Category Archives: edging
When Writing, You Gotta Have a Point
2
“You should do it,” said Lo.
“I don’t think so,” I replied.
“No, you definitely should do it.”
“It’s not really my thing,” I said.
Now, dear reader, before your imagination gets the best of you, we were not talking about any of the things you may have thought we were talking about.
I had been invited to give a talk at a Moth reading. As many of you probably already know, a Moth reading is a storytelling event where each speaker is given about five minutes to tell a tale without a script. No notes. Just ad lib, though the performance can be prepared and rehearsed like an actor’s monologue.
“I’m a writer. I’m not a performer, a thespian. And I’m awful at memorization. It becomes stale to me.”
With a “Peshaw,” she dismissed my objections. “You can tell a story! You’re made of stories. You ooze stories.”
“A little too graphic,” I muttered.
“You want to ooze some stories into me?” she asked suggestively.
“Lo, that’s the problem! All my stories are about you! About sex! This has to be PG. And also, I notice that good stories, like the one’s that win at Moth competitions and get the most applause on Medium, have a point, a sentimental little piece of wisdom, a surprising ah-ha! culminating conclusion. My stories don’t have that. They’re just stuff we do, things we say, everyday life. There’s no point to them at all.”
“Well. . . ,” she cooed, “I wouldn’t go that far. You have a nice little point.” She reached down and grabbed at my crotch.
“Little?”
“Why don’t you point me in the right direction and maybe a story will come to you.”
She got on the bed and slid out of her panties, leaned back and spread her legs.
I positioned myself above her. She reached down between her legs and rubbed her pussy. “Mmmmm, that feels good,” she said.
I hadn’t even touched her yet.
She raised her hand from her crotch to her mouth and licked her fingers. She didn’t do this in order to lubricate, but to taste her own lubrication.
“Fuck me, Daddy.”
Before I entered her, she was back to caressing her pussy – pulling her labia and slapping her hole, making popping sounds with her hand.
She came.
“That felt good,” she said.
“Lo, you know that I. . .”
“I know, Daddy. The point wasn’t to make you cum.”
“Then what was the point?”
“You figure it out. You’re the writer.”
One sexy reader
Quiver
[Continued from “Black Friday: A Juicy Story Before Brunch”
The day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. Miami Beach. Lo was on a mission. This was our third day in Miami. Seventy-two hours of glorious sunny days, short-shorts, and sex. And, in typical Lo fashion, she wanted more of all three.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked.
“I thought we were having sex,” she said as she sat on the side of the bed wearing only her sexy tank-top T-shirt and spreading her legs.
“Sex for breakfast?”
“Yeah, we’ll call it ‘Sex-fest.’”
“But Lo, you just came twice.”
“That was all external stimulation. It just makes me more hungry.”
“Hungry for breakfast?” I asked, since I was starving.
“No, hungry for your cock in my cunt.”
“It’s not even 9 a.m. and you’re using that sort of language?!”
“It’s never too early to speak a Romance Language.”
“You forget, I was in the Romance Languages department at my college. They didn’t speak like that.”
“Illiterate.”
“We could discuss the nuances of philology all morning, but. . .”
“But I want you to fuck me. Please. Just a quick in-and-out is all I need.”
“Fine,” I said and I puled my shorts down around my knees.
The hotel room bed was only a full; much smaller than we were used to. I said to her, “There better be a spot for me in that bed cause I’m getting in it.”
“Oh, I’ve got a spot for you and you definitely are going to get in it.”
She turned over and scrunched up her body into a little ball on the bed, exposing her puss and ass to me.
“Just go right in,” she said over her shoulder, as if I needed some instructions.
“Top or bottom?” I asked.
“Top or bottom?” she was confused.
“Yeah, which hole?”
“Which do you want?” she asked seductively, surprising me.
“Top!” I said without hesitation.
“Well, fill the bottom first and, if you’re good, you can have the top.”
Lola & HH
Standing by the side of the bed, I slid in with ease and she moaned. She was drenched and dripping. “Stay. Right. There,” she commanded. I didn’t even move. I just grabbed her by her hips and lifted her a little then pushed her down a little. Up and down, up and down I slid her on my cock. My thumb moved its way to her top hole to press against it. Within seconds her cunt was gushing and clenching. I pulled her in closer by her hips to make sure I stayed in place; the tip of my cock up against her g-spot. She didn’t even scream. She just bit her lower lip and moaned. I could see her facial expressions and contortions in the mirror. In a few more seconds she pulled forward and, as I slid out of her, she squirted. I was careful to jump back and avoid getting splashed.
“Ahhhh,” she said, “that did the trick.”
She was splayed out on the bed now, breathing heavily. I stood next to the bed.
“This isn’t a coat rack,” I said of my erect phallus.
“What?” she asked, perplexed.
“You promised me the top hole, remember?”
“Oh, right!”
She scrunched up into her little ball again, wiggling her ass in front of me. “Can you hit the target?” she teased.
“Stay still and my arrow will fill your quiver.”
I grabbed her hips again and pressed the full head of my cock up against her sphincter. Her flower bud opened. Slowly I filled her. I could see her hands out in front of her clutching the bed sheets as she felt the pain and pleasure of my deep dive.
Again she commanded, “Stay. Right. There.” Her ass clenched down on me and her body turned the noun, “quiver,” into a verb.
Suddenly she lunged forward, just like she did before, leaving me hard up, standing by the side of the bed a second time as she caught her breath.
Turning her head over her shoulder, she said, “Amazing, Daddio!”
Then, noticing me pulling up my shorts, she said, “Aren’t you going to cum?”
“Darling, thirty seconds of standing behind you, rigid as a statue, while you got your rocks off was exclusively for your pleasure.”
“But I want you to cum.” She turned around, on all fours, facing me, or rather, my crotch. She looked up at me and asked, “Don’t you know what Cyndi Lauper says?”
“Cyndi Lauper?! You’re dating yourself dear.”
“Oh, I wish I could date myself. I’d be such a good fuck.”
“You’re getting distracted again. What does Cyndi Lauper say?”
“Oh, right. She sings, ‘Girls just wanna have cum. That’s all they really want – some cum.’” She sang the lyrics.
Girls Just Wanna Have Cum
“I think you might be taking some poetic license with that.”
“Whatever. Cum in my mouth,” she commanded as she took my cock into her open mouth and slobbered over it with her tongue.
“And spoil your appetite?” I asked, enjoying the sensation and the thought of what a dirty, slutty girl she is.
“It’s more of an appetizer.”
“No,” I said flatly, pulling out of her mouth.
She pouted.
“I’m starving,” I said. “If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to waste away.”
She rolled her eyes sarcastically – as if I was in any mortal danger of wasting away.
“What?” I asked. “Look at me,” I said, striking a pose, flexing my biceps, “One hundred seventy-five pounds of pure muscle!”
“One hundred and seventy-five?!” Lo exclaimed in disbelief, “Aren’t you a few pounds off there?”
“No. It is a hundred and seventy-five pounds of muscle. The other thirty pounds might be fat, but under it is the pure muscle.”
“Still a little shy of the mark, I think.”
“Well, the other ten pounds is brain, of course.”
“Of course,” she said sardonically.
I stepped on the scale and cursed it saying, “You lying sack of shit!”
Lo, naked but for her T-shirt, stepped on the scale after me and said, “It better not be lying, it says I lost two pounds!”
“It lies.”
“Does it? Or could it be that my diet and exercise and drinking plenty of liquids has caused me to lose two pounds?”
“It lies.”
“Why would it lie to me that I lost two pounds and lie to you that you. . . well, uh, you’re. . . ?”
“Because it likes the view it has of you from down there.”
She laughed. She almost never laughs at my jokes, but I suppose this one also appealed to her vanity. I love it when she laughs.
“Do you like the view?” she asked, bending over and looking at me from between her knees.
“I don’t know why they call it mooning when it looks as bright and pink as the sunrise to me,” I said. “But as pretty as you are, morning glory, can we please go get breakfast?”
“Sure,” she said as she slipped into her bikini bottoms. “How do these look?”
It was a very skimpy pink thong bikini bottom that she purposely pulled up extra tight.
I gave her a cat-call whistle and launched into a sing-song limerick:
Do your labia hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie ’em in a knot?
Can you tie ’em in a bow?
Can you throw ’em o’er your shoulder
Like a continental soldier?
Do your labia hang low?
“What?!” she asked, looking down between her legs.
“Look in the mirror,” I gestured.
