

“Can I get anyone anything while I’m up?” she asked over her shoulder.

Collin was busy staring down Suzanne. Suzanne was busy staring at me. Jim was suggesting to Lily that they go to bed and Lily excused herself to help Lola. What an uncomfortable set of sexually frustrated friends.

“Collin, did you know that HH is a scholar of art history?” Lily asked, interrupting the thick silence.

“No, no I didn’t. I thought he was a lawyer.”

“People can be more than one thing,” said Suzanne.

“Would you like to show him your art collection?” suggested Lily.

“An excellent idea,” said Collin, clearly eager to get out of the close quarters of the dining area turned battlefield and eager to show off more of his monetary prowess.

He took me by the arm and began showing me various second-rate paintings and sculptures that he had acquired over the years and haphazardly arranged around the house. None of it was worth a quarter of what he had paid for it, I’m sure.

When we were done with our little tour, he led us back to the living room where Lo and Lily were whispering something.

It was set up like a little conversation pit with a fireplace and round leather couches. When we got there, Suzanne followed with the two dogs in tow. She started teasing them and roughhousing with them until she was on all fours and they were nipping at her playfully, yipping and yapping.

“These two,” she said, “have been so jealous for my attention ever since you arrived.”

“Suzanne!” called Collin. “Please!”

“They are so jealous. They can’t stand to have other males in the house.”

“Stop it!”

“Well, except for Collin, of course. But he doesn’t count.”

The dogs were jumping, getting behind her and lifting their front paws.

“That’s why they’re so frisky,” she laughed.

“SUZANNE!!!” yelled Collin. This time Suzanne, clearly inebriated, merely laughed hysterically at the playful pets.

Just then there was a startling CRASH from behind us.

Suzanne & Bandit

“The Good Place”

Posted on April 12, 2020 by Lola Down

[We interrupt the mini-series, “Mount Bliss,” to bring you this timely tale of Lo’s date from Easter last year. We hope you enjoy it and hope that you have also been enjoying the mini-series. We will do our best to continue with the last few installments of the series this week. Happy Easter to everyone! We hope you are all safe, healthy, happy, sexy, and enjoying all of our content!”

“The Good Place”

It was Easter Sunday morning and we could both sleep late, finally. But I awoke to Lo screaming, “Fuck! God! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!!!” and a buzzing sound. I felt the sprinkle of her holy water on my foot and then she turned to me and said, “Oh, morning! Best alarm clock ever, right?” as she shut off her Hitachi Magic Wand and pulled it out from under the blankets. She jumped out of bed, bare-ass, and said, “You have to get up now, Daddy, because I have to strip.”

“You’re already naked.”

“I have to strip the bed. Get up.”

Reluctantly I got out from under the blankets as she peeled them off the bed to reveal the puddle she had made. She removed the sheets and tossed them in the laundry basket.
“A happy Easter to you too,” I said sarcastically. “Was that you reciting the Rosary?”

“No, but I can get my beads, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“What beads?”

“My anal beads, of course.”

“You are a sacrilegious sex-addict!”

“You are a silver-tonged poet!”

“Now that we have stroked each other’s egos, what else would you like to stroke?”

As she was taking out the fresh sheets, she picked up her Hitachi and said, “Now I know why they call it a Magic Wand! Because it does the trick every time!”

Meanwhile, I was standing naked, my cock saluting her sexy body as she moved and jiggled making the bed.

Once the corners were all tucked and the bed turned down, I jumped in.

“Hey!” she said, “I just made that!”

“Yeah, well it was made just for me.”

“No, it was made for me. . . to get laid.”

“I don’t object to that.”

“Later,” she said, to my great disappointment.

“What do you have to do now?”

“I have a date.”

“What?!”

“A date, with a girl.”

“What?!” I said again.

“Yeah, I took out another ad,” she said, nonchalantly, as she tossed her phone on the bed for me to see.

Lola’s Ad featuring Lola Getting Off to her 18″ dildo

Adventurous, sexy, intelligent, fun female seeks the same for good time out on the town and in the bedroom. I like to dominate and, occasionally, be dominated. I’m experienced and in an open relationship, but he will not be part of this. Trysexual – I’ll try anything! D&D Free. You be too. NO GUYS! Must have voice confirmation. Send e-mail with info about you and pics. Need not be explicit, but must show face.

“When did you do this?” I inquired.

“A while ago,” she said in her Scarlett O’Hara voice as she put on her pink thong panties. “And my date is today.”

“Can I come along?” I asked. It was more like pleading.

“No! Didn’t you read the ad?”

“Yes, but. . .”

“No buts.”

“But your butt. It’s such a nice butt. And it’s such a nice day. Where are you going?”

“We’re meeting for coffee at the café around the corner.”

“I’ll just sit by you.”
“No, you’ll make me self-conscious.”

“Please.”

I must have been very pathetic because she finally gave in.

“Fine, but you have to wait at least ten minutes before you leave, and don’t sit anywhere near me.”

“OK. I’ll just sit where I can see you.”

She put on her cutest pink skirt and white t-shirt top, little baby blue pumps, and grabbed a designer handbag.

“How do I look?”

“You’re missing something.”

“What?”

“A pink Easter bonnet.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. Remember, ten minutes!”

“Yes, I know. I still have to get dressed anyhow.”

She was out the door and I rifled through my drawers to find something inconspicuous to wear. I put on the first things I found and dashed outside. I could see Lo’s little caboose sashaying down the street about fifty yards ahead of me. It was a beautiful sight along with the pink blossoms on the trees and the budding tulips.

