Lola Mounted

Posted on June 21, 2020 by Lola Down

[The mini-series “Mount Bliss” continues from “Quick Anal Hookups.”]

Lo sat down. Lilly looked up and took out her earbuds. Suzanne smiled a disingenuous smirk. I looked guilty, though I was not.

Lola in bed

“Good morning, Lo,” said Suzanne. “Sleep well?”

“I did,” replied Lo.

“The rain didn’t bother you?” asked Suzanne.

“Rain? Did it rain?” asked Lo.

“There was a brief shower,” said Suzanne. “I thought you might have got caught in it after you left my room.”

Lo said nothing.

“What’s the plan for today?” asked Suzanne. “Maybe some more water sports?”

Clearly she was speaking to Lo. Teasing her? Trying to push her buttons? Lo was firmly in control of her temper.

“Not sure,” said Lo, right back at her, “will you be exercising the dogs? They look like they have a lot of pent-up energy.”

“Only Bandit. Shadow is looking spent from burying his bone yesterday.”

Lo was about to say something when Jim joined us wearing only his bathing suit.

“Morning!” he said cheerfully oblivious to all the tension.

At the sight of him, Suzanne stood up and said that she was going to run the wash so that she will have a clean comforter in case it gets cold tonight. She added, “Anything you’d like me to wash? I’m sure you’re eager to get home, but if I can help you clean up.”

“Was it something I said?” asked Jim, suddenly sensing the chill in the air.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lilly. “It’s Suzanne. She’s still hungover from last night and she’s just darkening our day with her storm clouds.” Lilly never referred to Suzanne as “Aunt Suzanne.”

Lilly rolled over on her back and proudly displayed her still virginal pussy. Lo caught me stealing a glance at it.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” she said more than asked.

Time to take my lumps, I thought.

I went with Lo to the front of the cottage and, before she could begin to scold me, I professed my innocence.

“Forget all that,” she said to my great surprise. “I want to go. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, whatever you want,” I said. “But what about Collin? He’s not even up yet.”

As if he had heard me, he appeared in the front door saying, “There you two are!” He was as genial as ever. “Sleep well?”

“Fine,” said Lo, flatly.

“Good, good. I’ll have breakfast ready in a little.”

“I think we’re just going to get on the road,” said Lo.

“Nonsense! It’s a long drive back. I can’t let you leave on an empty stomach.”

There was no denying Collin when he was hospitable.

“HH, will you help me get some wood? I think we’ll cook breakfast over the fire.”

I went with Collin to the wood stack and along the way he said, “You know HH, Lo has been nothing but kind to me. I am sorry that I have to apologize for my wife and the way she has treated Lo. I would love to see you both again.”

“That’s all up to Lo,” I said. “I don’t make those sorts of decisions for her. She’s her own woman, you know.”

“Oh, I know. And what a woman she is!”

“You don’t know the half of it, I’m sure.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“One day Lo might let you in. But, until then, just use your imagination.”

For once, Collin seemed speechless! Advantage HH!!!

“I like a little game,” he said.

Game on!

After that, there was not much more to report. The six of us had breakfast. Collin tried to figure out the riddle I had hinted to him about Lo. Suzanne insisted that Lo return soon “because the dogs are just crazy about you. . . and so am I!”

With a peck on the cheek, Suzanne wished Lo and me safe travels. Collin gave me a firm handshake. Too firm. He hugged Lo affectionately. Too affectionately and too long.

Then Lo and I were off in our car back to the city. Along the way she filled me in on all the details that were missing from my knowledge of the week and that I have just relayed to you, dear reader.

It was a lot for me to take in, but luckily it was a long and bucolic drive. After her stories were at an end, we both settled into a pensive silence. I was thinking about how, no if I could write these stories. It would be a tall order. A real challenge.

Lola Ready for Action

I began to ponder, what’s this blog about? What am I writing about when I write about my sex life with Lola? It’s about sex, yes. That much is clear. But it’s really about so much more than that. It’s about psychology. About Lo’s psychology, for sure. But, more than that, it’s about the psychology of women. For years of my long life, women were the cliché mystery wrapped in an enigma sporting a thong and a bra. But then I met Lo and everything changed. She, more than anyone I’ve ever met, opened up – in more ways than one – and let me in, let me explore, let me discover, let me uncover, let me wander. The more I sought, the more seemed hidden. She has depths beneath her depths and her surfaces are sublime. I’m fascinated and intoxicated by her charisma, power of seduction, and her embrace of her inner slut.

