Ocean Spray

Posted on March 12, 2019 by Lola Down

Reality often is not the way you imagined it to be.

Lo and I had planned a winter getaway vacation for months. When the snow, wind, and cold was going to be bearing down on our little hamlet, we would be miles away shoveling sand on the beach into sand castles rather than snow from the driveway.

Part of this planning included a jaunt to a well-known nude beach close to our vacation bungalow. It also included many nights of whispered fantasies that concluded with climatic, powerful orgasms (both of the imaginary, young, well-hung men watching Lo and of Lo in the bed, her eyes closed, calling out swears to the Lord).

When the blessed day finally came and the sun was gloriously rising in the blue and pink sky, we set our course for the illusive oasis.

We got there at prime tanning time and Lo was eager to get her toes in the sand.

However, as we walked along the strand something strange occurred to us. Rather than the hunky hung men and the lovely, voluptuous ladies of our conjoined conjurings, what we found was mostly old people proudly baring all of their wrinkled, sagging, shrunken, small, grey body parts to the world. Maybe it was because it was a Wednesday and, other than vacationers like ourselves, the young folk were all at their day jobs.

Now, I’m no spring chicken myself, but I saw Lo’s eyes desperately scanning the vicinity for the tanned, trim, toned meat that she craved and growing more and more despondent as we progressed.

At the same time, I noticed among our septuagenarian and octogenarian observers a hunger for fresh meat, as one would see in the eyes of vultures in the desert at the sight of stray carrion.

“Lo,” I said.

“I know,” she said, totally aware of what I was thinking.

“How you feeling about this?” I asked.

“Whatever,” she said, disappointed.

Lo found a sunny spot close to the water, but still in sight of about three or four old men and their heavy-set wives.

Without a smidge of self-consciousness, Lo removed her sundress, then her bikini top, and finally she wriggled out of her bikini bottoms, giving the lurking voyeurs the glorious visage that they were waiting for.

Soon, about three or four other old men found their way to our vicinity, like sharks detecting the faintest drop of blood in the water from miles away. Lo lay on her tum and had me rub in the sunblock as I whispered to her my report of the surroundings. She seemed to soak it up just as she did the rays of sun.

When I had caressed her from toe to trapezius, she turned over and applied the sunblock to herself, slowly rubbing it into her feet, shins, thighs, tum, breasts, and a dab on her nose. She smiled as she did so.

As I scanned the surreptitious watchers in the cheap seats, I noticed that some of them had gotten their ancient organs up and hard. Lo noticed as well. She turned to me and asked, “You think they want me, Daddy?”

“Of course they do,” I said flatly.

Her tongue ran over her sparkly white teeth.

“Really?” I asked. “You really are turned on?” I couldn’t disguise my disbelief.

“Well, you know that I like older men.”

“I know you like them older, but I didn’t know you liked them one heartbeat away from room temperature!”

“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, squeezing her breasts with both hands and looking at the men as they watched her.

Two or three of them sat in the sand not far off from Lo and me.

“It’s hot,” I said, “care to go in?”

“Oh no, Daddio,” she replied, “I just got myself all covered.”

“Covered? Ha! You’re the furthest from covered.”

“You go,” she encouraged. “I’ll watch you.”

“You mean I should go and watch you.”

She smiled.

I went into the water. It was warm but still refreshing. I swam a bit. Then I floated for a while and watched as the men kept a close eye on Lo. Soon enough I was out of their sight and mind. I could see them move in to make small talk with Lo and Lo was all smiles and sweetness to them. I couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, but they were keeping up a long conversation. At one point I think Lo pointed in my direction. The men looked, but only for a second. Then, one-by-one, they started playing with their junk. Three of them pulling and tugging on their little puds next to Lo. The other old men, the ones with their wives, watched the scene unfold just as I did, from afar. Lo watched from point-blank range. I couldn’t hear her, but I saw her lips moving. I’m certain she was encouraging them. “Come on. You can do it. Cum. Don’t you want to cum?” Her words apparently weren’t enough. She began to push up her tits, suck on her nips, and play with her pussy. The guys moved so they could have a better look.

Treading water, I began to wonder how long this was going to take. I didn’t want to get out and disturb everyone’s fun. Luckily for me, it was only about four or five more minutes before the first guy came, dripping his cum into the sand. Then the second guy. The third was not able to cum, but I saw Lo move her hand to rub his arms and his side with her hand. He reached down to caress the instep of her foot. She didn’t move away. He rubbed her foot more and then she lifted her foot to his cock and put his little nub between her toes and stroked him. Within mere moments he ejaculated, dripping his jizz over her toes.

The three men said some pleasantries to Lo. She buried her foot in the sand for a moment and then Lo got up and came into the water and swam to me.

“Did you enjoy that?” she asked.

“Funny,” I said, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“No, I didn’t enjoy it!” she protested.

“Then why’d you do it?”

“For you.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well, for them too.”

“Altruism abounds!”

“Oh, shut up and fuck me.”

“What?”

“You heard me, ole man.”

I swam to her and entered her from behind, under water. She moaned. We swam as one. She came within seconds as the waves crested and fell, lifting us and gently descending.

When she was done, she disengaged and swam back to shore.

“Hey,” I called out to her, “What about me?!”

“Come on!” she called back.

I swam and then walked out of the water, my manhood hard as a rock pointing right at her.

“Mmmmm, Daddy!” she said as she licked her lips.

She got on her knees in the churning surf and she didn’t even have to take my cock in her mouth. Just seeing her in that position, thinking about what she just did, I came all over her face and tits.