I slowed down as Lo found her date and introduced herself, sitting down next to her at a little table on the sidewalk. Either her date got there early or Lo was late. In either case, Lo’s date was a very cute redhead with freckles. Lo had her back to my approach.

I was hoping to get a seat in the restaurant where I could safely spy on the two of them from behind the plate-glass window. But the hostess seated me outside, just diagonally from them both. Not only could I see everything, I could hear them too! At first Lo didn’t see me, thank goodness, because she would have been very cross at me.

They ordered breakfast and mimosas. I did too.

Lo’s date was not at all what I had expected. Usually the people who reply to these personal ads are men and women (or couples) roughly about Lo’s age – early to mid-twenties. But maybe due to the aging of the technology and its becoming obsolete by newer apps, like Tinder and Bumble, it’s an older crowd that is cruising the virtual personals. (By the way, Lo doesn’t use those more popular apps because she’s afraid of being recognized by her colleagues, or worse, students!) This woman was in her mid-thirties, at least. Maybe forty, but it’s hard to say. Long strawberry-blonde hair, thin, wearing denim shorts, high wedges with straps, and a loose-fitting black blouse. She rocked the outfit, but I was surprised to see a woman who looked like she could be a mom.

The seats outside filled up and it got a little louder. I found it difficult to hear them, but I caught snippets of their conversation. The mystery woman (I didn’t know her name yet) was asking about Lo’s “half-open relationship.” I heard Lo reply, “I’m not homosexual or heterosexual, bi-sexual, or even metro-sexual. I’m very sexual.” I’m sure she followed that with a pass of her tongue over her pearly white teeth.

The woman continued along the same lines, inquiring about Lo’s promiscuity (in a polite way) and Lo said, “I don’t call it slutty. I call it getting my needs met.”

I could see that Lo’s date liked this sort of talk. Lo can be very direct. The date reciprocated. I heard her say, “Your pussy and panties must smell so good!”

To which Lo replied, “Like roses and cotton candy.”

When they had finished their meals and were drinking coffee, the waitress brought them each a complimentary Cadbury egg for dessert. Lo was elated. She unwrapped it and then slowly bit into the chocolate and then said, “Mmmmm, I love to lick out the cream!”

“Me too,” said her friend. “How about we go back to your place?”

“I’m wide open to that idea,” said Lo, and I could see her uncross her legs and remove her foot from her shoe to rub her friend’s calf. “But,” she added, “my man is there right now.”

I wanted to leap up from my seat and say, “No, no! I’m not. I’m right here! Go right ahead.” But I had to keep silent.

Her friend looked very disappointed. Lo hates to disappoint. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “maybe I can text him and tell him to leave us alone for a couple of hours.”

Her friend perked up at that idea. Lo took out her phone and soon I got a text saying, “Is it ok, Daddy?” Thank goodness my phone was on silent, because the sound of it going off with a text message may have looked suspicious.

I texted back, “Is what ok?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re sitting right there. Is it ok for me to take Meri to our place for a while?”

“If that pleases you,” I texted back.

Lo smiled at her friend. They paid the bill and soon were off to fuck, leaving me with nothing to do on Easter morning. I didn’t even bring a book!

About two hours later and about eight miles of strolling through our sunny city streets, I finally got a text from Lo. It said, “Exhausted! Come home.”

I hightailed it back to our place only to find Lo in the messed bed, naked again.

“Come here,” she said.

“Still love me?” I asked first.

She pulled down the covers and spread her legs as far apart as they would go and said, “Daddy, I love you THIS much!”

“Will you tell me each and every detail?”

“You know I will. I have a pornographic memory.”

I got naked and lay on top of her and plunged my rod deep in her hole.

She said, “Uh uh. No. In my ass. My cunt is worn out.”

I flipped her over on her tum and slid right in.

“You’re so slick,” I said.

“I’m a well-oiled machine,” she replied.

“Now tell me,” I insisted.

“Believe it or not, Meri is a mother of three and the oldest is eighteen!”

“I can’t believe it,” I said, both about what Lo had said and how good her rear entrance felt. “You fucked a mom?!”

“More like she fucked me. She’s been married twenty-two years and has never before been with a woman.”

“Really?”

“She got permission from her husband to find someone to show her the ropes.”

“There were ropes involved?”

“Shut up and keep fucking my ass.”

I am good at taking instructions like that.

“We got here and she couldn’t wait to get out of her clothes and hop into bed. No small talk, no foreplay, nothing. So I asked her, ‘What do you want? To do me or me to do you?’ She said she wanted to do me. She wanted to fuck me good and hard. She has quite the domineering streak about her. So I pulled out my dildo and placed it in her hands. She was amazed at the size of it. I told her not to be shy. I slipped out of my panties and pulled my skirt over my waist and lay on the bed with my legs spread. She began by fingering me. She asked if it was ok first, which I thought was nice. I said, ‘Just fuck me like your little whore.’ That got her going. She used the dildo on my puss, ramming it fast and hard, hitting my spot. She never saw a woman squirt before in real life and she was thrilled that she was able to do that for me! Little did she know that I squirt just about every time.”

Our next book will be called “Slut Life” about Lola’s adventures by the ocean

“Are you squirting now?” I interrupted to ask, since I felt her juices dripping down my thigh.

“Not yet, Daddy. I’m just soaked.”

I increased my speed and depth.

“That’s it,” she said. “Like she did with the dildo in my cunt.”