The reason why I can write seemingly endless tomes about Lo, besides the raw material that she provides, is that there is no end to the psychological speculation that manifests in the physical enactment of her libidinous expressions of love and lust.

As I sat silently pondering these fleeting reflections, Lo began squirming out of her short shorts and pink panties.

“Lo, what the?”

“Keep driving,” was all she said. She began by fingering her clit. She progressed to penetrating her cunt. Her bare feet went up on the dash and she spread her legs. Her digital manipulation had escalated to an open hand slapping her pussy. I had seen her do this before, many times, but this time there was something more violent about it. It was as if she was punishing her pussy for being so sinful. Slap, slap, smack, whap! Down her open palm went sadistically spanking her vajayjay with unrelenting physical rebuke. Masochistically, that very same cunt she was clobbering was simultaneously showing signs of sexual stimulation. With each violent vaginal clap, I could hear her getting wet and each slap sounding more like a splash.

Her legs were spread as wide apart as they could be in the confined space. Her left foot was close to the steering wheel and her right up in the corner by the passenger side window. From between her legs she suddenly let out a long, forceful spray straight up onto the windshield coinciding with a loud, “FUUUUUUUCK!”

When she was done and her legs were crossed and her breathing heavy, but not panting, I simply said to her, “You know, I didn’t get the interior windshield wiper option when I bought this car.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” she said, using her shorts to mop up the mess.

Once we were back home, I, with a new understanding of Collin and his predicament, took some pity on the old chap. In my moment of sympathy, I ordered a larger than life photograph of Lo for him to add to his art collection. A few weeks later, when he had received it, he sent back a photo. He had mounted it just above his bed. I guess that was his mount bliss. Collin finally did mount Lo in the end.

Collin Finally Mounts Lo

“The Good Place”

Posted on April 12, 2020 by Lola Down

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

“The Good Place”

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

“You’re already naked.”

“I have to strip the bed. Get up.”

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

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

“What beads?”

“My anal beads, of course.”

“You are a sacrilegious sex-addict!”

“You are a silver-tonged poet!”

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

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

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

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

“Hey!” she said, “I just made that!”

“Yeah, well it was made just for me.”

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

“I don’t object to that.”

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

“What do you have to do now?”

“I have a date.”

“What?!”

“A date, with a girl.”

“What?!” I said again.

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

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

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

“When did you do this?” I inquired.

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

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

“No! Didn’t you read the ad?”

“Yes, but. . .”

“No buts.”

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

“How do I look?”

“You’re missing something.”

“What?”

“A pink Easter bonnet.”

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

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

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

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

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

They ordered breakfast and mimosas. I did too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I texted back, “Is what ok?”

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

“If that pleases you,” I texted back.

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

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

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

“Come here,” she said.

“Still love me?” I asked first.

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

“Will you tell me each and every detail?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re so slick,” I said.

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

“Now tell me,” I insisted.

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

“There were ropes involved?”

“Shut up and keep fucking my ass.”

I am good at taking instructions like that.

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

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

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

“Not yet, Daddy. I’m just soaked.”

I increased my speed and depth.

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

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

“Are you ok?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did Meri think you were a good girl?”

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

“You’re a very good girl,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

A Brush with the Little Death

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Lola Down

[The mini-series Mount Bliss continues from Casual Encounters]

“Oh, I’m so tired. I’m sure I’ll sleep well tonight. I bet a construction crew banging away with a jackhammer wouldn’t wake me tonight! Good night.” Those words of Lily’s, spoken just before she went to sleep, were reverberating in Lo’s ears. Lo lay on her back, wide awake, thinking about those words. Was Lily trying to tell her and Collin something? “A jackhammer.” Hmmmm. Was she intimating that Collin could go at it with Lo in his bed? Was that permission? Or was she just casually saying that she was tired, unaware of her word choice? Lo couldn’t get the thoughts out of her mind. She considered and reconsidered. Do I sneak out of Lily’s arms and slide my way into Collin’s bed? Do I jill it here, in the darkness, next to Lily, across from Collin? Whatever she thought, falling asleep wasn’t one of the options. She was too excited at the moment. She looked over at Collin. Could he see anything in the darkness? She certainly couldn’t. Not yet. No motion. No silhouette. Was Lily asleep? Her breathing sounded as if she was.