Interview with the Author and Muse

Posted on March 5, 2019 by Lola Down

The following interview was just published on the very elite blog: AuthorsInterviews by the wonderful Fiona Mcvie!

Hello and welcome to my blog, Author Interviews. My name is Fiona Mcvie.

Let’s get you introduced to everyone, shall we? Tell us your name. What is your age?

LOLA: Hi, my name is Lola Down. I’m in my mid-twenties. My man, H.H., the author, is in his mid-fifties.

Fiona: Where are you from?

LOLA: We’re both from the U.S. The North East to be more specific. But that’s about as specific as we get.

Fiona: A little about your self (ie, your education, family life, etc.).

LOLA: We’re both well educated with graduate degrees. My family background is rather tattered and filled with pain. His is all American Apple Pie, so far as I can tell, but I’m sure that there’s lots beneath the surface. He doesn’t talk much about it, so it’s a bit of a mystery to me. We met when he was my art history professor. I was a freshman and 18. He was in his late forties.

Fiona: Tell us your latest news.

LOLA: Latest news is that soon we will be publishing the third book in our series of Match, Cinder & Spark. The first volume, subtitled “Nymphomania and the Single Girl,” included a lot of stories about me when I was single. The second volume, subtitled “MORE!” included more stories. The third volume, subtitled “Writing Under Cover,” included a story about living a double life: of normal folks by day, and sexplorers by night. The next volume is subtitled “Sexy Shorts” and will only be two-three page stories.

Get all of the books, hard-copy for best results.

Fiona: When and why did you begin writing?

H.H.: I began writing in high school. Short stories, mostly of a sci-fi genre. In college I tried a bit more, but it wasn’t very good. It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties, early thirties and going through some very tough times in my personal and professional life that I turned to writing as a form of escape, release, or therapy. That’s when it began to go much better.

Fiona: When did you first consider yourself a writer?

H.H.: I never really felt like a writer and certainly never introduced my self as such because it seemed so pretentious and false. But at a certain point I just had written so damn much that it was undeniable that that was what I was. A tiny fraction of it had been published, but it wasn’t until starting the blog, mysexlifewithlola.com, that I really felt like a writer. That’s when our readership just went up and up and people from all over the world began writing to us saying how much the writing (and Lola) inspired them. That felt great!

Fiona: What inspired you to write your first book?

H.H.: After a few years of regularly writing and publishing for the blog, the manuscript of stories was into the hundreds of thousands of words. Currently, as of today, the word count of only the published stories is 476,472. That doesn’t include the words in the hopper ready for publishing on the blog, or the notes that have incomplete stories and fragments. So, even though the stores didn’t have a narrative arc, and they were mostly a collection of stories with two main characters in each story, I thought, this is a good way to make access to the stories easier for people. The blog navigation can be as confusing as it is easy, if that makes sense. I didn’t spent time shopping the manuscript around since we already had a built-in fan base of over many thousands. Unfortunately, the first volume, Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl, was rather lengthy and, in the hard-copy, we included a lot of high-quality, glossy photos. That shot the price really high. I didn’t realize how expensive it would be until the project was finished. By that time, after all that work, I decided that I was just going to publish it as is, let the buyer pay for the book. It is a collector’s item, after all. And, with some more work, I could publish an e-book version and sell it for literally 1/70 the price. Unfortunately, at the time, the technology was not available for the photos to be included in the e-book, but that also meant that people all over the world could safely read it in public places, like the subway or on a plane or the airport, without fear that Lola’s pussy would suddenly pop up on the screen. And if they wanted to see Lola’s va-jay-jay, they could always just do a Google search of mysexlifewithlola.com.

Fiona: How did you come up with the title?

Lola: Match, Cinder & Spark – He’s the “cinder,” that is, the fire that has passed its prime. I’m the “spark”; the catalyst that sets things aflame. Together, we’re a match. I won’t say a perfect match, but one that is highly combustible. . . and hot!

Fiona: Do you have a specific writing style? Is there anything about your style or genre that you find particularly challenging?

H.H.: The writing usually comes very easy. It’s mostly quasi-autobiographical. Lo provides the inspiration and a lot of the raw material for the stories and then I just take artistic liberties to craft it into a story that has some form. But every once in a while I try to switch it up by trying out a new narrative style. I once wrote a story called “Fuck Noir” and I tried, not too successfully, to adopt a detective novel narrative voice. I was particularly fond of the last line, but that was all Lola’s doing.

Fiona: How much of the book is realistic and are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

H.H.: Like I said, almost all of the book is based upon something in our lives, either individually or together. We take pains to protect the innocent as well as the guilty, and I use poetic license to intersperse scenes out of sequence in order to tell a better story, but there’s very little there that didn’t actually happen.

Fiona: To craft your works, do you have to travel? Before or during the process?

H.H.: Travel provides great material. There has never been a trip that we have gone on, either separately or together, that hasn’t produced at least one fun story.

Fiona: Who designed the covers?

H.H.: I once wrote a story called “How My Girlfriend Became an Amateur Internet Porn Star” which is all about the design of the cover of our first book, Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl. I had chosen some stock photo for the cover and when Lo saw it, she freaked. “I go on the cover. No one else. Me.” Well, from then on, I knew that any promo for the book or the blog had to be of Lo. It meant a lot of photo taking by me (and some sexy selfies), but it’s truly a labor of love.

Fiona: Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

H.H.: Love yourself. Love the one you’re with. Love each other. And if you’re single: Love yourself and love our blog and books.