She took a look and could see what I saw: her puffy pussy lips straddling the skinny g-string. She’s very self-conscious of her large labia.
“Ah, fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissing my concern. She walked up to me and, seeing that I had pitched a tent in my shorts, she sang back:
Does your cock stand high?
Does it reach up to the sky?
Does it droop when it’s wet?
Does it stiffen when it’s dry?
Can you wave it at your neighbor
With an element of flavor?
Does your dick stand high?
“Touché,” I said.
“Tushie?” she asked, turning around and showing me her bottom again.
I smacked it hard and said, “That’s for being tardy.”
We finally got in the rental car and I let Lo drive. Lo being Lo, she blasted the radio and “I’m Real” by Ja Rule happened to be on, pounding the bass of the speakers to the chorus:
-Cause I’m real-
The way you walk
The way you move
The way you talk
-Cause I’m real-
The way you stare
The way you look
Your style your hair
-Cause I’m real-
The way you smile
The way you smell
It drives me wild
-Cause I’m real-
And I can’t go on without you
Lo was contentedly squirming in her leather bucket seat to the beat of the music.
“Can you shut that damn music off?!” I complained.
“You know, you sound like an old man when you say that.”
“You know, I am an old man.”
“Oh, I know. It’s just sad to think about.”
“Well, if you want to break up with me, go right ahead.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.”
“No. You said that it’s ‘sad’ to think about me being an old man.”
“It is! I mean, I’m not even at the great hump of my life yet.”
“I thought I was the great hump of your life.”
“I should hope not.”
“What?!”
“What I mean is, I’m not over the hill yet.”
“I should hope not.”
“What does that mean?”
“It simply means, that at twenty-something, you still have some great humps to look forward to.”
“And you don’t?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m looking forward to humping you in about five minutes.”
“Why so long?”
“So long? Is five minutes too much to wait for you youngins these days?”
“Five minutes is like two and a half news cycles.”
“Well, here’s some breaking news: the best is yet to come.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cause I love cumming.” She pulled up to the curb. “Here we are. Where are you going to fuck me?”
“Well, I need nourishment first. Let’s eat,” I said as we got out of the convertible and went to the hostess stand on the sidewalk. We were seated at a quaint table outside with a view of Ocean Boulevard and the beach across the street. Pretty people were walking by and fancy cars were cruising slowly to see and be seen.
A tricked-out car drove by – shiny, sparkly, loud. Lo was clearly impressed.
She observed it closely and then commented, “The exhaust is merely cosmetic.”
“Just like yours!” I quipped.
She gave me a look of faux shock.
A musclebound fella walked by in a tiny speedo and a loose fitting tank-top.
“Lo, stop drooling. Or at least use a napkin.”
“What?! He’s a very beefy boy. . . and I’m a beefeater,” she said, taking a slow, seductive bite of her sausage.
After breakfast, we walked down the strip and Lo was window shopping, until she was actually shopping. I sat outside sipping my frozen drink. When she came back out, she gave me a t-shirt like the one worn by Mr. Muscles.
“I didn’t know whether to get you a large or an extra large,” she said.
“You should always get me grandiose.”
“To match your ego?”
We walked down to the beach and Lo pulled out of her oversized bag a sheet she stole from the hotel. She spread it out on the sand and then spread herself on top of it. I sat down next to her and began rubbing in the sunscreen on her shoulders. When I was done I said, “I’ll draw on your back with my finger and you tell me what I’m spelling.”
“OK. But where’s the top?”
“Here,” I said, as I scribbled up by her shoulder blades.
“Hey! What are you doing?” she asked as my finger went down between her butt cheeks.
“I’m just seeing where the bottom is. Oh! Look at that. I think I found the ink well.”
“Yeah?! You’re gonna have a broken nub if you keep it up!”
After a bit, she pulled out the deck of cards from her bag and began shuffling them.
“What are you playing?”
“Strip Solitaire.”
“Are you winning or losing?”
“I’ll take off my top and you tell me.”
I scanned the beach to see if any other women were going topless.
“Hey!” she said, “I’m over here!!!”
She thought she saw me looking at some of the other sexy women on the strand.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, teasing her. “So I like looking at them. They’re like boats: I like how they look, but I don’t want to have one.”
“Oh yeah? Like boats? You better watch out that I don’t wash them away with my tsunami.”
“Are you squirting again? I didn’t even see you touch your puss.”
“I don’t need to with all this eye-candy.”
“Oh, so it’s ok for you to look, but not me?”
“Exactly. Next pair of sunglasses I buy you will be blinders.”
With that comment, she left her card game and sauntered into the water. Just at the water’s edge, she turned back to me and called, “Daddio! Aren’t you coming?”
“Not yet,” I called back, “but I will be.”
“What?!” she called.
“I’m not coming!”
She yelled back, “I’ll fix that!” She then turned tail and bent over, revealing her shoelace thin thong. She feigned finding a seashell, but she was just showing off. She eventually walked in the water, sticking out her tongue at me over her shoulder as the waves crested and fell over her hips. Then she dove in.
When she returned from the cool dip, she asked, “What do you think of my hair?” as it dripped from its curls down her breasts.
“You look just like Medusa.”
“That’s not a compliment. Wasn’t she so ugly that she turned anyone who looked at her to stone?”
“No no no, that’s not it. What the Greeks meant was any man who saw her got hard as a rock and that’s how I feel about you and your wild, curly hair.”
“Nice save,” she said with a smile as she laid down next to me, getting me all wet.
I had just got comfortable and was engrossed in the book I was reading, The Postmodern Condition, you know, your typical beach read, when she said, “Let’s go for a walk Daddy.”
“What? Now?”
“Yes, Daddio. I want to go find something nice.”
“To wear?”
“To fuck.”
“I’m still available, you know.”
“Available? No you’re not. You’re taken.”
“I’d never know it.”
“You had me this morning.”
“For thirty seconds to help you get your rocks off.”
“So, what the hell are you complaining about?”
“I’d like to get my rocks off.”
“Oh, are your rocks aching?”
“Yes. Yes they are.”
“Follow me. Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
We went for a walk through the dunes to a little wooded park, verdant with scrub pines, palms, and colorful flowers. When we found a little bench, she said to me, “OK, you go over there and just watch.”
“What am I watching for?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
I sat diagonally from her, about thirty feet away. I watched as she sat there looking pretty. Guys walked by, mostly couples. But then one muscular black man in a skimpy bathing suit, bulging out of the itty-bitty stretchy material, stopped and asked her a question. She looked up, batting her eyelashes at him, smiling, licking her teeth with her tongue as she looked down, furtively, at his crotch. They began chatting. And then, within not so very long they got up and walked out of sight.
About a half-hour later Lo returned to the spot where I waited for her.
She approached me slowly, with a look of wily satisfaction and mystery about her.
“You can have me now, Daddy. He’s all done.” I noticed jizz covering her clavicle. She grabbed my hand and walked me to the secluded spot where she had just been with the tall, dark stranger.
“Lo,” I said, “What do you mean he’s all done?”
“Well,” she said, “do you want me to act out exactly what we did?”
“Sure.”
She laid down on the bench and began stroking her pussy over her short shorts while I stood over her and looked at her.
“Well, Daddio?”
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to take out your cock and stroke it? That’s what he did.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And what did you do?”
“What do you think? What should a good girl do when she goes to the park and begins masturbating over her shorts and a tall, dark, hung stranger appears pantless ready to fuck?”
“Did you get his digits?”
“All of them.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah, all of them, inside me.”
“Right here?”
“Right here.”
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, confused.
“To a bar. I need a drink.”
Truth was, it was hot. I was thirsty. I was tense. I was irritated. I was horny. And I wasn’t about to start fucking Lola right there in the barely concealed patch of public privacy.
“Wait!” she said. “I have to change first.” She spread her legs and showed me the dark spot covering the crotch of her denim shorts where she apparently squirted.
She popped into the public restroom and a moment later, she popped out wearing just her bikini top and a short skirt.
“Wow!” I said. “You’re like a superhero!”
“Super Squirt!” she pronounced, swinging her shorts around her finger, grabbing me by my arm.
We went to a fancy hotel with a rooftop deck, pool, and bar. This was a new hotel and the rooftop was pretty high up there and it even had a balcony with a glass floor.
Lo walked out and leaned over the railing and said, “Wow! Don’t look down!”