Art by Suzie Freeman, Model, Lola Down

Lo could feel her pussy secreting little lust-drops beneath the sheets. She was in a strange state of arousal. The arousal stemmed from her inability to even move. A lithe Lily, nearly nude, lying next to her. A lumberjack of a man indistinctly there in the near distance of the darkness. And her own body, ready, waiting to be touched. Longing to be fucked. She thought about her nipples and how hard they were, unplucked in the draped stillness of the unlit room. Her neck, unkissed, her blood rushing through the veins to her head with a steady, fast pumping. Her earlobes, desirous of a tongue that would titillate them, of teeth that would nibble at them, and of close breath that would gently blow upon them. Her groin ached with pain in its uncaressed longing for a tongue, a finger, a cock. Anything, even her own soft sensation upon it, would do. But as she was, she could not even venture down there for a quick rub. This was a state of denial to which she was unaccustomed. Unaccustomed? No. Unacquainted. She never had to do this. Abstain, that is. At least not in recent memory. It had been so long since her last good pounding. Masturbation was fine, she thought, but fucking was finer.

The images swirled in her mind of cock, of Lily, of pussy, of her own hungry cunt. Porn, so close on her phone, but unthinkable to turn it on. She was turned on. Turned on to herself. She clenched her pussy tightly and released, trying, unsuccessfully, to induce a hands-free orgasm. She’d heard of it done, but had never tried it. Wait, that’s not true. There was that time on the Buddhist retreat, in seated meditation, when she figured out how to make herself cum without moving. But then she was seated in the lotus position. Now she was reclining, with a body cuddling her. Everything in the room seemed to scream of sex in the still, deafening silence.

She ever so carefully, so slowly, so gently removed the draped arm of Lily from over her torso and placed it with all due dexterity beside the body to which it belonged. She surreptitiously slid her bare legs over to the edge of the bed. She furtively felt for the carpeted floor beneath her. She found it. She sat up, silently. She assessed the situation. Lily sleeping. Collin alone in his bed. She snuck, slow as a sloth, from her bed to his. She got under the covers next to him. She gently kissed his shoulder, his bicep, he chest, his neck, his lips. His eyes opened without the slightest surprise. He kissed her back. She moved her hand down between his legs and felt his enormous, hard rod eager for her caress. She slid her palm up and down the shaft. Long, luxurious strokes. He kissed her more passionately. She positioned her body over his and slid down, her wet pussy dripping down the inside of her thighs. She felt the girth of his member stretch her lips wide as she shifted and rocked gently to accommodate all that he had to offer. In he entered, like a large rocket docking in the mothership. She took it tip to base, a satisfied grin on her face. He met her descending movements with ascending thrusts. Soon they became more forceful. He wanted to dominate her, to own her cunt with his cock. Using his strong arms, he rolled her over onto her tum in the bed and he got behind her. She positioned herself like a bitch in heat, waiting to take his firm meat between her fleshy pussy lips. He didn’t hold back. He entered with urgency. He entered with command. He entered her like a boss. She loved it. She lapped it up. He put his big hands on her hips and pulled her back so that now he was standing at the end of the bed, pounding her from behind. Bam, Bam, he rammed it home with complete disregard for the smacking sound his hips made against her round ass. Complete disregard for the fact that his young niece was sleeping in the bed next to them. He punished her with his cock and soon he was rhythmically ramming her like the jackhammer that Lily had mentioned. A quick whack, whack, whack, ever louder, ever faster. Lo couldn’t keep her pleasure to herself. She let out a moan, then a groan, then a scream. She met his every shove of his cock with a powerful reverse shove of her ass until she was dripping and squirting for the brief intervals that he was at the threshold of her labia. She was calling out to her god and asking for more, thanking her deities for the dick that punished her puss. She could see out of her peripheral vision in the darkness Lily propping up her head with her arm to watch in silence. She watched her uncle fuck her best friend. She watched as Lola squirmed and squirted, screamed and sighed. She watched as Collin beat the bum and swollen mons pubis of her sex-craved friend. She watched as both of them came with ecstatic delight and collapsed upon the soaked sheets of the hotel bed next to her. She watched with keen interest as they both panted for breath and then she said with a neutral tone of disinterested observation, “I think Lola likes you Uncle Collin.”

Actually, dear reader, none of that happened except in Lo’s racing mind as she struggled for release. Sorry to disappoint.