She pulled up a photo of Meri from her phone to look at it. “She has great tits,” Lo said as she began squirting on me with force, soaking the bed. She suddenly fell forward, lying flat on her tum in the puddle she made, convulsing like a fish out of water. There was no way I could stay in her. I grabbed my drenched, hard baton and lay on my back next to her.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

I saw her eyes roll to the back of her head. She was temporarily blitzed out.

When she came to, she said, “What an amazing day!”

“Full of Easter Eggs,” I said, jokingly.

She played with my hard cock with her right hand, seeing how it bounced back into its rigid upright position when she would bend it down.

“Christ has risen. Christ will cum again,” she said, stroking my member from the base to the tip.

“Good for Christ, but I haven’t cum once!”

She pivoted on her tum so her mouth was over my cock and she put out her tongue as if to receive Holy Communion. “May I have your flesh?” she asked.

She took my cock in her mouth and slid up and down the shaft. She went all the way down to my balls and took them in her warm, wet mouth. It felt good, but I needed sweet release. She returned to the tip and looked up at me.

Momentarily, she pulled up off my cock in order to say, “I wanted to go down on her. I wanted to return the fuck for her. But she didn’t let me. She just fucked me fast and furious and filled my cunt with all sixteen inches of my dildo. I didn’t get to give her any pleasure at all, other than the pleasure of pounding me like a boss.”

Lo went back down on my dick looking up at me again. “Am I a good girl, Daddy?” she asked, looking for approval.

“Did Meri think you were a good girl?”

“I don’t know,” she said as her fingers fondled me between my legs, lightly. “I came by the bucket load, and then she said she had to get going. She had plans with her family for Easter, she said. She got dressed and simply blew me a kiss as she let herself out. I was too weak to even get up. I used my skirt to soak up what I could and texted you.”

“You’re a very good girl,” I said.

I was lying on my back and she got up, straddled me with her knees beside my hips, and she grabbed her ass cheeks with each hand, spread them, and slowly let herself down on my erect cock, guiding it directly into her anus, slowly. I’m not nearly as long as her dildo, but she slid down on me until she was sitting on my pelvis. She pulled her feet in between my legs and sat there, her back to me, and she rocked gently back and forth to feel me deep inside her. I could feel the tip of my member penetrating as far up as possible. She spread her legs and began fingering her clit. She grabbed her red dildo, the one that Meri had used on her, and slipped it up and in her pussy. I could feel it enter her. She was filled and tight and moaning a tune of pleasure. I lay on my back enjoying her ride. She called over her shoulder to me, “Cum in me. Cum. Cum and fill me up. I want to feel your hot. . .”

She didn’t finish her command before I obediently complied. I pulsed with strong spurts of spunk into her hole. She tightened her grip on me even further and I felt as if she wouldn’t let go. I didn’t mind. I liked being there, deep inside her.

I felt her slide the dildo out from her front hole as she squirted down onto her ankles. And then, after a long sigh of relief, she slowly lifted her bum up off of me. I slid out of her as she eased her way up, with both hands grabbing her ass again, and she let all of my cream filling slowly leak out onto my flaccid cock.

Her whole body crumbled as if, deprived of my rigidity, it had no strength to remain upright. She lay next to me on the bed. She curled into her little spoon as I cuddled her as her big spoon. She fell off to sleep in the midst of all the mess she and I had made together, not to mention the mess Meri had made of her. It was only a cat nap. When she awoke, I whispered in her ear, asking her, “Would you like to watch an episode of “The Good Place?”

“Mmmmmm,” she said, moving her right hand behind her, reaching down to my cock and then inserting a finger in her soaked ass, and she said, “This is the good place.”

A Report on the Nymphomaniac Condition

Posted on March 5, 2020 by Lola Down

“A Report on the Nymphomaniac Condition” first appeared in ENM (Ethical Non-Monogamy) Magazine, March, 2020 issue.

It was said by the renowned sex researcher, Alfred Kinsey, that “A nymphomaniac is someone who has more sex than you do.” It would seem that modern psychology has caught up with Kinsey’s insight. The dictionary of psychological disorders, the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM), removed nymphomania from its list in 1980. But does that mean Nymphomania no longer exists?

In popular culture “sex addiction” has been used as a catch-all for a number of “disorders” that have been named and described: hypersexuality, compulsive sexual behavior, erotomania, hyperfilia, etc. But the DSM puts almost all of these under one listing: Sexual Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. This heading is as ambiguous, amorphous, and as slippery as the subject itself.

However, let’s keep in in mind that no matter how something is categorized or listed, it’s not a “disorder” unless it is distressing to the person exhibiting it or has detrimental effects in one’s life. If the result of the behavior is a net negative, then it could be labeled a disorder. That net negative could be manifested psychologically, as in feelings of guilt and remorse, or could result in actual physical harm to oneself. Other net negatives could include weakening of relationships, loss of a job, or other harms external to oneself.

Fan, getting off to Lo at work

In modern European and American culture, nymphomania has as checkered a past as the women diagnosed with it. Even though there is a male correlate to it – satyriasis – the two labels have been employed in radically different ways. Historically, the ascription of “nymphomaniac” has been applied to women who, had their gender been ascribed to men and the behaviors described as those of men, rarely would they be described as afflicted with satyriasis. In other words, historically, women exhibiting the same healthy and robust sexuality of men would be diagnosed with a disorder while their male counterparts gained the praise and admiration of others as Don Juans.

But, in the last decade or so, with the rise of internet porn, the term “sex addict” has been increasingly utilized in less stereotypical and gender specific, patriarchal ways. Famous actors such as Rob Lowe, David Duchovny, and Charlie Sheen all have come out as being sex addicts, making it easier for others to do so.