“I’m not,” I said, “I’m lookin’ up – lookin’ up your skirt, that is.” No panties. No bikini thong. Nothing. Just her perfectly shapely and shaved mons pubis.
We then went and sat at the bar where I ordered a Tom Collins. Lo apologized to the bartender for my unfashionable taste in drinks, saying, “I’m sorry, he’s old.”
The bartender chuckled.
For the middle of the day, on a beautiful beach day, the bar was pretty busy. But, I guess for the people who live down there, going to the beach every day loses its allure pretty quickly.
Lo asked me, “You want to see what I saw on the bench?”
“Sure,” I said, not knowing where she was going with this.
She pulled out her phone and pulled up a photo of her with her legs spread and a guy with an elephant trunk hanging down from his crotch standing over her.
The old pervert seated next to Lo at the bar – not me, the guy on the other side of her – looked over Lo’s shoulder out of curiosity.
“Nice shot,” he said.
“Not nearly as nice as when he came on me,” retorted Lo without missing a beat.
“Is that so?” asked Mr. Intrusive.
“Yes, that’s so,” said Lo, followed by, “Oh, how rude of me. HH, this is,” she said, as if introducing an old friend.
“Kip,” he said.
“Kip,” said Lo. “Kip, HH,” she said, introducing us.
I shook his hand over Lo’s lap and said, “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure,” he said.
He clearly had had a few already. He wore a festive Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, sandals. I’d say he was about 46 and beginning to bald. A bit overweight. Genial smile and friendly – midwestern friendly. Too friendly, you might say.
Lo was in a festive, flirty mood and so she teased and toyed with this guy, telling both him and me what happened with her mystery man down by the beach.
“How very slutty of you,” he said.
“I thought so,” replied Lo proudly.
The guy asked, “Will you be my slut?”
“I’m everyone’s slut. That’s what being a slut is.”
“I don’t know if you could handle me,” said the guy.
“Why not?” asked Lo, defiantly.
“My cock – it’s pretty big and has a lot of girth,” he said.
Lola pulled out her phone and found a photo of her horse cock dildo. “This is one of my toys,” she said. “I can handle any cock. Any human cock, that is.”
The guy was trying to play it cool, but I could see he was intrigued by Lo’s unabashed candor.
What about Lo? She was flirting and teasing, but was she actually into him? I couldn’t tell.
We had a few more drinks and continued chatting. The fella next to us was married, had adult children, older than Lo, and claimed to be in Miami on business. But it was Thanksgiving weekend. Who is in Miami on business?
Lola was waxing rhapsodic about how much she loved Miami – the ocean, the beaches, the restaurants.
The guy interjected, “The orgasms on the boardwalk.”
Lo squirmed in her barstool and pressed her knees together.
She looked at me, embarrassed. I knew what happened.
I said, “You could say, she cums with the territory,” as I feigned spilling my water.
“That’s the worst pun you ever made,” said Lo as she watched me clean up the mess she made under her stool from her perch.
“Really? I’m sure I’ve made worse,” I said, looking up at her, hoping she wouldn’t have another accidental squirting orgasm.
“I’m sorry,” Lo apologized to our new friend, “Dad jokes.”
“I’m a dad,” he said, “no need to apologize.”
Along one side of the pool there were semi-private alcoves with recliners made for two. Lo ordered another drink and suggested we take the one that was recently vacated before someone else got it. She picked up her bag and casually sauntered to her destination.
Mr. Middleage followed her, leaving me to grab (and pay for) our last round.
When I got to the little cabana, Lo was lying down with her Mr. Marriedman next to her. I handed Lo her drink and said I was going for a swim. Her antics were beginning to upset me, if I’m honest.
I got in the warm water and rested up against the side of the pool with my drink in hand, watching Lo and her beau.
She lay with her legs crossed under her skirt. She removed her bikini top. The guy ogled her. They were making small talk. I could practically read Lo’s lovely lips when she said, “That’s ok, you can touch.”
The guy put his hand on Lo’s hip and slowly caressed her. Lo turned over and he put his hand down under her skirt and I could see him touch her bum as she took a sip from her straw.
She rolled on her side, showing him her tits and letting her skirt open in front. She said, “You like what you see?”
He said something I couldn’t make out.
“Are you hard?”
Again, I couldn’t make out the words.
“Jack it,” she commanded.
He pulled a towel over his cargo shorts and reached down. Lo watched him intently.
She loves being the stimulant for sexually starving strangers, the sweet release for men and women who need a focus for their swirling smut-dreams like a mantra for meditation.
She was speaking softly to him, encouraging him, telling him dirty things about her, probably telling him about how she sucked my cock after letting me have her ass that morning.
His head dropped back and he became rigid for a few seconds before crumpling like a suit having all its starch sucked out in one magic moment.
Lo got up and came into the pool. Her skirt billowed behind her in the water. She swam to me and said, “Let’s go, Daddio.”
“Mission accomplished?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. My mission is to make you cum like that,” she said as she grabbed my cock under the water.
We got out and Lo put her top on, and we walked out, both dripping wet, but she in more ways than one.
She blew a good-bye kiss to the man with the mess in his cargo.
Back at the hotel, Lo could hardly wait.
“Did you like everything today, Daddy?” she asked as she lay naked on the bed.
“Most of it,” I said, thinking it over.
“Let’s take a shower,” she said, just as I got out of my clothes and was very ready and eager to have her.
“What? Now?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I got sand in my hoo-ha.”
“What did you say?”
“You know, I’m not interested in any pearls in the ole clam.”
“Only you, darling, only you,” I said, amused at her pornographic poetry.
The shower had a small seat built into the back wall of it. She sat on it, spread her legs, looked up at me, and said, “Was I a very bad girl today, Daddy?”
“Yes, yes you were.”
“Was I a dirty little slut?”
“Very much so.”
“Are you mad that I let a man cum on me in public?”
“No, darling.”
“Are you mad that I walked around with his cum on my body all day?”
“Proud of your accomplishment?”
“Oh yeah,” she said.
“Am I terribly disgusting?” she asked.
“Not to me,” I said. I can’t lie.
“Show me, Daddy, that I’m yours,” she said.
I wasn’t sure what she was after.
She reached out and grabbed my cock and held it in her hand.
“You drank a lot at the bar,” she said.
“Not too much. A few drinks.”
“Have you peed even once today, Daddy?”
Now I knew where she was going.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” she said, a certain neediness in her voice.
I closed my eyes, relaxed, and let go.
She shook her tits and spread her legs wide as I drenched her in the warm stream from her chin down to her twat.
“That’s right, Daddy,” she said, “I’m such a slutty, cum-hungry, whore.”
I looked down at her, dripping wet, and said, “Ah, the Fountain of Youth!”
When I was done, we turned on the warm water and took turns washing and worshipping each other.
When we finally got in bed she said, “Use me, Daddy. Use me however you want. Treat me like your little fuck-doll.”
I had her on the bed just like I did in the morning. I slid in her puss only briefly and then went back to her other hole, filling her from tip to balls.
“Mmmmm, yes. Hold me down. I like that. Slap my ass. Slap my puss. Slap me. Hold me down. Hurt me. Make it hurt! Make me yours again, Daddy. I’ve been so bad today. I just want to be yours. Yours. Make me stop whoring around town. Make me good again. Make me so sore I can’t even walk. Make me stop searching for cock. Make me good again.” She went on like that the entire time I fucked her until I was nearly ready to cum – finally after a full day of teasing and edging, watching her degrade herself for me and for others, in private and in public. Finally, I was ready to explode with all that pent-up jealousy, desire, rage, ravage, revenge, lust, love, and “Lo!” I called out as I was about to erupt.
She quickly hopped off my rod and spun around, opening her mouth wide and accepting the offering I emitted like a parched nomad in the desert desirous of every last drop of life-giving liquid. She wrapped her mouth around my cock and sucked, encouraging me to continue cumming until I could stand no more.
I fell down on the bed next to her and immediately lost consciousness, falling into a deep and peaceful sleep.
Thank You Daddy
Romancing the Stone
Lo’s Blue Dress
I was asleep when she walked in the dark bedroom. Nights like this, when she spends the night out with friends or lovers, it isn’t quite sleep. It’s more of a restful repose, just barely below the surface of consciousness. When I heard the bedroom door open, I was instantly awake, but I didn’t dare open my eyes or stir. I like to spy on her from the darkness. With one eye open, I saw her remove her blue dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She had been wearing a bra when she left the house. She wasn’t wearing panties when she left, so it was no surprise that she wasn’t wearing panties now. She slipped out of her heels and walked barefoot and bare assed into the bathroom. She turned the light on. She sat, peed, got up, brushed her teeth, and then slid under the covers next to me.