Fiona: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest? Who is your favorite writer, and what is it about their work that really strikes you?

H.H.: There are a lot of bloggers in our blogging community whose work I really love. Too many to name them all, but a small sample includes: Cara Thereon of CaraThereon.com, Hyacinth of adissolutelifemeans.com, Nilla of Vanilla Mom’s Blog, just to name a few.

Lola: Also, lately I’ve really enjoyed TJ of The Lustful Empress, Nero Black and his eponymous blog, and lots of writers on Medium.com, most especially MyErotica run by Rose, and the columns by Madelaine Hanson.

Fiona: Outside of family members, name one entity that supported your commitment to become a published author.

Lola: Actually, none of our family members know about this blog. But I’d say that Medium.com has done the most in that they pay their member authors for the content they create based upon some mysterious formula. I’m sure that they somehow make far more than the authors, but it’s more than other platforms provide.

Fiona: Do you see writing as a career?

H.H.: Outside of the erotica that I write, I have a whole host of other works under my real name. One day, maybe after I’m dead, the truth will out and then it will become the unenviable task of others to reconcile the “legit” writing with the “scurrilous” works. That is, of course, if anyone cares.

Fiona: If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

H.H.: Well the latest book is just on the cusp of being published and so I’m trying to insure that it will be the best yet.

Fiona: Did you learn anything during the writing of your recent book?

H.H.: I learned how much I love Lola, not because she’s so incredibly sexy, so dirty in her thoughts, but because she is so incredibly funny. Writing dialogue with her is so easy because our day-to-day lives together are full of amusing banter. We like to think of ourselves as like Nick and Nora Charles from The Thin Man movies.

Fiona: If your book was made into a film, who would you like to play the lead?

H.H.: Jeremy Irons. I think he is wonderful in the remake 1997 of Lolita. But he’s probably a bit old for the part now (though he’s in great shape). Maybe Jeff Goldblum.

Lola: Amanda (Donaghey) George. She looks just like me. Or maybe Sasha Grey, because she looks a bit like me and is willing to do anything.

Fiona: Any advice for other writers?

H.H.: Never take advice from a fellow writer. They’re all full of shit.

Fiona: Anything specific you want to tell your readers?

H.H. & Lola: Thank you!!!

Fiona: What book are you reading now?

H.H.: John Gardner’s On Moral Fiction.

Lola: Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts.

Fiona: Do you remember the first book you read?

H.H.: Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying. I stole it from the library and read all the sexy parts under the covers with a flashlight.

Fiona: What makes you laugh/cry?

H.H.: Lola.

Lola: H.H.

Fiona: Is there one person, past or present, you would love to meet? Why?

H.H.: The Marquis de Sade. He was absolutely versatile as a writer and a genius.

Lola: Brad Pitt because he has a huge cock and a great bod.

Fiona: Do you have any hobbies?

H.H.: Boating.

Lola: Beach Volleyball.

Fiona: What TV shows/films do you enjoy watching?

H.H.: We both love “Broad City.”

Lola: Magic Mike.

Fiona: Favorite foods, colors, music?

H.H.: Lola has really expanded my pallet.

Lola: I eat anything that casts a shadow. Favorite color: right now, turquoise. Favorite music: local folk music.

Fiona: Imagine a future where you no longer write. What would you do?

H.H.: I think Hemingway got it right.

Fiona: You only have 24 hours to live how would you spend that time?

H.H.: With Lola.

Lola: With H.H. and a room full of naked, sexy men and women fucking.

Fiona: What do you want written on your head stone?

H.H.: “Laugh”

Lola: “Look on my body of work, you beauties, and despair.”

Fiona: Do you have a blog or website readers can visit for updates, events and special offers?

H.H. & Lola: mysexlifewithlola.com

Sherry Rain

Posted on December 9, 2018 by Lola Down

I looked down and I saw Lola’s finger gently stroking Stoya’s pussy. She slid her wet finger up and down the soft labia and then gently inserted one, then two fingers deep inside. “You like this, Daddy? You want to fuck her pussy?” she asked. I did, but for the moment I was enjoying the view as I held my cock in my hands.

Now, allow me to tell you how we arrived at that supremely sexy moment.

It was late August. Lo and I packed up our big cooler full of beers, G&T, and various snack items: salsa, hummus, cheeses. We had a picnic basket full of chips, pita bread, pretzels, and basically everything you could want as an appetizer, but no meal.

We got on the road early. We knew that the parking spots at the beach would fill up quick since the weather forecast for that Saturday was so perfect and we knew that there wouldn’t be many more opportunities to get to the ocean this summer.

All the way out there, Lo was in high spirits. In summer she loves three things: heat, beach, and picnic baskets. Well, and sex. Don’t forget the sex. I just like seeing her in her bikini (and out of her bikini).

We got there just in time to get one of the few remaining spots in the parking lot and I carried the heavy stuff while Lo rolled the cooler. We set up the chairs and umbrella, spread out the beach blanket, and I pulled out a book and sat in the chair surveying the area while Lo lay spread eagle on the blanket.

“On the B.P.?” Lo asked me. That’s our abbreviation for either “Beach Patrol,” or, more accurately, “Butt Patrol.”

There were a few couples around us, but we were in the mostly vacant far end of the beach, away from the crowds and screaming children.

The hours spent soaking up the sun sped by as Lo and I sipped our cold drinks and nibbled on the provisions. I got a good chunk of reading done, swam a few times when I got too hot to bake any longer, and enjoyed seeing Lo apply and reapply her sunscreen.