But then Lola got an idea. Yes. It was possible. That would do the trick. If she could only reach to the nightstand without disturbing anyone. She extended her right hand. She searched around for it, groping in the darkness. She found it! Yes. She pulled it back to her like Gollum grabbing the Ring that Rules Them All. Slowly, surreptitiously, secretly, she maneuvered it under the blankets, between her legs, into her wet, wide pussy. The shape and curvature of the handle of her hairbrush fit just so, snugly inside her where she could flex her Kegel muscles on it, giving her the sensation of a cock, deeply lodged inside her.

Good in a Pinch

Yes, yes, that was it. That was the spot she needed to hit. With her right hand she could gently move the brush, wiggling it side-to-side, up-and-down, deeper in, a little out.

She was perfectly primed and ready.

But wait! Of fuck! I hadn’t thought of this, I hadn’t planned on. . . fuuuuuuuuuuuck. The orgasm. The climax. The clenching of the walls of her cunt, pushing the brush handle out the way it pushes out cock when cumming hard. The inevitable squirting. Fuck fuck fuck! The gripping of the sheets with her fists. The biting of the lip. The convulsing of the stomach muscles. The necessity for silence. And then the great relief as the waves of pleasure and pain ebbed and flowed through her veins.

And then the embarrassment as Lily squeezed her tightly, kisses her cheek, and whispered in her ear, “It’s ok.”

A Report on the Nymphomaniac Condition

Posted on March 5, 2020 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

Fan, getting off to Lo at work

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

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

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

Fan, getting off to Lo

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

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

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

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

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

Lola Down, 21st Century Lolita

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

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

Nymphomaniac: Volume I is “sex addiction accurate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s not the whole story.

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

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

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

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

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

email downloladown@gmail.com for more info

Impressive Size

Posted on February 8, 2020 by Lola Down

[Prequel to Breeding Farm]

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

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

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

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

Lo All Wet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo – Tight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lily untied Lo’s wrists and helped her up.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, that’s true.”

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

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

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

“That’s true too,” she admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jim?” asked Lo.

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

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

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

“Completely,” said Lily right away.

Jim just nodded.

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

“A bull?” asked Jim naively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A symptom of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he said, “it feels good.”

“Lie down,” said Lo.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know you would,” said Lo.

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

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

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

“Stand up,” commanded Lo.

Jim stood up.

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

“Close your eyes,” Lo said.

Jim closed his eyes.

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

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

“Open your eyes,” said Lo to Jim.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“I sure do,” I said confidently.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to be pumped dry,” said Lo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well done,” I said to Lo.

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

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

“You know very well what you did.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

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

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

“There is no comparison.”

“How not?’

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

“Oh, I see.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

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

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

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“And where is my place?”

“Right between my legs.”

Sex on Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Posted on December 27, 2019 by Lola Down

[Continued from: Quiver]

When I woke up from my long nap, I found Lo sitting in the cozy chair next to the hotel room bed, on her computer, typing away.

“Whatcha doin’?” I muttered.

“Oh, well, look who has rejoined the land of the living!”

“What time is it?”

“Six.”

“Six?! I must have been out for like three hours!

“About three and a half.”

“What have you been up to?”

“This, that.”

“Right.”

I slid like a sloth over the bed toward the chair and peeked over her computer to see what she was doing. As I suspected, she was chatting up people on social media. NSFW social media.

“You want to see?”

“OK.”

She showed me. One guy had messaged her, “What are you wearing?” Another messaged her “Do you like cum?” She posted a pic of herself covered in cum and said, “Answered two-in-one.” She thought for a moment. “Hmmmm, two-in-one – that’s my favorite sex position!”

“It’s too early for your humor,” I grumbled.

“What are we going to do, Daddio?” she asked, excited and perky, as she shut her computer.

“What about your virtual gentlemen callers, Lo? Are you just going to leave them hanging like that?”

“No worries. They’ll jack off to my photos and show me the evidence later. They’re ok.”

“Twenty-first Century romance at its finest.”

“You want to go out?”

“I’m not a dog.”

“If only.”

“I don’t want to go out,” I said. “I want a coffee, three Ibuprofen, and a shower, in that order.”

“What’s the matter, ole man?”

“Day drinking, day fucking, sun stroke, and probably death.”

“Then this is heaven,” she said, spreading her legs and stroking her pussy. Did I mention she was naked in that chair?

“Lo, please.”

“It’s alright,” she said, “I already came.”