“I know you’re awake,” she whispered.
“Now I am,” I said.
“And I know you’ve been a bad boy,” she said, reaching down to my crotch and grabbing my hard cock.
“Look at you – kitten calling the cock back.”
She chuckled and said, “The expression is the kettle calling the pot black.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You left your vagina in the bathroom,” she said, disapprovingly, speaking of my Stoya Fleshlight.
“It needs to air dry. That’s what it says in the instructions.”
“So you used it?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Unlike Stoya, I don’t air dry. I’m always wet. Very wet.”
Stoya, Stoya’s Fleshlight, Art of Lola Down
“And full of Robert’s cum?”
“Get in me and find out.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said.
I climbed on top of her and spread her legs. I slid in and sloshed about. She moaned.
“Tell me,” I whispered in her ear.
“Am I wet?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Loose?”
“Very.”
She likes to hear how slippery and slutty she feels to me.
“Good,” she cooed in my ear.
“Tell me, what happened.” I was eager.
“You first,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“Because, if I tell you, you’ll cum and I want to hear about your night before you cum.”
She had a point. Well, she had two points if you include what I was giving her below the sheets.
“Well, I began by looking at the blog of TJ like you suggested.”
“Yes.”
“She’s so like you, it’s uncanny.”
“I know.”
“But that just made me want you.”
“Good.”
“And as I was thinking about you with Robert, I took out the Stoya Fleshlight and went through your photos. I looked at all the cumtributes you get from guys. I looked at the pics you sent to Robert and others. And then I came. I came hard.”
“You came already tonight?!”
I thought she was mad. Meekly, I said, “Yes.”
She came instantly.
When she recovered I asked her, “Are you mad?”
“No. I’m just shocked that you’re hard again.”
“For you, Lo.”
“Are you sure you didn’t cum to TJ?”
TJ cumming to Lo
“Yes. Very.”
“Good,” she said.
“Your turn,” I reminded her.
“Well, Daddy,” she began, knowing how to butter me up, “we met for drinks. He thought I looked great. I know I looked great because Robert wasn’t the only one staring at me.”
Just the thought of her walking into the bar was enough to put me over the edge. I had to slow down while she continued talking.
“We had a couple of drinks,” she said in her soft voice directly into my ear, “and then went to the theater. It had the big, leather, recliner chairs. But those aren’t great for romance. There’s the big, bulky armrest in separating you. We were sitting in the very last row and I put my seat way back. When the movie came on, I let the hem of my dress slide up and up and up.”
“Was he touching your knee?”
“He couldn’t reach. But he could see. It was an odd movie, but there were a few sexy scenes in it. And Emma Stone. . .” She trailed off as she came again.
Catching her breath she said, “Get behind me,” as she pulled out her phone to look at sexy pics of Emma Stone.
I got behind her and glanced over her shoulder at her phone. “Get back there and fuck me like you fucked Stoya!” she commanded.
I grabbed her hips and pulled her ass back as I thrust forward, deep into her. I could feel the tip of my cock dipping into her deep well where someone else had already cum and gone.
Emma Stone The Favourite
“I just touched myself during the sex scenes,” she said in between gasps. “He watched me. He wanted me. His right hand held my left and I squeezed hard every time my right hand brought me to an orgasm.”
She came as she recalled her climaxes in the theater.
“At a more boring point in the movie I got on my knees in front of him and pulled out his cock. I put it in my mouth and went to town on it.”
Luckily for her and for me, I had cum earlier in the night and so was able to weather this blow-by-blow account.
“He didn’t cum, which disappointed me. You know how I like to feel successful at everything I do. I think he was nervous we’d get caught. He lifted me up and tried to place me back in my seat, but I simply lifted up my tight blue dress and eased my ass down on his hard rod. Sitting on his lap, like a stripper in the club, I slowly slid back-and-forth. He came deep inside me. That was just before the movie ended and as we walked out, I could feel his cum oozing down the inside of my legs.”
That was all I could take. I exploded deep inside her, adding to her collection for the evening.
“That’s it, Daddio,” she said as I reached under her and slid my arms up to her breasts and held her tightly. “Use me. Make me yours again. Fill me up. Make me your cum-bucket.” I collapsed on top of her and held her in my arms while imaginings of her night flickered through my rapidly darkening mind.
Autoerotica
“Come,” I heard her yell from the bedroom down the hall as I walked into the house after a long Friday at work. She might have been saying “Cum!” to a lover. There’s never any way to tell from the sound of her voice – only on the page.
I cautiously walked down the long hall to the bedroom. What would I find?
The door was open a crack. I peeked in. She was naked, on her tum, her round rump nicely illuminated by the setting sun. Her legs were bent at the knees and her bare feet dangled up in the air, twined around each other. In her hand she held her phone.
“Come in, Daddio,” she said without turning her eyes from the screen in front of her.
I walked in and removed my jacket and tie.
“What you up to?” I inquired.
“I bet you’d like to know.”
“That is why I asked,” I said flatly as I removed my shirt and undid my belt.
“Get naked, get hard, and get in me,” she commanded.
“I’m already hard,” I said.
“As you should be,” she replied, moving her hand to her mouth, licking her fingers and then moving her hand to her ass and circling her wet fingers around her special spot.
“Oh,” I commented, “You want it like that?”
“No, Daddio,” she said, “I’m just enjoying myself.”
Always coy when it comes to her ass. Always for someone else, or for her own pleasure, but never for me.
I got behind her and tried to look at her phone by leaning forward over her back and seeing over her shoulder.
“Get up there and fuck me,” she instructed, her finger still rounding her sweet spot as I slid into her puss. “I’ll tell you what I’m looking at.”
I did as she said and she told me that a fellow blogger, a woman named TJ, wrote to us saying, “I love reading your blog. It gets me so wet.”
“Really?! Do I know this TJ?” I asked as I thrusted harder.
“She writes The Lustful Empress.”
I slowed down a bit trying to remember which erotic blog that was.
“Don’t stop!” Lo said as her hand grabbed the girth of my cock and she pushed her ass back into my hips, bouncing off of my bare bodkin.
I resumed my powerful, pleasurable, pelvic pounding.
“Look,” she said, putting her phone up on her back for me to read the email. It said:
I love how accepting you are of Lola’s magnificent sexuality. You guys seem to have ‘it’ don’t you? I wish I could masturbate as openly as you do, Lola. I feel self-conscious, like an addict or something. But I fucking love fucking myself. . . it’s the best. I am more autosexual than anything else I think. Keep celebrating each other.
Fan mail like that makes it all worth it. Well, that’s not completely true. I know that I would be writing all this whether no one read it, or only one person read it – Lola. But knowing that others read it, enjoy it, and get off to it is the icing on the cake.
Speaking of icing, as I read the email, Lo began to climax as one hand worked her ass and the other, from underneath, worked her clit. Her Kegel muscles contracted and I was squeezed out of her as she curled into a convulsing, throbbing ball, squirting uncontrollably. The more she pushed her knees up to her breasts in a tightly bound fetal position, the more she sprayed the bed and my knees. I lifted up her phone to prevent it from being ruined by the liquid.
“Fuuuu-uuuuck,” she groaned as the last bit of lady juice spurted out of her.
When she regained control of her limbs, she slowly got up and pulled the soaked sheets with her, dropping them in the laundry basket. “I’ll clean up, Daddy, but right now I have to get ready.”
“Ready for what?” I asked, holding my throbbing, hard rod in my hand.
“My date.”
“Date?”
“With Robert. I told you, didn’t I?”
I just looked dumbfounded.
“We’re going to the movies.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“And what are you seeing?”
“The Favourite.”
“Is he your favorite now?” I asked, demoralized.
“No, Daddio, she said, caressing me and looking up at me with those beautiful big brown eyes. “That’s the name of the movie. It’s a period piece.”
“Really? Not a porno?”
“Well, I hear it has a lot of woman-on-woman sex scenes.”
“I knew it!”
“But that’s not why we’re going to see it.”
“You’re going to see it to have sex in a crowded theater.”
“Oh, Daddy, you always impute to me the most debased of motives.”
“So why are you going to see it?”
“It’s historical. It has great sets, acting, and costumes.”
“And?”
“And probably to fuck in a dark theater.”
“Don’t get caught.”