When the sun was low on the horizon, Lo and I packed up our temporary home in the sand, put it all in the trunk and then headed off to one of our favorite restaurants, right on the water.

We walked up to the rooftop bar and, though it was crowded, we managed to snag the last high-top table for two overlooking the blue water below and the sunset in the distance. It was perfect. We were famished and already feeling the effects of day-drinking while sunbathing.

We ate our meal as the band played “Margaritaville” and other classic summer songs. Lo’s feet kept rubbing up on my legs. I could tell what she was hungry for now and I was eager to get her home to feed it to her.

We paid the bill and just as we stood to leave, we heard someone from the next table say, “Oh, don’t go yet!” Was that directed at us? I turned around and saw two women sitting at one of the other high-top tables. Rather than sit across from one another, as Lo and I had been sitting in order to see each other, they both sat on one side of the small table and they were looking at us. My back was to them the whole time, but had Lo seen them? I don’t know.

“What?” I asked, politely, but a bit defensively.

“Don’t go yet,” one of them repeated. Apparently they enjoyed looking at us.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Never mind her,” said the other woman in a deeper voice, “we’ve been here all day and now she’s drunk.”

“I am not!” the first protested.

“Whatever,” said the second.

We were in no hurry, we had been together all day, and something about these two women appealed to us (or appealed to our vanity), so we took a seat on the other side of the table. We began with introductions. The taller, deeper voiced woman was Sherry and the smaller, sandy-haired woman’s name was Rain. They were a couple. They had been together for about a year and they admitted to watching the two of us.

We ordered another round of drinks, even though Lo and I had already settled up for our dinner.

“You have amazing tits,” said Rain. She was either less reserved than Sherry, or much more drunk. I couldn’t tell since I knew them not at all.

Lo almost blushed, but not quite. She was still in her bikini top and shorts.

“She has a great ass too,” I chimed in.

“I bet,” said Rain, liking her lips. The gesture reminded me of Lo’s trademark move and when I looked over at Lo, it was like a mirror reflection of Rain. They clearly had chemistry. I looked at Sherry whose poker face was inscrutable. Did she enjoy the flirting, as I did, or resent it? Was this just another night out for this interesting couple, or was Rain playing a dangerous game?

No matter, it wasn’t my relationship at stake.

We continued drinking and finding out more about the two of them. Rain was a yoga instructor. Sherry worked in finance. An odd couple, for sure.

The band continued to play and at some point after we had had another round or two, they played Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.”

“I love this song!” Rain informed us as she jumped off her barstool and grabbed Lo’s hand saying, “Dance with me,” as she almost dragged her onto the dancefloor. The two of them swayed back and forth and Rain put her hands on Lo’s hips as Lo put her arms around Rain’s waist. I could see their lips moving, but not hear what they said. I realized that I wasn’t the only one watching them. Not only were the other folks in the bar glued to these two long-haired, sexy beach babes dancing, but Sherry was also eyeing them closely. I decided to use the opportunity of our being mutually abandoned to try to understand what was going on for her.

“She always this friendly?” I asked.

A tense smile hid her frustration. “Rain? She’s a very free spirit,” she said. It was meant to sound like a compliment, but it came across as a complaint.

“Same with Lo,” I said, genuinely, “that’s why I love her so.”

She smiled again and I decided to lighten the mood a bit. “You have great teeth.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised, clearly not used to being complimented, “thanks.”

One little observation goes a long way. After that, she really opened up to me, telling me more about her and Rain.

The band played another song and Lo and Rain kept dancing. I saw Rain move her hand to Lo’s butt, over her denim shorts. Their bodies moved closer together, their steps smaller.

Sherry told me that this was her first relationship with a woman. She was newly divorced. She had two kids – teenagers. They were very conflicted about everything. I could see that either their emotions reflected her own or she was projecting. She and Rain had only been together about a year and a half. Rain had never been with a man, but was fascinated by men. . . and afraid of them.

Sherry was just as intoxicated as Rain, I realized, only she hid it better. She hid, or tried to hide, a lot of things. She went on to tell me that she’s often caught Rain masturbating to porn of guys jackin’ it and cumming. “She’s fascinated by guys ejaculating,” she said as if it was the most bizarre thing for a lesbian to be curious about. “She watches it again and again.”

Lo and Rain came back from the dance floor.

“At least someone dances with me,” Lo said, jibing me for my reluctance to set foot on any dance floor.

“At least someone talks to me,” I said, looking at Sherry.

“Oh yeah,” asked Rain, “what were you two talking about?”

“If I tell you,” I said, “you’ll tell me how nice Lo’s ass is.”

“Deal!” she said.

I looked at Sherry and saw real fear in her eyes. Of course I wasn’t going to publicize her intimate revelation. “We were just talking about Shelly’s kids and how quickly they grow up.”

“I know! Right?” said Rain, “When I met them, I was taller than both of them. But now they’re both this tall,” she said, putting her hand above her head by a foot.

Sherry looked relieved.

We talked some more, got some appetizers and more beer. Lo and I opened up about our special relationship. When Rain heard that I’m not allowed to have the same freedoms as Lo, she suddenly became more interested in me. It was as if being off limits was a dare for her, a challenge, a goal. She was now openly flirting with both Lo and me.

I completely lost track of time, but I knew we had a long drive home. We got the check, exchanged numbers, and said that we all need to come back here again together before the summer was over.