“When don’t you cum? Honestly.”

“What restaurant tonight?” She was persistent.

“How about tonight we just order room service. We have a five o’clock flight in the morning.”

She pouted.

“Lo, too much of a good thing. . .”

“Is a better thing!”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”

“Fine, fine,” she said.

A little later we got our dinner delivered and put on Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. As we watched it, I turned to her and said, “You are definitely Neal Page,” (the Steve Martin character).

“And you are definitely Del,” (the John Candy character).

“Glad we agree on something.”

We went to bed early. No sex. At least not for me. What she did, I don’t know because I fell right to sleep.

The next day, she was not having it. Morning, that is.

When I woke her, she said, “It’s dark outside. This is not a time.”

“Lo, it’s three-thirty. We have to get to the airport, drop off the rental car, and get through security.”

“Three-thirty is late afternoon.”

“There are two of them. This is the other one.”

“I don’t like it,” she said. She put her head under the pillow.

“We have to get going,” I pleaded.

She finally got herself together and we were in the rental car driving to the airport. The whole way Lo was complaining. I knew it was because the sun had not even begun to rise yet. She is a nocturnal animal, but an early bird she is not.

“Look,” I finally said out of frustration, “if you want to actually be Neal Page, then you can walk the rest of the way.”

“OK, Del,” she said snidely.

“Might I remind you that Del was kind-hearted, upbeat, jovial, and he also got them out of every hopeless situation they found themselves in.”

“Are you kidding me? If it wasn’t for Neal and all his money, they never would have gotten out of St. Louis. Del just used Neal because Del was broke. Del was a manipulator, a freeloader, a grifter.”

“Del was happy. Neal was a miserable, uptight, meanspirited, asshole.”

“Neal had a job and a family. Del sold shower curtain rings, was homeless, and had no one.”

“He was a widower! His wife died! He probably loved her so much that he went to pieces after she passed away.”

“Pshhhaw,” she said dismissively.

“Are you honestly telling me that you think Neal was the better of the two characters?”

“Yes.”

“Del taught Neal how to enjoy life. Del was well-liked all across the Midwest. Everywhere they went, he knew people and they went out of their way to help him. He must have been a nice guy. Neal knew no one.”

“Neal had a real job and didn’t go door-to-door.”

“Why are we fighting about this?” I finally said to Lo.

“You know,” she replied back, “you just missed the exit to the airport.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You were so caught up in being right that we drove clear passed it.”

“Fuck!”

She pulled out her phone and was figuring out how to get to the car rental place.

In the distance I could see the sun just breaking through the horizon.

“I know why you’re so argumentative,” I said to Lo. “You didn’t get to jill it this morning.”

“Duh.”

“Well, go on. It only takes you a minute. After all, Del said that Neal’s worst trait was he was always fidgeting with his balls.”

“And Del’s worst trait was he never shut up,” she said as she slid her hand down her pants.

When we got to the airport and were driving up the parking garage toward the car rental return, she said, “Pull over.”

“What?”

“Just pull into a parking spot. I’ll finish here.”

I did as she said, but warned her, “Be quick about it. We’re already running late.”

I backed in so I could see if anyone or any cars were coming while Lo was intent on cumming, but the place, the time pressure, the stress of it all made the five minutes of diddling the bean all for naught.

“Fuck,” she said, but not in a good way. “Let’s just go.” She removed her hand from her jeans and buttoned them up. I drove us to the proper destination for the rental and we made it to our flight just on time.

We boarded and buckled in for our four hour flight back home. Lo pulled out her noise cancelling headphones and plugged them into her phone. After we were in the air, Lo turned something on and that something turned her on.

She asked the flight attendant for a blanket. That could only mean one thing.

She draped the blanket over her legs and dove down with her favorite fap finger and soon she was clenching her knees together. That took all of three or four minutes and then another three or four minutes after that, Lo was sound asleep with her headphones still on.

Out of curiosity, I removed her headphones gently from her head and listened. She had the audio of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I: Nymphomania and the Single Girl playing, as read by the incomparable Jupiter Grant. Unbelievable. Never have I met such a vain, narcissistic nymphomaniac. She actually got off to herself getting off! Well, that and Ms. Grant’s sexy reading voice. I was a bit flattered since I had written the words that brought her to climax. Better than writing for Hallmark. [See NOTE]

Just before we landed, I woke Lo to avoid her being startled by the bump when the wheels hit the tarmac. I told her she might want to button up her pants. She did so.