“But getting caught is at least half the fun. Does that make you jealous?” she asked, as her hand stroked my hard cock.
“So you’re leaving me home alone on a Friday night?”
“Not totally alone,” she said, “You have TJ.”
“Who?”
“TJ, the woman from the blog.”
“Oh, right,” I said to my consolation prize.
Lola made the bed and I watched her tits droop as she bent over to tuck in the sheets. Her naked body moved like a delightful dance as she unfurled the blanket.
“Look,” she said, as she hopped back in the bed and took up her phone. I sat next to her. Her left hand stroked my hard erection up and down as she scrolled through TJ’s blog with her right hand.
We read and looked at the photos together.
“She sounds like she could be your twin sister,” I said as I read about how TJ becomes aroused by her own naked body.
“Hold this,” she said, giving me the phone.
Now, with her right hand she was stroking her pussy and I scrolled through the blog.
“Oh boy,” I said, “You want her.”
Lo bit her lower lip.
“Lo,” I cautioned, “You just made the bed. You don’t want to. . .”
Before I could finish my sentence, she had jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before releasing her ejaculate all over the tile floor with a scream.
When she had regained her composure, she got some paper towels and got on her hands and knees to clean up the mess.
“What time is your movie?”
“Eight,” she called back. “But we’re meeting for drinks first.”
“Well, you’re going to be late,” I told her.
She jumped in the shower and I continued to look at the blog, hard up.
“Hey,” she called to me, “you’re not allowed to cum. You know that, right?”
“I still don’t understand how that is fair,” I said, taunting her.
I got up and looked at her in the shower.
“Get!” she screamed. She hates when I see her in her shower cap.
“How is it fair that you get to cum twice and then go on a date with another man and I’m not allowed any autoerotica myself?”
“First,” she said from behind the shower curtain, “it’s not autoerotic if you use someone else’s pictures. Second, you didn’t count the three times I came before you got home.”
“Lo, now you’re just. . .”
“And third,” she cut me off, “this has nothing to do with fairness. It has everything to do with me. What I want. What I allow you. Got that? Don’t forget it.”
Lo jumped out of the shower and hastily dried off before slipping into a blue dress and blue heels. No panties.
“You’re going to be cold like that,” I cautioned.
“I’m planning on things heating up quickly,” she said.
Soon enough she was out the door, leaving me alone.
I scrolled through TJ’s blog, which I recalled I had seen before, and I thought to myself, “She said no cumming, but she didn’t say no edging.”
I spent about an hour going through each and every post before I thought to myself, “If I don’t stop this right now, I’m going to explode!”
In order to take the edge off, I switched to photos of Lo, which are always fair game, and I pulled out the old Stoya Fleshlight. Lubing up Stoya and myself, I imagined what Lo was up to with Robert. I didn’t even need to see Lo’s photos. Soon enough I was cumming and cumming hard and deep in Stoya’s pussy, just thinking about Lo in a dark theater, legs spread, and Robert discretely moving his hand up her smooth thigh until reaching that wet pussy, pulsating with anticipation. Gently he would rub and flick her pussy lips, clandestinely making her cum. I pictured her hands gripping the seat and her upper teeth biting down on her bottom lip to prevent the scream from escaping her mouth. That was enough to bring me over the edge and release me into a deep sleep.
Accessory to a Masturbator
I was asleep, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. It was 4:45 in the a.m. and I was stirred from my slumber by the sonorous buzz of Lo’s vibrator, the rhythmic rattle of the bed, and the blue glow illuminating her face that was so contorted with a look of singular focus and intensity that I thought I was seeing a ghost. She was lying on her tum, both hands buried under the covers and under her body, the phone propped up on a pillow about six inches in front of her. From the sound of the Hitachi’s hum and the shaking of the bed, I deduced that she was working her clit with the Magic Wand and her puss with a dildo, leaving no hands free.
I opened one eye first and, upon seeing her apparition, I surprised myself with my ability to remain inconspicuous. I didn’t stir. I tried to give no hint that I was, in fact, awake – inconsiderately propelled out of my torpor. I saw her struggle to keep the pleasure points stimulated while simultaneously fumbling through her phone for images.
Acutely aware that no mortal would be able to withstand the auto-erotic stimuli that Lo was producing, I announced my awakening by asking Lo, “Can I help you?”
I was hoping she would be grateful if I would get behind her, replacing her dildo, freeing up one hand so she could scroll through the photos. But no.
“Yeah,” she said, not surprised and unconcerned that I was awake, “swipe left.”
I did as she commanded. I looked at her phone and there were pics of men, women, couples – all getting off to her photos. As she gazed at each image, she took in the content, and then said, “Swipe.”
She was demanding, insistent, and a tad rude about it. But she had a goal and nothing was going to get in her way – certainly not good manners.
“Swipe,” she said. I did as told. Another photo of a guy jacking to her pics.
“Swipe.” A photo of a woman jilling to Lo.
“Swipe.” A picture of a couple; the woman gives the guy a blowjob as Lo’s image is on the computer in front of them.
“Swipe.” A man with what looks to be a 12 inch cock. He holds it with two hands as if wielding it like a weapon. I hear Lo whisper, “Fuck.” She scrunched up her legs under her like an inchworm. The bed rattled. It’s a big, heavy, solid bed. It takes a lot for it to rattle.
Lo said, “Fuck!” Louder this time. More angry almost. I heard the Hitachi click into high gear. Lo squeezed her eyes closed tightly.
“FUCK!!!” she called out. I heard the dildo shoot out of her followed by the sounds of her geyser gushing onto the bed. She convulsed, clutching the bed sheets, burying her head in the pillow and screaming at the top of her lungs: “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!”
Then silence. Peace. Stillness.
She struggled to lift her head. When she did, she looked at me. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“You ok?” I asked.
She nodded, a little ashamed.
“Feel better?”
She nodded again.
“Ready to sleep?”
She nodded a third time.
I pulled her head to my chest where she rested it comfortably. One wet leg was lying flat on the bed nest to my leg. She lifted the other wet leg and placed it over my legs, parallel to her arm which reached around my chest. She was wrapped around me like a marsupial clinging to a tree. I felt her puss still slippery and perhaps ejaculating a dribble more like a leaky faucet on my hips.
I kissed her forehead and said, “Sleep.” There was no need. I could tell by her breathing that she was already in dreamland.
Meanwhile, my cock was rock hard as the first light of dawn began to illuminate the windows.
Caught
Lo came home from work late that night. I had already eaten dinner and was lying on the couch engaging in my favorite illicit pastime while Lo’s away, watching “SMILF.” She walked in just as Frankie Shaw was engaging in a self-pleasure solo session, which isn’t all that coincidental, given how often she does that in the show. (Since Frankie Shaw writes and directs the series, I think that she secretly wishes to be a porn star.)
Lo stood next to the couch looking down at me, judging hard.
“What?”
“You know what,” she said, accusatorily.
“I was just. . .”
“I don’t care what you were just. Turn it off. If you want to see a sexy woman engaged in sex-for-one, then get in the bedroom. I’ll be there filling my snatch full of fun.”
I shut off the episode and met Lo in the bedroom where she was on the bed, legs spread, dildos laid out next to her like a surgeon’s tray of scalpels, forceps, and clamps. She had her phone in her left hand.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I call it my ‘in box.’ It likes to be filled.”
I didn’t know if she meant what she was looking at on her phone or her beautiful mons pubis, which at the moment she was about to penetrate with her long, red, double-ended dildo.
I removed my clothes and sat in the bed next to her, vying for her attention. She was busy reading something. I inquired.
“I’m reading about my friend and blogger, Nero Black. His wife caught him about to masturbate.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” she said, easing the dildo into her tight taco. “His wife loves to read erotica and masturbate, but she never lets him get in on the goods.”
“How does he know her reading habits?”
“He has access to her Kindle subscription and sees what she downloads.”
“Oh.”
“And he’s hard-up as a result.”
“I bet you find that an open invitation to flirt.”
“Who wouldn’t? Anyhow, the other night he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his pants and boxers around his ankles, his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, when she unexpectedly walked into the bedroom.”
“Uh-oh. And?”
“And she ignored him! She acted like she didn’t even see it.”
“And that gets you off?”
“No, what gets me off is imagining that the porn she reads is our blog and that the porn he was about to wank to was my photos.”
She dropped the phone and lay on her back to continue the fantasy.
“Did you ever get caught?” I asked her.
“Caught? Doing what?”
“You know, jillin’ it.”