Despite the DSM debunking the myth of nymphomania and our modern society’s willingness to embrace a more gender-neutral term applicable to men and women, the term “nymphomania” and its connotations continues to live on in the culture’s consciousness and the collective unconscious.

Fan, getting off to Lo

Nymphomania is a concept that has a history to it almost as old as civilization itself. In Jewish lore there was Lilith, the contemporary or predecessor of Eve, who refused to be subservient to Adam and, supposedly, insisted on taking the “top” position during sex. Her name is derived from the Hebrew for “night” and she is associated with other female night demons who seduce men. As such, she is a succubus. This tale probably has its origin in explaining men’s nocturnal emissions.

Throughout history, assertive women and sexually promiscuous women have been associated with the demonic. Accusing a woman of being a witch was one way of marginalizing or eradicating powerful and lustful women. In more recent times, diagnosing them as hysterical was another. Perhaps if we rewrote history as “hystery” (from the Greek, hyster, meaning “womb”) we would have different stories to tell. But, from the ancient Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh, in which the goddess of love, Ishtar, unsuccessfully tries to seduce the hero, and the temple prostitute, Shamhat, successfully seduces and thereby defiles the natural man of the wild, Enkidu, to Helen of Troy, whose face and unfaithful figure launched a thousand ships, to the Sirens and Calypso, all the way through to Gatsby’s fair Daisy Fay Buchanan, wanton women have been revered and rebuked by the West’s confused attitude toward female sexuality.

In the West, only Virgins, like Mary, and doting, devoted wives, like Penelope and Henry James’ Isabel Archer, get univocal approval.

(The East, by contrast, is not as uncomfortable with strong, sexual, and wise women. From Cali to Guan Yin, not only are they revered and worshiped, but even the gender ambiguity of Vishnu is given prominence.)

Even in the contemporary medium of myth-telling – movies – the nymphomaniac is never depicted as anything but pathological and her fate is always a morality tale told from the point of view of the negative exemplar. Lolita, the touchstone of our modern-day horny heroine, has been made into a movie twice: once in 1962 by Kubrick and once in 1997 by Adrian Lyne. Based upon the classic book by Nabokov, the films and the book stand in a league of their own. The ultimate fate of Nabokov’s Lolita (spoiler alert) is morally ambiguous. Clearly a letdown to the pedophile protagonist, Humbert Humbert, when he finds his life-long love at the end of the book, we are never given any insight into mature Lolita’s feelings of fulfillment in family or lack thereof. However, it is, perhaps, too hasty to say that there have only been two Lolita films made. One of the most popular tropes in porn is Lolita. In this way the myth of the nymph lives on and on.

Lola Down, 21st Century Lolita

Other films, such as Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac and Craig Brewer’s Black Snake Moan, put nymphomania front and center. However, in both, the female protagonist is depicted as pitifully damaged and pathologically in need of redemption. In the latter film, that redemption takes the form of Christina Ricci, dressed only in her panties and a cutoff t-shirt, being chained to a cast iron heating radiator by a strong black man (Samuel L. Jackson). As psychologically dubious as this “treatment” might be, it could be said that the film gets to some deep, underlying archetypical images and fantasies buried in the American collective unconscious by playing on race, gender, and slave tropes.

The former film, Nymphomania, as drab and sexually non-stimulating as it is, does get to some diagnostic characteristics. As Robert Weiss, founder of the Sexual Recovery Institute, has discussed in his “Thoughts on Nymphomaniac: Volume I,” in the Huffington Post, March 20, 2014:

Nymphomaniac: Volume I is “sex addiction accurate.”

Joe’s sexual exploits start out (rather early in life) as innocent and fun-seeking, but before long she’s using them less for enjoyment and more for escape. This is typical. Simply put, addicts of all types engage in their addictions not to feel better, but to feel less.
• Joe views men as objects — a means to sexual gratification — rather than seeing them as equals and potential partners in emotional intimacy. When her lies actually ruin one man’s life, she feels nothing for either him or his wife and kids. Nor does she change her behavior.
• Joe spends nearly all of her free time pursuing sex. She has no other interests or hobbies.
• Joe’s sexual activity escalates in both amount and intensity. She has more and more partners as her addiction progresses, and she engages in ever-more risky behaviors.
• Joe’s response to any sort of emotional crisis is sex. When her father is terminally ill in the hospital, she has sex with an attendant. Later, she experiences sexual arousal at his deathbed.
• Joe seeks a sense of control and power through sex. For instance, she ‘allows’ or ‘forbids’ certain activities. At one point she speaks to Seligman about ‘privileges’ granted to one of her regular sex partners. Using sex to feel ‘in control’ is common with sex addicts, especially with female sex addicts.
• Joe appears to have not bonded appropriately with her ‘cold hearted bitch’ of a mother, relying on her father for kindness and nurture. Her childhood flashbacks show that she learned ways to ‘please’ her father, and that doing so was incredibly important. Even though their relationship does not appear to have been sexual or otherwise abusive, it is clear that she learned early on that the way to get love from men is to please them. This type of dysfunctional childhood bonding is common in sex addicts of both genders.
• By the end of the film, Joe’s entire life (not just her sex life) has become ‘monotonous and pointless.’ She compares her daily movements to those of a caged animal. Everything she does is rote and repetitious, and nothing has any meaning — especially not the sex. At one point she says to a partner, during sex, ‘I can’t feel anything,’ and it is clear that she is talking about both physical numbness and emotional numbness.