We walked downstairs and out onto the sidewalk. Their destination was the opposite direction from ours. Lo gave a hug to Sherry as I went in to give a goodbye hug to Rain, but to my great astonishment, rather than a hug, Rain’s lips came in right for mine. This was no little, polite peck goodnight, but an open-mouthed kiss, full of lips-on-lips and tongue exploration. She hugged me close and squeezed and the thought occurred to me that she was squeezing me as she wanted to be squeezed.

When our embrace ended, I furtively looked over to Lo to see just how much trouble I was in now. But Lo was busy talking with Sherry. Had either of them seen what just went down? Then Lo came over to Rain to give her a very proper and polite hug goodbye while I hugged Sherry. There were no hard feelings, or at least none that I could detect.

Lo and I began walking along the dimly lit sidewalk next to the dark beach. In our spirited conversation with the women, apparently Lo forgot the most important thing to do before departing a bar.

“Daddy,” she said, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I have to pee. So bad.”

“Well, let’s go back. You can. . .”

She cut me off. “No,” she said, “why should we go all the way back when we have all the beach to ourselves?”

“What?” I asked, astonished as I saw Lo walk onto the sandy beach, pull down and remove her shorts but leaving on her bikini bottoms as she stuck out her bum like she was grinding into the invisible groin of someone in a dance club.

“Are you peeing?” I asked in disbelief.

“Come here and I’ll show you,” she said, grabbing my wrist, pulling my hand between her legs so I could feel the drips as they seeped through her bottoms.

“Lo,” I gasped, “you’re bad!”

“You love it,” she said. “You know you do.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“OK,” she said, “let’s go.”

She grabbed me so we walked arm-in-arm and she sashayed down the sidewalk.

“Feel better, dear?”

“Much,” she said. “Feel hard, dear?” she asked as she reached over to feel my cock under my bathing suit. “Oh yeah,” she said, answering her own question, “you feel hard alright.”

She wasn’t wrong.

We got to the car and I got in, but I called to Lo before she got in. “Hey, you plan on taking off your bottoms?”

“What?”

“Your bottoms. Do you plan on taking them off?”

“Here? On the street?”

“Yes here, on the street. You certainly don’t plan on sitting on my car seat like that do you?”

“Like what, Daddy?” she asked innocently.

“Drenched in pee.”

“Drenched in pee?! What are you talking about?”

“Your little trinkle on the beach.”

“What?”

“You honestly don’t remember?”

“No. Is that why I’m all wet? I just thought I was really horny. I mean, I am really horny, but is that why I’m wet?”

“Yes. So strip.”

“This sounds like a fun ride,” she said as she dropped her bikini bottoms onto the sidewalk, threw them in the trunk, and got in the car.

I started up the engine and she reached over to grab my cock. “Do you want me to straddle you, Daddy?” she asked.

“No, Lo, I’m driving home.”

“Can I blow you?”

“No.”

“Hand job?”

“No.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do for this long ride home?” she asked as she put her bare feet up on the dashboard, spreading them to make a ‘V’ of her legs. “Just look at what you’ve got here,” she said as she slapped her cleanly shaved pussy.

She put the seat all the way back and reclined it as far as it would go, keeping her feet up on the dash as she began massaging her pussy. But within mere moments she was sound asleep next to me.

We got home and I roused her. It took a great deal of effort, but I finally got her out of the car and up the stairs of our apartment building, all butt naked.

Once in our apartment she crawled into bed. Now she was waking up.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” she said, spreading her legs.

“Lo, you’re beyond the ability to consent.”

“No I’m not, Daddy,” she protested. “Don’t you want me?”

“I sure do, but I’m not having you,” I replied.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to take things into my own hands,” she said, pulling out her dildo from under the bed and swiftly inserting it between her legs.

“If you’re going to do that,” I countered, “then I’m going to have some fun too. You’re not the only one with toys anymore.”

I rummaged through the closet and found my Stoya Fleshlight.

“No, Daddy! You wouldn’t dare!” she cried, still masturbating. “You wouldn’t have her when you could have me, would you?”

“Lo, I’m not having you.”

She grabbed Stoya from my hands and began touching her pussy lips.

“You can lubricate her for me, if you want,” I said.

She put out her hand and took some lube from the bottle as I squeezed it into her palm.

She stroked the pussy gently as I held my love organ in my hands.

“You like fingering her?” I asked.

No response.

“Are you thinking of Rain right now?”

“How’d you know?” she asked.

I was standing next to the bed as I watched all of this happening. Then Lo slid so that her legs were dangling off the side of the bed. With one hand she kept the dildo rhythmically fucking her pussy and with the other hand she slid Stoya’s pussy over my rock-hard cock.

“You like that, Daddy?”

Now I didn’t answer.

She went back and forth with the Fleshlight, fucking my cock with it as she fucked herself with her dildo.

“That’s it, Daddy, fuck her. Fuck her like you’d fuck me,” she said until she squirted all over the wood floor next to the bed. At the sight of her ejaculation, I grabbed Stoya with both hands and fucked Stoya hard and fast. Lo reached down, underneath and held my balls. She likes to feel them contract when I ejaculate. I came and came a lot inside Stoya.

After we cleaned everything up, Lo lay in my arms. She fell right to sleep. I held her and thought of the sound of the waves gently rolling over the silent sand of the beach in the moonlight.

Deep C Fishing

Posted on November 15, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even the radio mocked me with the lyrics:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh Daddio, so crude!”

“Lo, you don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure of it.”

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

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

“Like what things?” she asked.

“Sucking cock.”