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Not by any of your previous boyfriends?”
“Look, it’s not something I hide. If they found me jillin’ off, then I kept on going. So it’s not like ‘getting caught.’ It’s more like putting on a show.”
And put on a show she did, without ever offering to provide me with any sweet relief. Punishment for my “infidelity” watching Frankie Shaw.
The Porn Identity
“You are beautiful. Your eyes are beautiful. Your mouth is beautiful. Your breasts are beautiful. Your cunt is beautiful.”
I was reading a message Lo received on her phone from an admirer of the blog.
“A regular Shakespeare, that one,” I said.
“I think it’s sweet,” she responded, as her left hand began to fondle her pussy lips under the covers.
“Sweet?! He left out your hair, your nose, your neck, your shoulders, your tum, your ass, your legs, your feet, and your toes!”
“I’m sure he was going to get there,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Can I get there?” I asked, sounding a bit desperate for affection, or her attention.
“Get where?” she asked, playing with me.
“Anywhere. Between your legs, ideally.”
“Let’s see where this goes,” she said about her internet friend, unfortunately, and not about my bid for her caress.
“I know where this goes,” I said, putting her hand on my hard rod. I was hard because her internet friend had sent a slew of photos of himself jacking off to her pics and cumming all over them. She looked good in the sexy photos.
“Daddy,” she said, protesting, “I’m busy trying to please my loyal fans.”
“I don’t mind, as long as you do it while spreading your legs.”
“I’m spreading the love.”
“Can you spread the love wide enough for me to get in on it?”
“Your pussy looks pretty and gorgeous,” wrote another fan.
“It is pretty, gorgeous, wet and waiting to be filled,” she wrote back.
“Me, me!” I said, “Pick me.”
“Calm down, Daddio,” she said, full of vanity fed by her fans’ flattery.
“Tell me more about you,” wrote another internet correspondent.
“Read the books,” typed Lo, “There’s too much to tell and too many people to tell it to.”
“You’re hard, girl,” responded the inquirer.
“Funny, everyone tells me I’m easy,” quipped Lo, “and that makes them hard.”
“I love your stories,” wrote one female fan.
“H.H. writes. I inspire,” wrote Lo to her.
“Do you inspire with your body?”
“And my wit.”
“I’m inspired right now!” I said to Lo as I grabbed my cock firmly. “They all are cumming to you. Can I cum to you?”
“Cum to, on, in, with, over, under, around, beside – I provide the pussy. You pick the preposition,” she said, dismissively.
I got up on my knees and stood over her, jacking my cock.
“Just don’t cum on my phone,” she said as she continued to scroll through her contacts.
She continued to fondle herself beneath me for a while before she said, “Daddio, lie down next to me. I’ll help you.”
I lay down and she grabbed me by my shaft. “I’m your righthand man,” I said as she jacked me off with her right and scrolled with her left.
“My wife is nothing like you,” wrote one desperate, sad husband.
“You two should read our blog together. It would open up her mind. . . and pussy.”
“I could never suggest it,” he wrote, “she’d freak!”
“But you like it?” asked Lo.
“God yes,” he sighed through the medium of type.
“Tell me what a young, sexy, slutty person such as myself does for you.”
“I’d love to eat your yummy, sloppy, used, cum-filled holes,” he wrote.
“Another bard!” I opined sarcastically.
“Shut up and cum,” commanded Lo as she tugged more aggressively.
“Are you in a rush?” I asked.
“Both hands are full,” she said, “leaving nothing for my snatch.”
“I’ll happily fill that gap.”
“You stay right where you are,” she ordered.
“Has she ever caught you jacking off?” wrote Lo to her married man.
“No. It would be a big deal if she did. It would be an even bigger deal if she caught me jacking off to you and not to porn.”
“I am porn,” protested Lo.
“I mean, it’s one thing to get off to anonymous, vacuous, impersonal, professionally produced porn and it’s quite another thing to get off to you.”
“That’s more like it,” responded Lo.
“That’s it, I’m getting up and out of bed,” I said.
“But nooooo.”
“Yes. You’re just treating my cock like it a joystick to your favorite video game.”
“A game I always win.”
She continued stroking.
“Are you into length or girth?” asked her internet interloper.
“I’m into cock. And cock gets into me.”
“Once again, I must protest!” I said. “You’ve got a very capable, compatible, and coveted cock right here, but you’re not letting it into you!”
“What, ole man, my right hand isn’t enough for you?”
“Not when you’re teasing those guys about how fast and loose you like to play.”
A new fan chimed in, “I have to stop sinning. I’m religious, that’s why I can’t go on doing this.”
“Sex is spiritual. And I’m a sex goddess. Worship at my alter,” replied Lo.
“Now you’re offering theology lessons?” I chided.
“No. Just encouraging them to be good semenarians.”
“That was terrible. Low hanging fruit,” I replied.
She cupped my testicles and said, “Very low hanging.”
“Oh, does your wit never cease?!”
Now she squeezed my balls to show me that I had better be careful about mocking her.
Another woman asked Lo if she liked taboo tales. To which Lo responded, “How taboo are we talking here?”
The woman said she was into watersports and bestiality.
Lo wrote back, “Let’s knot.”
“Don’t you mean. . . oooooh, I get it,” I said.
“Woof!” she said to me.
The woman, whose name was Mila Beijne., went on to tell a little story.
I was a model a few years back and after doing a shoot I was talking a bit with the photographer, the lighting guy and his assistant. They invited me to their home. I trusted them and liked them. We were all horny and I was willing, I admit. At the photographer’s home we had some drinks and then they slowly undressed me. They got naked too. They were all good looking men and one was really hung. They kissed me everywhere and started fucking me in my mouth, pussy, and ass. I was very horny. After quite a long time, they changed positions, each taking a different hole. Then they rotated again and fucked me a long time again till I was exhausted. They filled me up in every place they could. But the fun was not over yet. One put me on the floor and the other started urinating over me. Then the other two joined in. It was a lot and all over my body and in my long hair. There was no shower, so it was a special experience driving home. It was my first time doing that and I liked how the act showed their dominance over me.
I could see Lo getting increasingly more excited as she read the short little story from Mila. She quickly wrote back, “Yeah, HH does that to me. I love it. Being below him, feeling his warm stream flow over my back and butt.”
“We haven’t done that in a while,” I reminded her.
She ignored me because another fan had written to her. This guy was old. I mean, like twenty years older than I and I’m in my 50’s! His name was Bob and he wrote:
Hi Lola, and thank you!
You are an inspiration to me. I
hope you can give me some advice.
I’m in my 70’s and I’ve been in a relationship for over 25 years. No passion or sex for the last 20 years. I’m at a loss as it has become impossible to
talk about it with her. I’ve made the
mistake of combining our lives and living situations this whole time. It has become all about her for the last
several years. I feel I’m too old to
begin another relationship with a woman, yet I still admire all women and all
that I see on your blog. I’ve even
become curious about men as I feel that may be the only way to explore my
unresolved sexual fantasies. Yet I’m
still conflicted as I long for an intimate relationship that I’ve missed in my
life.
Do you have any suggestions??
Lola wrote back, “To tell you the truth, Bob, I’m just good wanking material, but I’m not a sex coach or a sex therapist. You might want to check out one of these trained professionals to get some expert advice on having more sex with spirit.” She provided a link. Then she added, “But if you’re looking for a real hotwife, cum to me.”
“What?!” I said to her, shocked that she’d even offer that to him.
She ignored me and typed, “I have a very soft spot for old married men whose wives no longer have sex with them. Would you like to see it?”
Of course he said yes. Lo sent him a naughty pic of the place between her legs that she was denying to me.
“Lo, that’s just cruel!” I said.
“What? Soon you’re going to be that old and you’d want the same from me. Wouldn’t you?”
“What’s cruel is that I’m that old man who is being denied right now!”
“If what I’m giving you isn’t good enough, then take matters into your own hands,” she said.
As she said it, another married man was singing her praises in a message that read, “I’ve come to worship your holy holes.”
“See,” she said, “I’ve got fans who know how to woo me.”
“Woo you? They worship you!”
“What’s the difference?”
After some flirtatious back-and-forth, Lo asked to see a pic of the man’s wife.
He asked why she wanted to see that and Lo responded, “I like to see who I’m beating out when guys are beating off to me.”
The guy sent a photo. His wife was beautiful. But apparently she lacked the ‘personality’ of Lo. He wanted to know more about Lo and he asked her questions.