Though Weiss points out in the article that female sex addicts are often ascribed “highly shaming labels” such as nympho, slut, tramp, and whore, “that society routinely attaches to women who have a lot of sex, regardless of whether they do so because they enjoy it” or not, he does not in any way discuss the possibility of a positive nymphomaniacal experience in which those labels are coopted into accolades.

The linguist Geoff Nunberg has pointed out that many one-time derogatory and profane words have been coopted and reappropriated by the subjugated, marginalized, and oppressed populations against whom the slurs were originally leveled. As he says about the term “slut,” “after a Toronto police constable told a crime prevention meeting that women should avoid dressing like sluts if they don’t want to be victimized,” “slut walks” served as a way “to protest the whole culture of slut-shaming.” He points out that, “it is hard to imagine ‘slut’ being reclaimed the way ‘queer’ was, as a respectable label for academic programs and cultural centers.” (“Slut: The Other Four Letter S-Word,” on Fresh Air, WHYY, NPR, March 13, 2012)

This sort of reevaluation of values is exactly what Lo is literally embodying, pushing psychology today to free itself from the prejudices of patriarchy. She wears the labels “slut,” “tramp,” “whore,” and yes, “nymphomaniac” proudly (and she often wears little else). Between us, we use the words “nymphomania” and “slut” as honorifics rather than stigmatizing terms. Every slur can be reclaimed and used subversively by the oppressed.

There is some evidence that lustful, liberated women are making inroads into the tyranny of normativity. Thinkers such as Rollo May have proposed a theory of the daimonic, hearkening back to the origin of “demonic” as coming from the Greek “daimon.” For the Greeks, daimon meant something more akin to a personal deity; a guiding angel, you might say, rather than a guardian angel.

May uses the term “daimonic” to denote a drive that is not univocal in nature and, in one word, is akin to Freud’s dual Eros/Thanatos drives. As May says of the daimonic, it “has the power to take over the whole person. Sex and eros, anger and rage, and the craving for power are examples. The daimonic can be either creative or destructive and is normally both.” (May, Rollo, Love and the Daimonic, p. 123) It is worth mentioning here that, before May and Freud, there was a theory of human psychology in Judaism that posited two chambers in the heart: the yetzer tov and the yetzer ra. The former, “the impulse for good,” and the latter, “the impulse for evil,” worked in tandem and the rabbis believed that neither was “evil” (unlike the proverbial Christian good angel and devil on one’s shoulders), but that the yetzer ra was a force that propelled humans to creativity and sexual union, but it needed to be bent toward the yetzer tov in order to avoid its destructive tendency and be sublimated into socially acceptable expressions and activities that benefited society. One can easily see the parallels between that and Freud’s Eros/Thanatos theory. Perhaps “parallel,” is too benign. Maybe Freud was more plagiarizing from his own tradition. In line with this theory of complementarity, May has said, “The daimonic (unlike the demonic, which is merely destructive), is as much concerned with creativity as with negative reactions.” (Diamond, Stephen A., Anger, Madness, and the Daimonic: The Psychological Genesis of Anger, Madness, and the Daimonic, from the Forward by Rollo May, p. xxi)

In the nymphomaniac, the daimonic drive has been described as a propensity toward indiscriminate, compulsive, and often risky sexual behavior. To the extent that this is dangerous, harmful, and results in negative net results, it is “pathological.”

But that’s not the whole story.

As was mentioned above, the daimonic is also the engine driving creativity and the nymphomaniac can use her prurient powers for good, positive, “healthy” outcomes. As Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, the pioneer psychologist in the study of “flow” or “optimal experience,” has said, “One manifestation of energy is sexuality. Creative people are paradoxical in this respect also. They seem to have quite a strong dose of eros, or generalized libidinal energy, which some express directly into sexuality.” (Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, “The Creative Personality,” Psychology Today, 1996, p. 38) I believe that the reverse of this is true as well: One manifestation of sexuality is creative energy. Perhaps that is because, as Csikszentmihalyi also says, “a certain spartan celibacy is also a part of [the creative person’s] makeup; continence tends to accompany superior achievement. Without eros, it would be difficult to take life on with vigor; without restraint, the energy could easily dissipate.” (Ibid.) Of course, the nymphomaniac is characterized by her lack of “continence,” but that does not mean that her prodigal participation in pleasure isn’t also a creative, artistic, and perhaps even a performative act. Seeing sex and art as two separate realms is the fundamental error in this analysis. Sex can be every bit a creative endeavor, full of “flow” and genius as a Picasso or Pollock painting. The only difference being that the “results” are fleeting, ephemeral, perhaps even “dissipated.”

In my particular case, I would say that writing about Lola Down, my own personal high priestess of porn and beloved nymphomaniac, is also a result of the daimonic and the writing often flows of its own accord in peak moments, like autographia. According to Csikszentmihalyi, flow is the experience of intense concentration during creative endeavors. For me, that describes the act of writing. For Lo, that describes the act of fucking. For me, the restraint and “continence” is crucial to produce just the right amount of effulgent energy. But for Lo, her creative power may be more akin to “the woman who identifies with the archetypal role of Muse or femme inspiratrice, providing sexual love to artists.” (Diamond, Stephen A., “What Motivates Sexual Promiscuity?” Psychology Today, 2011)

This is not to say that Lo doesn’t have her own creative endeavors, her own talents, interests, and areas of outstanding achievement. Far from it! But she does love being celebrated as muse, not only by me, but by all the artists who have been inspired to draw or paint her, as well as those who have written lovely verse and prose to her and about her. In addition, she frequently hears from women and men and couples who credit her as an inspiration in the bedroom. Frequently these accolades are accompanied by “tribute” photos of the men, women, and couples cumming to her inspiring images.