“Just one?”

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

She was getting riled up now.

“Have me, Daddy,” she said.

Finally! The words I longed to hear all week!

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

“What?”

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

“A condom? No. Why?”

“I’m ovulating something fierce right now.”

“I’ll be careful.”

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

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

“Will you stop with that awful analogy.”

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

“Are we good?” I asked.

“Jack it,” she commanded.

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

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

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

“And you didn’t jack it?”

“No.”

“Not to me? Not to my pics?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

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

“But they jacked it to my pics?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Yes, Lo.”

“Play with it.”

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

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

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

“I missed you, Daddy,” she said.

“Did you jill it when I was away?”

“Yes,” she said.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know. A lot.”

“To what?”

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

“Did you talk on the phone to anyone?”

“No Daddy.”

“Did you have anyone over?”

“No Daddy.”

“Did you want to?”

“I always want to, Daddy.”

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

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Yes.”

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

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

“So full, Lo,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no idea,” I said.

Slap Shot

Posted on July 25, 2018 by Lola Down

“Tell me about the hockey team,” I say.

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

“Oooohhhh, you mean the hockey team that I met on my trip.”

“Yeah, that hockey team. Why? Is there another I should know about?”

“There are a lot of hockey teams in the world.”

“And you’re just the gal for each of them, aren’t you?”

“If you say so,” she says, batting her eyelids.

“Just tell me about the hockey team you began telling me about the other night.”

She had begun telling me about it the night she returned from her business trip, but I was so primed and ready for our reunification that I didn’t last long enough to hear any more than the teasing preview. Now a few weeks had gone by of my living in ecstatic mystery wondering about her little hints and jibes and I felt ready to hear the full-length tale.

“First,” she says, “get naked and lie on your back.”

I follow instructions.

She pulls out the massage oil and drips it over my cock. She begins to rub as the starts up where she left off.

“I told you, I was on my way back up to my hotel room when I got in the elevator with a bunch of guys who had arrived in town for a hockey tournament. I think they positively could smell how horny I was. They began to make small talk with me and I flirted back. They told me that they had the entire ninth floor of the hotel. I told them I was on the eleventh floor and I asked if they were up for coming up.”

“Let me guess, they were all very hard-up.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, caressing my member with both hands. “Just like you. . . only bigger.”

“And?”

“Well, they invited me to their floor first and so I got off.”

“Off the elevator?”

“Well, I got off on my floor, went to my room, got myself off, freshened up, and then went to their floor. All the doors were open on their floor and everyone was coming and going like in a dorm room. I flitted here and there and some of them were changing or walking around with their shirts off and a few had just gotten out of the shower and had nothing on but a towel around the waist. They were all gorgeous.”

“I bet. I bet you didn’t even see their faces.”

“Oh, no. I saw their faces and their arms, their chests, their lovely sculpted legs. I saw just about everything.”

“But you wanted more.”

“More is my favorite amount. So I invited five of them down to my room.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me. A select five.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. How did you select them?”

“I had the whole team stand at attention in a row naked and I selected the five longest cocks.”

“You did not!”

“No, but a lady can dream, can’t she?”

“Anyhow, I selected the five nicest guys and we went down to my room and I told them a bit more about me before slipping off my panties. I had my little black cocktail dress on and I bent over the side of the bed and let them take a look under it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And I encouraged them to pull out their cocks and jack off behind me, which they did willingly.”

“I bet.”

“And then I said, ‘Go on, slap it.’ And one of them gave me a good, solid whack.”

“They were so kind and considerate.”

“I thought so too! My fingers were down between my legs, caressing and pulling my long pussy lips. They could see as they took turns slapping my ass. First they were timid, but then they grew more confidant as I moaned and said ‘Yes.’ Then I asked who wanted to be first in. One of the guys immediately got behind me and began thrusting as hard and fast as he could. It was rough and manic like a jackhammer horizontally placed in my cunt.”

“And you loved it, I bet.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong. But he came so quickly, deep inside me. I crawled up on the bed and let the next guy in. He was slower, more loving.”

“Loving?”

“Well, more gentle. I turned over my shoulder and said, ‘You can do better than that,’ and his friends encouraged him. They each had their puds in their hands, except for the guy who had just cum in me. But guy number two couldn’t finish. I guess it was a lot of pressure. He pulled out and a lot of cum from the first guy dripped out of me. One of them snapped a photo of me from behind just before the third guy went in me. After that, I sort of lost track of who was where because then one of them got under me and entered me so that they were double penetrating my pussy just like I always wanted. And later one was fingering my ass and then he let himself in there, cumming deep inside while a different guy was under me in my puss. I have no idea who came where or how many times I came. One of them even got in front of me and came in my mouth and on my face. In the end, let’s just say that everyone had scored at least once.”

“Who says that hockey is a zero-sum game?”

“Right? Win-win!”

“Any chance I can get a shot on goal?”

“It’s wide open,” she says as she gets on top of me and slides her puss down my pole.

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

“Smoother than ice, and a whole hell of a lot warmer.”

Pride Day

Posted on June 9, 2018 by Lola Down

Lola and I happened to be in the nation’s capital for Gay Pride Day. It was a perfect sunny June day and we had just had brunch in our little B&B in the center of the city. We looked over the events listed in the LGBTQ paper and had forged a rough plan for the day. We began at Dupont Circle watching the crowd of ebulliently self-proclaimed “fags,” “dykes,” and “traps” congregate. We wandered along with the flow of folks until the stream we were in grew to a mighty river of revelers. The party and parade were in full swing and we were cheering on the costumed and carousing throng.