“I’m like an open book, there for anyone to read,” she responded, “You just have to know where to find me. Are you familiar with the Dewey Decimal system?”
“Like, in the library?”
“Yeah.”
“So, I can find you in my local library?”
“If only,” wrote Lo, “I’m indexed under XXX.”
“As in 30?” he wrote with a winkface emoji. “Still pretty young.”
“Pretty, young, and slutty. I’ll tell you what, you can virtually finger my folios at: mysexlifewithlola.com,” she said, “and you can also buy the books there. I suggest you get a few copies of each and donate the extras to your local library so everyone can spread my centerfold for free.”
As Lo was typing, she guided my cock to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip. She looked up at me as her hand continued to glide back and forth from the base to her mouth. I began to cum and she hungrily held me in place so as not to spill a drop. I was so worked up that I couldn’t control my convulsions. I began breathing deep, heavy breaths. Lo looked up at me and said, “What?! Are you having a stroke?”
When I finally managed to catch my breath, I looked down at her and said, “Yeah, I’m having a stroke. A really good stroke.”
Lo wrote a final line to her fans: “Good night all you kinky sexy rogues. Dream of me in your debauched nocturnal thoughts.”
She put her phone down, grabbed her Hitachi, lay back, shut her eyes, and began vibrating until she was the one violently convulsing, squirting, and gasping for air.
When she was done and had removed the Magic Wand from between her legs, she grabbed my hand and placed it on her bare pussy for me to feel how wet she was. She’s proud that she can turn on the tap almost at will.
“Pull my pussy lips, Daddy,” she said. I stretched them. “Harder.” I pulled more. “Harder Daddy,” she complained.
“Lo, if I pull them any further they’ll be down to your knees.”
“Try it,” she said. She likes the pain or pleasure.
As I pulled I asked her, “What were you thinking about when you came?”
“I think about you.”
This line from her was as false as Marlow telling Kurtz’s betrothed that Kurtz’s last words were her name.
“OK, that’s enough of that,” I said, calling bullshit. “What did you really think about?”
“I think about you,” she said. “And I think about cock. I think about a lot of cock.”
“That’s it?”
“And pussy.”
I gave up there knowing that the
litany of licentious thoughts could go on endlessly. I sat silently and she mistook my silence for
judgment.
“You don’t know
what it’s like to be me!” she blurted out defensively.
“Oh yeah, you’ve got it so hard,” I said sarcastically.
“I wish,” she said even more sarcastically as she lifted up my flaccid member in her hand.
“You know,” I said, “your porn persona and your personality are not consistent.”
“What are you talking about?”
“All those people out there thinking you’re a nymphomaniac, thinking that I am so inundated with your pussy that I barely can find a moment’s peace, yet the reality is that you denied me just now.”
“There’s no inconsistency.”
“How not?”
“Because I know you’re going to write about this and so it will be part of my porn persona.”
A Picture is Worth a Thousand Orgasms
My good friend John from Seattle and his three sons (ages twelve through eighteen) came over to visit while they had winter break. They were in our town looking at colleges for the oldest and enjoying a bit of vacation – skiing, museums, historical sites. I hadn’t seen John for a couple of years and I was glad that, instead of booking a hotel, he asked to stay with us for the four days they were here. I suppose I should have known, however, that having all that testosterone under one roof would drive Lo wild.
It’s hard to keep Lo’s libido under wraps in the best of circumstances, but fill the house with four male guests, three of whom need to sleep in the living room, and, well, keep on reading.
One of the days that John and the boys were visiting, Lola came home from teaching her night class at the local community college where she has been guest lecturing on sex and sexuality in the Woman’s Studies department. She walked in the door in her knee-high black leather boots with the tall heels and her hip-hugging tight red dress. She looked. . . voluptuous. She said a quick hello and then grabbed a glass of Cabernet and joined us in the living room where the boys were sitting, playing games or texting on their smart phones or iPads, and John and I were quietly talking.
“I’m so disgusted!” Lo began.
“What? What happened? Did class not go well?” I inquired.
“I know it sounds ridiculous for a woman in her twenties to say it, but honestly, kids these days!”
“What happened?” asked John.
The boys turned their attention to Lo. Or, rather, they had looked up from their blue-glowing technology the moment Lo walked in the door and now Lo had their rapt attention. She sat on the couch and said, “Not that many years ago, when I was an undergrad, I wouldn’t have even thought of texting during class. I mean, yes, I would be on my laptop and not always taking notes, but isn’t it a sign of disrespect to openly text during a class?”
“Don’t you have a policy against it or something?” I asked.
“Yes, of course I do! But these two guys in the front row – they are on their phones the whole time. They’re texting and even passing their phones back-and-forth between them. I’ve said something to them privately. I’ve called them out before the whole class. Now I’m done. I’ll just fail them.”
“It would suck to fail at sex,” John quipped.
“You teach about sex?” asked his middle boy.
“It’s more than just sex – it’s about consent, the media, law, intersectionality,” Lo began, but she lost his attention after the word sex.
We talked a bit more and then the boys asked if they could watch some TV. To my great surprise, they wanted to watch “Gilmore Girls” on Netflix.
“Really?” I asked. “That show was popular like twenty years ago.”
“Let’s be real, it never was popular,” said Lo.
“You used to watch it?” I asked.
“On occasion.”
“So why do you boys want to see it? Isn’t it like a chick-lit show?”
“HH, you’re so gender-conforming. Not everything breaks down easily along gender-roles,” said Lo sarcastically, with a hint of irony in her eyes as she spoke to me.
“Why don’t you let the boys answer?” I shot back.
“Haven’t you heard,” asked one of them, “they’re bringing ‘Gilmore Girls’ back.”
“What?” I asked.
“Yeah, like ‘Arrested Development’ and ‘The X-Files,’ it’s making a comeback on Netflix.”
“Oh.” I said, learning something new, “but that doesn’t explain the appeal to you,” I said to the boys.
“It’s a good show,” they said as they clicked it on. “Watch and you’ll see.”
We watched a couple of episodes together as we ate some Chinese food we had had delivered.
Around midnight we went to bed and, in the bedroom, Lo removed her tight red dress revealing that all she had on under it was her bra.
“No panties?” I asked.
“I can’t take the chance of panty-lines in this dress – not with a room full of students watching my every move.”
“Don’t you think that that can be a bit distracting?”
“What do you mean?” she asked as she slipped out of her bra and stood naked, looking at herself in the mirror.
“You know what I mean. You’re just fishing for a compliment.”
She batted her eyelashes at me and asked, “Aren’t I just the sort of bait that would lure compliments?”
“That you are.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
“Don’t you think that the class will be studying your every curve if you wear dresses like that?”
“Like what?”
“Let’s just say that a dress like that on a body like yours should be enough to distract anyone from their phones.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” she said disingenuously.
“Haven’t you ever read ‘The Scarlet Letter’?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s The Scarlet Letter of dresses my dear.”
“So, you give my dress an ‘A’?”
“Ugh.”
“What do you think of me without my dress?”
“Can’t you tell?” I asked, displaying for her my member standing at attention.
“Though your sign language is easy enough to interpret, tell me. I like your words.”
“I think your breasts look pretty and perky.”
“Go on,” she said as she pulled and twisted her nipples, running her fingers over them to make them even more erect.
“And your shoulders are incredibly strong and sexy.”
“More.”
This went on for some time with me complimenting the small of her back, her smooth legs, her elegant feet. Then she said, “You haven’t even mentioned my butt. I mean, even I want my butt. If I could be with me, I would fuck my butt.”
Finally she got into bed and said, “Don’t you want to fuck my butt?”
“That I do!”
I got behind her as she was on all fours and she licked her finger and ran it round her special spot as if pointing out the target. “Go ahead, Daddio, but be slow and gentle.”
As I began to penetrate her, she moaned aloud.
“Lo, shhhh. We have guests.”
I ran it in deeper. She moaned louder and said, “Gentle!”
“Right. Now Shhhh.”
I lodged myself deep inside her extremely tight spot and she said, “Stay right there. Does it feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now let me do the work.”
I remained still as she lunged forward and back, slowly at first, but increasing in speed like a locomotive beginning to pull away from the station.
“You know, Lo,” I whispered, “I have a distinct image in my mind.”
“And what’s that?” she said as she was slowly churning away.
“Those two boys sitting in the front row of your class, showing each other the texts on their phones that you told us about. . .”
“Yeah?”