When we got out into the brutally cold weather of the Northeast, we tried desperately to get a Lyft, an Uber, or a taxi, but since this was the second most travelled day of the year, they were all a long wait. We ended up taking the subway right at the height of rush hour.

As usual on our return flight, Lo was terribly underdressed for the weather back home. She only had on her skin-tight jeans, her striped jackpot top, and a leather jacket. Because of the biting cold, even after we got on the subway, her nipples were protruding right through the already shapely and revealing shirt. The suits on their way to the office took notice and Lo basked in their attention, especially insofar as I was well aware of it. She likes to tease them and me simultaneously.

She gave me a sidelong glance and ran her tongue over her sparkly white teeth as she pressed up a little closer to one suit when the crush of people got on at the next stop.

I’ll admit, it made me rigid and uncomfortable.

When we got out of the crowded subway car, I turned to Lo and said, “You’re so lucky I love you, because any other man would leave you after a ride like that.”

“Save it for home,” she said. “That wasn’t the last ride of the day. You have one more to give me.”

As soon as we got in the door and dropped the bags, she took me by the hand into the bedroom. “Why do you ignore me so much, Daddy?”

“Ignore you?! Lo, I lavish attention on you.”

“You don’t show it.”

“You mean, I don’t show it the way strangers in a subway show it.”

“Yeah,” she said, dropping her pants, sliding out of her pink thong, and lifting up her striped shirt, no bra. “Come here and warm me up,” she said.

I got naked and in the bed next to her and she wrapped her bare body around mine.

“You know why I tease them and flirt with all those hard-up husbands on social media, don’t you?”

“Enlighten me, Lo.”

“Because I’m just trying to get your attention. It’s all for you.”

Suddenly the lyrics to the song by Janet Jackson were floating through my mind. I was in a delirious dream state. She climbed on me and all I could hear in my head was, “Guess I’m goanna have ride it tonight.”

Up and down she posted, saying to me, “Cum in me. Cum in me. Cum deep in me. Give me your attention. Give it to me. Give it all to me. I want it. I want it all. I need it. I need more. I need more. Fuck, I need it. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me Daddy.”

I saw her fire-engine-red fingernails down over her clit. I felt her fingers pry up and into her snatch. She wiggled them deeper inside, up along the top of my shaft as she lifted her hips up, and then she delved in deeper as she lowered her wet crotch down to the base of my cock.

Now it was just her and me fucking in the cold sunshine back home. No strippers. No beach girls in string bikinis. No musclebound men mounting Lola like a stray bitch in heat found wandering around the boardwalk. No sexting hard husbands, willing wives, and curious couples looking for a cheap thrill. No chatting up lustful ladies or seducing single men with her virtual vagina over the internet. No. None of that. Now it was just the two of us fucking.

“Where do you want me to cum? Show me with your finger,” I said as I felt myself getting close.

“Right here,” she said, wiggling her index finger on her g-spot.

“Now?”

“Now.”

I ejaculated right onto her fingertips lodged deep inside her hole.

When I had given her her fill, I slid out and she pulled her sticky little hand and licked each finger as if she had just made cake batter and got it on her hand.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said as she collapsed on me and fell asleep.

I knew she was asleep because her breathing had changed and when her phone buzzed, she didn’t move.

I reached over to the nightstand and picked up her phone. It was one of her internet friends. I read the message: “Hey Lo, my wife is in the shower. I’ve got about five minutes. Do you think you could help me cum?”

[NOTE: The Audiobook is not out yet. Lo was listening to Jupiter Grant’s raw recording. Expected release date: Valentine’s Day, 2020. Stay tuned!]

Quiver

Posted on December 15, 2019 by Lola Down

[Continued from “Black Friday: A Juicy Story Before Brunch”

The day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. Miami Beach. Lo was on a mission. This was our third day in Miami. Seventy-two hours of glorious sunny days, short-shorts, and sex. And, in typical Lo fashion, she wanted more of all three.

“What’s for breakfast?” I asked.

“I thought we were having sex,” she said as she sat on the side of the bed wearing only her sexy tank-top T-shirt and spreading her legs.

“Sex for breakfast?”

“Yeah, we’ll call it ‘Sex-fest.’”

“But Lo, you just came twice.”

“That was all external stimulation. It just makes me more hungry.”

“Hungry for breakfast?” I asked, since I was starving.