After a while of this, we grew thirsty and hungry and we wondered off the main route to some smaller streets to find someplace to replenish our energy. As we walked about in a neighborhood we didn’t know, we saw two guys, obviously a couple, in their mid-forties or so and we asked them for a recommendation. They stopped just long enough for one of them to say, “If you turn right down this alleyway, there’s a small bar with good food and cold drinks at the very end. But,” he looked us over quickly and immediately concluded that we were a straight couple, “it probably isn’t for you.”

I took great offense at that, but Lo brushed it off or, more accurately, she took it as a personal challenge.

We followed his instructions and sure enough down a long alleyway, just wide enough for us to walk single file, we found a door. There was no name. There was nothing to announce that this was any sort of dining establishment. Just a door. There was nowhere else for us to go, so we went in.

On the other side of that mysterious door was a dark room full of men of all ages. There were no windows so not even a hint of the glorious day filtered into this shady hole in the wall. Guys were playing pool, others were sitting around the bar drinking beers, and some others, but very few, were at tables having lunch.

Instead of sports games on the various TVs in the bar as you would see elsewhere, there was a seemingly endless slideshow of naked and semi-naked men projected on every screen. Each man was buff, handsome, and totally gay. Lo was practically drooling looking at them.

“Hungry?” I asked her.

“You have no idea,” she said before snapping out of it and asking, “You mean, for lunch?”

“Lunch, or whatever,” I said back.

“I could do whatever.”

We sat at the bar and got a few odd looks from the patrons. She was the only women in there and the fact that I was with her made it even more of a spectacle.

We ordered some food and two cold beers. We were parched.

As we waited for the food to come, one affable fellow with less xenophobia than the rest started up a conversation with us. He asked us where we were from, what brought us to D.C., how we were liking it, and our experience of the Pride Parade. He was tall, about six feet, and easy going, as if from the south – or further south than D.C. He had a moustache and a chiseled jawline. He made us feel at ease and the fact that he was talking to us was a sign to the rest of the guys that it was ok.

After we ate and had about three beers, Lo was feeling like playing pool and so she challenged this gent to a game. He laughed, as if Lo couldn’t possibly beat him, and accepted her offer. Lo’s pride was at stake and she marched up to the table and racked up the balls. She picked up the cue ball and said, “Do you want to break or shall I?”

“You can,” he said with a chuckle.

“What?” asked Lo, “You think I don’t know how to handle some heavy balls and a long stick?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, amused.

Lo bent over the table, revealing a bit under her denim skirt, and took her shot. Nothing went in.

“You might be able to handle balls and a stick, but getting it in the pocket is the trick,” he said.

“Trust me,” said Lo, “I know how to get it in the hole.”

He laughed again as he took his shot. It was an easy shot but he did it with the cool and confidence of a pro. I was worried for Lo’s pride.

The game went on with his taking five shots to every one of Lo’s. He quickly vanquished her. But he was kind about it. He offered to buy us both a drink to show no hard feelings.

“No hard feelings,” said Lo, as she took a sip of her beer, cheersing him, “but is anything else hard?” she asked.

“You got yourself a woman who really likes a challenge,” he said to me with a playful wink of his eye. Then to her, “If you want to find out, follow me.”

He put down his drink and started to walk off toward an even darker corner of the bar. Lo looked at me as her tongue ran its way over her lips, and she followed him. They sat at a small, private round table in the shadows and from where I stood at the bar I could see them making out. His big hands found their way up her skirt and I could see her convulsing. She then repositioned herself, straddling her legs over his knee as she sat looking at him and kissing him, her right thigh rubbing up against his crotch. I saw her right hand reach down between his legs and rub his cock while he buried his face in her breasts.

Though the others in the bar could see it if they chose to look, they simply ignored it. Lo’s left hand was rubbing up and down the man’s right bicep. Knowing Lo, I was sure that she was squirting all over the guy’s jeans. Then there was a moment when they both froze, as if the movie was on pause. Then they moved really slowly. The guy went to the bathroom. Lo sauntered proudly back to me at the bar.

“Did you pay the tab?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good, let’s go.”

“But you didn’t say goodbye to your new friend.”

“That’s ok. He’s going to be a while cleaning up.”

And just like that we walked out, down the long alley, and back into the sunlit celebration of sexuality.

“Do you know what made me cum?” Lo asked.

“Rubbing his strong arms?”

“Well, yes, that, but also he said to me that he wished you would join in and he could suck your cock while I sucked his.”

“Did he now?”

“Yeah. How do you feel about that?”

“Well, it’s too bad you didn’t tell me earlier.”

“Would you do it?”

“I guess we’ll never know since you took care of him all by yourself.”

“Well, why didn’t you follow me to the table?”

“You looked like you had things well in hand.”

“But you could have joined.”

“I guess,” I said, “but I like to be asked. It’s a matter of personal pride.”

“Naked Brunch”

Posted on April 22, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wonderful idea! Shall I pour two now?”

“It is brunch time,” he said.

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

“Oh, who is it?” asked Jim.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Daddy.”

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

“Hi Jim,” she said, flirtatiously.

“Hi Lola!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, how’s that going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” I said. “And?”

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

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

“Yeah.”

“What happened? Did she?”

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

“How are you doing with that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you spanking me, Daddy?”

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

“You noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“I think you know.”

“Your cameltoe?”

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

WHACK!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Daddy, hurry up and get in me!”