As much as all this worship is proudly welcomed by Lo, it is also of concern how many people – mostly men, but some women – write in to lament that, for them, the nymphomaniac is akin to some sort of mythical figure, a unicorn, a phoenix, or the Holy Grail. These awestruck admirers cannot believe that one actually exists, in the flesh, as it were. They had heard rumor of such creatures, but had never met one or received confirmation of their reality. Lo, like the Holy Grail, is for them a receptacle into which they can pour forth all of their hopes and dreams (and bodily exuberances) and also a cup that runneth over, spilling forth for all who thirst for her baptismal water.

Is this perceived paucity of nymphos due to the stigma attached to the term, repression of sexuality, or a failure to recognize and reclaim the term in a positive light? I don’t have the answer to these questions, but one thing was clear early on in my relationship with Lo – I was unable to find anyone writing about their nymphomaniacal girlfriend and the great challenges such relationships entail. So I began writing about it in a public forum in order to inform others and also to find out if others could inform me. It’s been a fun and enlightening journey and I thank all of you for your words of wisdom, encouragement, and envy. But most of all, I thank Lo for opening me up to all new vistas of life’s possibilities.

email downloladown@gmail.com for more info

Impressive Size

Posted on February 8, 2020 by Lola Down

[Prequel to Breeding Farm]

“It’s so big!” gasped Lo. “It’s beautiful. Stunning. I just can’t believe it.” She truly was impressed. We had just pulled up in the driveway of Lily’s uncle’s mountain resort home. Her uncle was traveling around Europe and, since Lily was one of his favorites, he gave her permission to use it and to host friends. We happened to be the friends that she and Jim chose to invite up for a long weekend.

The air was crisp and the sky was clear and blue and radiant. All the trees on the mountain were in their peak of autumn perfection. We had the whole secluded house to ourselves.

Lily showed us around the grounds and gave us a tour of the home. Then she showed us to our quarters. The bed was enormous! The bathroom and bathtub were almost as big!!! This would be fun. Lo and I looked at each other knowingly, expectantly.

Since it took us quite a while to get up there, winding through the dangerous mountain switchbacks, we made some dinner and then had some drinks. We were all tired from the trip and Lo and I were eager to get to bed and get to each other.

Lo All Wet

She got naked and hopped into the clear glass encased shower as I drew a bath in the tub. From inside her little chamber, she pressed her tits up against the glass and then turned and pressed her ass up against it as she used the hand-held showerhead to massage between her legs.

She came a couple of times, struggling to keep her screams to herself. Then she emerged from the shower and slid her sexy self down upon my hard cock as I lay half-submerged in the water of the claw-foot white porcelain tub.

We had to be careful because we didn’t want to make too much noise or too much mess. When she had finished cumming in reverse cowboy position, she turned and descended on my spear once more, this time facing me. Grabbing her tits and pulling her nipples, she asked me, “Shall I be a good girl this weekend, Daddy, or a bad girl?”

“You’re already a bad girl,” I said, “so, you might as well not deny your nature.”

She came again and then urged me to get up and out and dry off so we could enjoy one another in the plush bed. Bent over the side; face down in the down pillows; on her knees straddling me – we explored many positions, before she finally opted for being bent over a chair and seeing herself in the full-length mirror as I made her tits swing with my thrusts from behind her.

Just as we were both approaching the pinnacle of success in this position, she commanded, “Stop!” She wasn’t kidding. I did as she bade me. “Get a towel and put it on the floor.”

I followed her command. The towels were thick and heavy and the floor was wall-to-wall carpet.

“Get behind me and keep going, only harder.”

I again followed her command and within moments her clenching climax had pushed my member right out and she was squirting what seemed to be gallons on the towel beneath her.

She collapsed and said, breathlessly, “I knew that was going to happen.”

The next morning, after I had made everyone breakfast, we headed out on a hike. I happily pulled up the rear, right behind Lo, whose behind, in her black athletic tights, was the best inspiration for me to keep going.

Lo – Tight

It was an exhilarating trek through the crisp air of the mountain tops. The sights and the thrills were worth the exertion.

When we got back to the house, we were famished and we heated up a big pot of chili we had prepared before the trip.

We then settled into our vacation home and after a few glasses of wine, Jim suggested a game of cards. We decided on poker and I raised the stakes by suggesting strip poker. Lo kicked me under the table. I didn’t know why at the moment.

Our friends were game and we got to playing. Little did everyone (except Lo) know, but I’m a terrible poker player. I can never keep straight which is the better hand. Lo took pity on me and helped me all she could, to her own detriment. She did her level best of spying on my cards to help me, to discard her good hand, to lift me up by lowering herself. Doing that was tougher than actually winning! But before too long, she was shirtless, sockless, and then pantless. Not to be outdone by her rival, Lily went garment-for-garment with Lo. After only a couple of rounds they were both braless. It came down to a question of who was going to lose her panties first: Lo or Lilly? You guessed it! Lo was out and in her birthday suit. She seemed more than happy to be the loser of the game.

During the hour or so that it took for Lo to win or lose, depending on how you’re scoring this, we had finished a bottle of wine and Jim and I had broke the seal on our special bottle of Scotch.