“I like to think that they found your photos on the internet and now they’re looking at them as you teach.”
“RED!” she said, referring to our fantasy rule of The Raunchy Game. Red means, nope, you just crossed a line. “That’s my worst nightmare,” she said, “stop right there.”
Despite her words, I could feel her orgasm beginning to surface. Not wanting to lose the moment, I said, “Well, I can also imagine them sitting in the front row surreptitiously taking your picture with their phones or their computers or something and then saving the pics for later and jacking off to them in their dorm room.”
Lo was coaxing the orgasm and sliding on-and-off my cock, forward-and-back. “Yessss,” she moaned. “Do you think they jack off to the pics together?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I said. “I bet they do it every night after class.”
“My picture’s worth a thousand orgasms,” she said as she came, quite loudly.
When she was done, the two of us were lying on our backs looking up into the darkness of the room. “Can I ask you a weird question?” I asked.
“I love your weird questions.”
“When we were watching ‘Gilmore Girls’ tonight, did you sense something odd about it?”
“Besides the fact that it’s always Friday, the town has five people that live in it, Emily and Richard Gilmore are cliché cutouts of ‘rich people’ and that every problem on the show is a privileged white-person problem?”
“Yeah, besides all that.”
“Like what?”
“Well, Rory has these two boyfriends, Jess and Dean, and what are they? – sixteen, seventeen?”
“I guess,” she answered, lying on her back, her eyes closed.
“And each of them keeps ending up in scenes alone with her mother, Lorelai, who’s all of thirty-two.”
“What are you saying?” Lo asked, her fingers clearly moving up and down under the covers between her legs.
“I’m saying that I think there’s some subtext going on.”
“Fuck me and tell me,” she insisted, spreading her legs as she lay on her back.
I got between her wet thighs and entered her. I held her tightly and whispered, “Lorelai was a MILF before that term was invented.”
Never one to miss an opportunity to correct me, she said, “Darling, I think MILF was invented then. You just hadn’t heard about it until much later.”
“Whatever,” I said, “the point is, that’s exactly what she’s supposed to be and then these strapping young men have all these one-on-one scenes with her in the house, alone. Don’t you think they’re suggesting something?”
“I’d like to see that play out,” she said as her breath quickened. “When I reach my thirties, I hope I’m a MILF.”
“Darling, you don’t have kids and you’re already a NILF. A nymphomaniac that I’d. . .”
“Do you think that’s how they see me?” she asked, ambiguous as to whom she meant, but it didn’t matter, she was already cumming.
Successful in my duty, I gave myself permission to climax with her, but, sensing my imminent orgasm, she said, “No! Don’t cum!” She insisted that I save it just as I was about to reach the pinnacle of my performance.
I kept on keeping on in her.
“I said no!” she yelled, pulling her body away.
“What the fuck?!” I said in an angry whisper, very frustrated, very aggrieved. Whereas I am frequently all for edging, keeping my Chi to myself, sometimes I need a release and releasing in Lo is the best release.
I turned over, lay flat on my back on the bed, tried to catch my breath as Lo, who had already cum twice, grabbed my member, licked it clean, and then kissed her way up to my mouth.
“Why can’t I cum?” I asked.
“Don’t you know by now?”
“No.”
“I like you to stay hard because you never know when I’m going to need your dick again.”
“Oh, I know all right.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You always need it.”
“That’s true. So, keep it cocked and ready so that it is fully loaded at a moment’s notice.”
Sure enough, she needed it again later that night. She woke me from a sound sleep as she was watching some MILF porn on her phone.
Mano a Mano
“Why don’t you just jack it like a real man?” she complained.
“Because I prefer fucking your flapper to fucking my fist,” I responded.
“But Daddy,” she said, in a nicer tone now, “don’t you know that I find it hot to see a man masturbating?”
“Any man, masturbating to anything, or certain men, masturbating to you?”
“I prefer men to masturbate to me, but seeing any man masturbating to anything still turns me on,” she said as she was rubbing her puss under the covers. “Please, Daddy, just stoke it for me, over me, to me.”
“Maybe I’ll just get my Stoya Fleshlight,” I said, trying to arouse her jealousy so she’d give herself over to me completely.
“No! If you do, I’ll get out my horse cock dildo and my Hitachi!”
“That sounds fair. . . and fun!”
“No,” she said, “I want you to use your hand and I’ll finger-fuck my holes.”
“Fine,” I said, more willing to concede due to the prospect of watching her. I pulled down the covers, got between her legs, grabbed my hard member, and pulled at it for her to see.
“That’s it Daddio,” she said as she spread her legs wide, began inserting the fingers of her right hand into her puss and slid her left hand around from underneath her ass to penetrate her posterior place.
“Did you make every man you were with masturbate for you?”
“I didn’t have to make them,” she said. “They volunteered.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There are so many. Which one?”
“Tell me about Teddy.”
Teddy was her fuck-buddy in college. A tall, lean, basketball player with an enormous cock.
“I’d lie in his dorm room bed and he’d stand over me with his huge black cock right over my face. It was as long as my entire head. He’d drop his balls in into my mouth and grab his rod with both hands. Both hands!” she said with emphasis. “He’d stoke it over me as I lay naked on the bed and then, when he came, he shot all the way down to my knees and covered me with his hot jizz up to my chin.”
I could tell that as she told me this story, she was on the verge of climaxing herself. But she held back.
“Tell me about Gerald.”
Gerald was also a college fuck friend. The opposite of Teddy in every way, except Gerald was also an athlete – a bodybuilder whose bulging biceps attracted Lo until she found that he had a micropenis.
“He was so self-conscious about his size that, no matter how much I wanted to take him in my mouth, he was resistant. My natural attraction for women made the prospect of licking that little clit so appealing, especially since he shaved it and his balls clean. He wore a teensy-tiny speedo when he worked out. It was like he was wearing panties. I wanted to pleasure him with my lips and tongue all the time, since I obviously didn’t feel him in either of my holes,” she said as she fingered both of her holes more deeply.
“Did he jack it for you?”
“It was the only way he could cum. He’d pull that little pimple with his thumb and index finger as he stood over me, just like Teddy did, and then he’d ejaculate all over my face. It was the only way he could feel dominant.”
“How often did he do that?”
“Countless times. It always left me unsatisfied, but I liked it nonetheless.”
“You never met a cock you didn’t like.”
“Don’t stop,” she said, looking at my cock as my stroking slowed. I pulled harder, longer, faster. “That’s it,” she said. Her whole hand was almost fully submerged in her pussy and two fingers were going at her perineum.
“Tell me about Tim,” I said. Tim was her beau before college and, since he was older and Lo significantly younger, sex with Lo was off-limits for him. That didn’t mean that Lo didn’t try. Lo always finds a way.
“He’s probably the one responsible for my male masturbation mania. The only way he got off was by masturbating. I would be fully clothed and saying sexy, naughty, dirty things to him like I’m doing for you right now, and he would jack it until he came.”
“Where’d he cum? On your face?”
“No. He’d cum into my hands. I’d hold them out like I was receiving an offering and then I’d lick them clean like a kitten licking a bowl of milk. He loved that.”
That was too much for her. She came and came hard. Her pussy and sphincter clutching and contracting on her deeply driven digits before eventually dilating again. When she recovered, she looked at me and said, “You didn’t cum.”
“No.”
“That’s not fair, Daddy.”
“I don’t think so either,” I said. “Why don’t you give me a hand-job?”
“Because I’m going to fall asleep now,” she said.
“That’s fine, just position your left hand like you’re giving the ‘OK’ sign, and I’ll do the rest.”
She complied. I lay next to her and inserted my cock. She said, “You’re just using me as a sex object.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily she followed up the comment with, “And I like it. It’s so soothing.”
Reviewing in my mind’s eye the stories she told, looking at her naked body next to me, I came and came hard all over her. She had drifted off to sleep. I grabbed a washcloth, wet it with warm water, and gently cleaned her off. I kissed her mouth good night and lay next to her thinking about what a good bad girl she is.
The next morning I awoke to find her face bobbing up and down on my erect shaft.
“Lo?” I asked.
She popped off of my knob and said, “I’m sorry you didn’t cum last night, Daddy. Let me make it up to you.”
I didn’t disabuse her of that belief until after she accomplished her mission. When I did, she just said, “You dirty dog!”
“What?” I asked, innocently. “You told me last night you wanted me to cum. Was that just lip service?”
“No it wasn’t. But what I just did for you was.”