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

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

Original art by Jo Koss

Sexy Shorts: All Hands on Dick

Posted on March 16, 2018 by Lola Down

I awoke and in the darkness I could see the blurry blue light of the alarm clock. 5:50. I usually get up at six, but I figured, close enough. Then I noticed that something was not right. Lo was not quietly snoozing beside me. There was a pale blue light cast from the bathroom. The door was open. I peered in and I saw her sitting naked on the pot, her phone held in one hand, her other hand hidden from my sight between her legs. I realized also that my cock was at attention under the covers.

I swung my legs out and over the side of the bed, sat up, and got up, naked. I walked into the bathroom silently and Lo practically jumped to the ceiling with fright. She clutched her phone tight.

“What the hell?!”

“I think I have a right to ask you that,” I responded.

I walked to the sink, next to her, and pulled out my toothbrush and put toothpaste on it.

“Mmmmm, what is this?” she asked, looking fawningly at my protruding member. I had to be careful not to bang it on the porcelain sink.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I said, looking down at her accusingly.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, looking up at me subserviently. “I had very sexy dreams. They woke me and I was wet. I tried to get you up, but then came here so as not to bother you.”

“Looks like you succeeded at getting me up,” I said. “Did you squirt?”

“I was about to when you startled me.”

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

“Nothing, Daddy.”

“Nothing?”

“Just a story I was reading on Medium.”

“What story?”

She changed the subject by grabbing my cock with her left hand and stroking it.

“I never jacked someone off while he was brushing his teeth,” she said.

“That’s probably the only sexual act you haven’t done yet,” I wanted to say, but couldn’t because my mouth was full.

“I’ve never sucked someone off while he brushed his teeth either,” she added as she turned me and leaned in to take me in her mouth.

I spat and rinsed. She squirted. I could hear the stream of high-pressure fluid spray the pot. She took me in her mouth deeper. Soon I was ejaculating in her mouth as she leaned further forward to get it all.

After we both cleaned up, she pulled me back to the bed. She lay me down and grabbed my flaccid cock. “Get hard. Please get hard,” she said as if praying to a god. “Please.”

She used every trick in her tool box to reinvigorate my member, to no avail. Finally she said, “If you won’t get hard for me, I will have to take matters into my own hands,” and she pulled out her arsenal of toys. Looking through them, she found two or three that she thought would be best suited for her mood.

“Can I go now?” I asked.

“You don’t want to watch?”

“Lo, you’re like ‘Gilligan’s Island,’” I said

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked, angry.

“Nothing, just that I’ve seen you jill it so many times before.”

“You’re saying my sexy body is a rerun; a tired old show that’s been put into syndication; a dated, aged joke?”

“No no no,” I said, realizing I was now in hot water.

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s time that you put all hands on dick and I’ll show you how the professor takes care of Maryanne.”

My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

Posted on February 14, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.

“Your weakness is me.”

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

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

“Stop it! You know I hate that!”

“But I love it. It’s so sexy.”

“I have to work on my beach body.”

“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”

“We both should exercise.”

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

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

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

“That’s not proof.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luckily, Lo was impressed.

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

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

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

“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.

“I want to know.”

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

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

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

“Where would you like to go?”

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

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

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

“Lo, you’re doing it again?”

“Doing what, Daddio?”

“Flashing in public.”

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

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

“You like, Daddio?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Why not, Daddy?”

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

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

“You should write adult fortune cookies.”

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

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

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

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

“But you want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like how your entire outfit matches.”

“I’m good like that.”

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

“Lo!” I scolded.

“She laughed.”

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

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

“Like a ruler,” I said.

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

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

“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.

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

“Rosebud.”

“What about it?”

“That was the last word he said.”

“And the name of his sled.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.

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

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

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

He simply said, “Whiskey.”

“Straight?” she asked.

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

Obviously she didn’t know his name.

“Ron,” he said.

“Hi, Ron,” I said.

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

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

Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo’s drink came.

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

“It’s wet.”

“Your drink?”

“That too.”

Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.

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

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

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

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

“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.

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

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

“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she said enigmatically.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can it charm the pants off of you?”

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

“Take your cock out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean I got us into?!”

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

“Not a problem.”

“Really?”

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

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

“Sort of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome?! I saved you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Money, Booze, Sex, & Lola

Posted on December 16, 2017 by Lola Down

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

“What?”

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

“I bounced it?!”

“Yeah, you.”

“Well, it’s our checking account.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She called again.

“What?!” I said, answering the phone.

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

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

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she asked.

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

“Nothing,” I said.

“Come home,” she said.

“No.”

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

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

“No! Come home!”

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

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

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

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

I returned home, a little more calm.

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

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

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

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

I fixed myself a whiskey on the rocks.

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

“Out?!” I asked.

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

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

“At least you can masturbate with your words.”

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

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

“Why this sudden erotic twist?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you drunk or just an asshole?”

“Can’t I be both?”

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

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

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

“I used you.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“What’s the matter?” she asked me.

“Nothing.”

“You’re hung over,” she stated.

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

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

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

“I didn’t see you drink any water.”

“I drank it right in front of you.”

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

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

“Why do I even try?”

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

“And how do you explain the second?”

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

“And was it?”

“Last night it was.”

“And now?”

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

“Well, it was a bad idea.”

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

“You have to preserve yourself.”

“I’ll buy a jar of formaldehyde.”

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

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

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

“Money won’t make you happy.”

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

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

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

Category Archives: exhibitionism

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Pride Day

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Sexy Shorts: All Hands on Dick

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