Eager to keep playing, Lo suggested that since she had no more clothes to offer, we play for certain “favors.” These new rules started out tame enough. First Lo had to bend over to pick up a napkin. Then she had to get up and walk around the table to refresh my glass and Jim’s glass, with a little curtsy of course. She had to remove Lily’s panties when Lilly lost. But soon we moved on to having Lo’s writs be tied up around one of the support beams in the room as she bent over. We found a riding crop that Lily’s uncle used as a decorative prop, and we used it, each taking turns swatting Lo’s ass and occasionally her pussy from behind. Lily was the cruelest with the crop. But then we gave Lo some aftercare. Each of us got a turn fingering her from behind. She came almost immediately for each of us. After Lily’s turn (she went last), Lo pressed her legs together and commanded me to grab a towel, as she had the previous night. When I had spread it at her feet, she spread her legs and looked as if she was putting out a fire from between her thighs!

“Holy shit!” cried Lily. “I’ve never seen that actually happen in real life!!!” She seemed thrilled.

Lo slowly slunk to the floor, exhausted. She looked up, a smile on her face, a bit proud, her legs spread in a ‘V’ shape, and a puddle underneath her. “Really?” she asked.

“It happens all the time to Lo,” I chimed in.

“I’ve read about it, I’ve seen it in videos, but never actually saw a woman squirt. How do you do it?”

“I don’t do it. It just happens. Talent, I guess.”

Lily untied Lo’s wrists and helped her up.

“Do you think you could show Lily how to do that?” asked Jim, turning the tables on his bride, since she had been eager to have Lo teach Jim how to pleasure a woman despite his diminutive size.

“I know a lot of people claim to be able to teach it,” said Lo, “and there are a lot of websites out there dedicated to how to make a woman squirt, but I don’t know. I only know that it works for me when I’m super aroused.”

“It’s more of a problem than a talent,” I said.

Lo frowned at me. “What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“Come on, Lo,” I said, “you know that you sometimes accidentally squirt at very inconvenient times.”

“Oh, that’s true.”

“And the number of sheets we have to go through. . .”

“Yeah, it makes for a lot of laundry.”

“And how you shoot me right out of you mid-coitus.”

“That’s true too,” she admitted.

“I don’t need to squirt,” interrupted Lily, “I just would like to cum when having sex.” She blurted it out and I could see that Jim’s request of Lo and Lo’s performance clearly were making her feel inadequate and so she turned the tables right back on Jim.

“Look,” said Lo, always the peace maker, “I have an idea to help everyone. I’ve done this before, or a variation of this. I’m already naked. Why don’t we all get naked, light a candle, sit in a circle, and speak openly, honestly, candidly about sex, love, and relationships. As long as the light of the candle is illuminating our circle, there is no judgment, no accusation, no falsity. We will be vulnerable and compassionate with each other. Our nudity is only an outward symbol of our inward vulnerability.”

Lily looked at Jim and he nodded his head that he was willing to give it a go.

We all got naked and for the first time I got a view of the little that Lilly had to work with. Jim’s physique is fit, trim, and small. Attractive, but tiny. I’m not hung like a horse (horse cock being something Lo dearly likes), but compared to Jim I was. I had to remind myself, by the candlelight, there is no judgment. Right.

We all sat down in a circle with the candle at the center. Jim and I were cross-legged and both Lola and Lily, being more flexible, sat full lotus position.

Lola started us off, “Sex is good, but sex without meaning, without connection, without intimacy can be empty and leave you cold.”

As Lo said these words, I couldn’t help but think of all the times she fucked guys, strangers, in the back seat of the car as I drove, or at the beach as men came all over her body, or. . . . Wait, I reminded myself again, no judgment. Got it.

“Yeah,” said Lily, picking up the thread of the conversation, “that’s true, but sometimes, while having that meaningful connection, I just want to get rammed home with a long, hard cock. I want to submit to a domineering, rough, take-command partner. That can be both hot and intimate.”

“Jim?” asked Lo.

“I know she likes that, but it’s just not me. I’m kind, gentle by nature. I love her. I don’t want to. . .” he trailed off, not even able to articulate the deeds she wanted done to her.

“That’s totally understandable,” said Lo, “but there is a major gap between her desire and yours, or her idea of intimate intercourse and yours.”

“It’s clear you love each other,” I said, “but do you trust each other?”

“Completely,” said Lily right away.

Jim just nodded.

“If you trust each other,” I followed up my thought, “then maybe an open relationship. Having a bull who will come over and do for Lily all the things she wants and needs could expand your relationship pallet.”

“A bull?” asked Jim naively.

“A man who fucks married women,” explained Lily. She obviously had explored this herself.

“H.H. does that with me,” said Lo, “and he loves it.”

“I like to see her satisfied,” I said. “If she likes to be fucked by another guy, then why should I stand in her way?”

“Come on,” said Lo, to me as if calling bullshit. “You are not simply standing to the side while another guy fucks my brains out. You love it. You love to see it and to guide him through it and to hear all about it if you can’t be there in person.”

“She’s right,” I confessed. “Honesty.”

Jim, who was very visibly uncomfortable by everything he was hearing, said, “I just don’t think I can do that. I mean, we’ve given an open relationship a chance and it drove me crazy. I almost called off the wedding because I was so enraged and jealous.”

“Jealously is a symptom, not a cause,” said Lo.

“A symptom of what?”

“Of so many things – a feeling of inadequacy, a fear of being left, anger with a previous girlfriend who hurt you. I mean, it could stem from any number of deep-seated insecurities. But mainly it’s a form of fear.”

“That doesn’t make it any less real. Understanding it doesn’t remove it,” said Jim.

“No, you’re right. I’m just pointing out that what you’re feeling doesn’t stem from what Lily is doing. She loves you. But she also has desires. She wants to be with you. But she also wants to have wild, earth-shattering orgasms.”

“And I want to be used, abused, humiliated, and tossed aside like a worthless fuckdoll” said Lily.

There was an awkward silence before Lo said, very reassuringly, “All healthy desires if channeled properly.”

I decided to be daring. “Would you like me to demonstrate?” I asked, knowing full well that Lo’s jealousy would explode inside her heart like a hydrogen bomb.

“I’d love it,” said Lily looking at my limp cock.

Lo gave me a sidelong glance and said, “I don’t think right now is the time for that. We’re making progress.”

“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t mean now. I just meant. . .” I was caught now, but it was worth it to get Lo’s ire up after that perfectly detached and clinical explanation of jealousy she just pronounced as if she were so far beyond and above it. But I felt bad immediately after because it suddenly dawned on me that she might not have been talking from a superior position to jealousy, but from her intimate knowledge and understanding of it within her own heart.

As if to strike back at me, she then said, “Jim, I feel as if you’re bottling up your emotions and not letting them flow out. What can I do to help you?” As she said this, she caressed his knee with her left hand. I saw his cock twitch at the unexpected touch.

“I just feel like I don’t know how to please her.”

Lo’s hand moved closer to his crotch. “What do you want to know?” she asked.

“I want to find a way that I can be everything she needs,” he said.

Lo’s hand got to his balls and began fondling them as his micropenis started to grow.

“We cannot be everything for our partners. We have to be content with who and what we are for them and who and what they are for us.” She began stroking his little cock with her thumb and index finger. “Do you like that?” asked Lo.

“Yeah,” he said, “it feels good.”

“Lie down,” said Lo.

He reclined on the carpet as Lo continued to jerk him off. Her right hand was caressing his legs, spreading them apart. Her left hand gently held his little member between her thumb and finger.

“You know, I wouldn’t even feel you if you were to penetrate me,” said Lo.

“I know,” said Jim as if in a hypnotic trance.

“But that wouldn’t matter to you, would it?” asked Lo.

“No,” said Jim, “I’d be really into it.”

“I know you would,” said Lo.

From where I was sitting, I could see Lily begin to stroke her pussy as she continued to sit in the lotus position. She was enjoying this.

Lo lowered her mouth to Jim’s cock and tickled the tip with the tip of her tongue, clearly in order to let us see what she was doing. Then she lifted up her mouth and said, “Don’t cum.”

“I’m trying not to cum, but it’s so hard. It feels so good.”

“Stand up,” commanded Lo.

Jim stood up.

Lo pulled him forward and positioned him next to Lily as Lo, still on her knees, manipulated his tiny pud with her fingers.

“Close your eyes,” Lo said.

Jim closed his eyes.

Lo stroked faster and faster and lifted her mouth to his little balls to kiss and lick them.

“You may cum now,” she said, and no sooner did she say this than he came, right on Lily’s face.

“Open your eyes,” said Lo to Jim.

He followed her command and looked down at Lily who was covered in his ejaculate and smiling.

“There you go,” said Lo. “Did you like that?”

Both of them said “Yes” at the same time.

By the way, I was hard as a rock at this point and I finally said, “Lo, any chance I will get to cum?”

“Oh, are you hard-up?” she said in a mocking manner.

“Yes.”

“Do you deserve to cum?” she asked with a look in her eye that told me I was being punished for my comment earlier.

“I sure do,” I said confidently.

She was feeling surly, but despite that, she indulged me and she told me to lie back.

I followed her instruction. To my surprise, instead of doing to me what she had done to Jim, she sat on my face. She was facing my toes and she invited Lily over as I began lapping Lo’s wet pussy lips like a thirsty dog.

Lily grabbed my cock and balls (I could tell it was Lily, though I couldn’t see her, because I know Lo’s touch) and began furtively fondling. Then she began to jack me off. I felt a mouth lower on my cock, but now I wasn’t too sure whose it was. Lost in the mystery of it all, I gave in and came in heavy, forceful spurts. Lo came as well, drenching my face. I practically drowned.

When she got up and I sat up, Lily said, “You come almost as quickly as Jim does.”

“That’s not fair,” I said in my defense, “I’ve been watching Lo for over an hour now. I was primed and ready.”

“Ready to be pumped dry,” said Lo.

“Well,” said Jim, “I think we all got something out of this.”

“Um,” said Lily, “of the four of us, three of us came.”

“Well Jim,” said Lo, “you got some work to do.”

Jim smiled and asked Lily, “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

Lo looked at him, got up, exited the room into the mud room and returned with one of the dog leashes that was hanging there. She put the collar around Lily’s neck and gave the handle to Jim. “That’s not how you ask a slut like Lily. Take her upstairs.”

Jim stood up and gently pulled on the leash. Lily got on all fours and crawled like an obedient bitch at his side. Off they went.

“Well done,” I said to Lo.

“Don’t give me that ‘well done’ bullshit. You’re in big trouble mister.”

“Me?” I said innocently, “What did I do?”

“You know very well what you did.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I just want you to admit it.”

“OK, so maybe I tried to suggest that I do something with Lily. But look at what you actually did with Jim.”

“There is no comparison.”

“How not?’

“Because I’m your slutty hotwife and you are my obedient, chaste, little stag.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

“No. Actually I wouldn’t. I was just teasing you to see if you would be jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous. I just want you to know your place.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“And where is my place?”

“Right between my legs.”

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

Category Archives: edging

The Orgasm Heard ʼRound the World or Orgasmic Orchestral Accompaniment

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Southern Comfort

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“The Good Place”

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Impressive Size

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