“No, hungry for your cock in my cunt.”

“It’s not even 9 a.m. and you’re using that sort of language?!”

“It’s never too early to speak a Romance Language.”

“You forget, I was in the Romance Languages department at my college. They didn’t speak like that.”

“Illiterate.”

“We could discuss the nuances of philology all morning, but. . .”

“But I want you to fuck me. Please. Just a quick in-and-out is all I need.”

“Fine,” I said and I puled my shorts down around my knees.

The hotel room bed was only a full; much smaller than we were used to. I said to her, “There better be a spot for me in that bed cause I’m getting in it.”

“Oh, I’ve got a spot for you and you definitely are going to get in it.”

She turned over and scrunched up her body into a little ball on the bed, exposing her puss and ass to me.

“Just go right in,” she said over her shoulder, as if I needed some instructions.

“Top or bottom?” I asked.

“Top or bottom?” she was confused.

“Yeah, which hole?”

“Which do you want?” she asked seductively, surprising me.

“Top!” I said without hesitation.

“Well, fill the bottom first and, if you’re good, you can have the top.”

Lola & HH

Standing by the side of the bed, I slid in with ease and she moaned. She was drenched and dripping. “Stay. Right. There,” she commanded. I didn’t even move. I just grabbed her by her hips and lifted her a little then pushed her down a little. Up and down, up and down I slid her on my cock. My thumb moved its way to her top hole to press against it. Within seconds her cunt was gushing and clenching. I pulled her in closer by her hips to make sure I stayed in place; the tip of my cock up against her g-spot. She didn’t even scream. She just bit her lower lip and moaned. I could see her facial expressions and contortions in the mirror. In a few more seconds she pulled forward and, as I slid out of her, she squirted. I was careful to jump back and avoid getting splashed.

“Ahhhh,” she said, “that did the trick.”

She was splayed out on the bed now, breathing heavily. I stood next to the bed.

“This isn’t a coat rack,” I said of my erect phallus.

“What?” she asked, perplexed.

“You promised me the top hole, remember?”

“Oh, right!”

She scrunched up into her little ball again, wiggling her ass in front of me. “Can you hit the target?” she teased.

“Stay still and my arrow will fill your quiver.”

I grabbed her hips again and pressed the full head of my cock up against her sphincter. Her flower bud opened. Slowly I filled her. I could see her hands out in front of her clutching the bed sheets as she felt the pain and pleasure of my deep dive.

Again she commanded, “Stay. Right. There.” Her ass clenched down on me and her body turned the noun, “quiver,” into a verb.

Suddenly she lunged forward, just like she did before, leaving me hard up, standing by the side of the bed a second time as she caught her breath.

Turning her head over her shoulder, she said, “Amazing, Daddio!”

Then, noticing me pulling up my shorts, she said, “Aren’t you going to cum?”

“Darling, thirty seconds of standing behind you, rigid as a statue, while you got your rocks off was exclusively for your pleasure.”

“But I want you to cum.” She turned around, on all fours, facing me, or rather, my crotch. She looked up at me and asked, “Don’t you know what Cyndi Lauper says?”

“Cyndi Lauper?! You’re dating yourself dear.”

“Oh, I wish I could date myself. I’d be such a good fuck.”

“You’re getting distracted again. What does Cyndi Lauper say?”

“Oh, right. She sings, ‘Girls just wanna have cum. That’s all they really want – some cum.’” She sang the lyrics.

Girls Just Wanna Have Cum

“I think you might be taking some poetic license with that.”

“Whatever. Cum in my mouth,” she commanded as she took my cock into her open mouth and slobbered over it with her tongue.

“And spoil your appetite?” I asked, enjoying the sensation and the thought of what a dirty, slutty girl she is.

“It’s more of an appetizer.”

“No,” I said flatly, pulling out of her mouth.

She pouted.

“I’m starving,” I said. “If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to waste away.”

She rolled her eyes sarcastically – as if I was in any mortal danger of wasting away.

“What?” I asked. “Look at me,” I said, striking a pose, flexing my biceps, “One hundred seventy-five pounds of pure muscle!”

“One hundred and seventy-five?!” Lo exclaimed in disbelief, “Aren’t you a few pounds off there?”

“No. It is a hundred and seventy-five pounds of muscle. The other thirty pounds might be fat, but under it is the pure muscle.”

“Still a little shy of the mark, I think.”

“Well, the other ten pounds is brain, of course.”

“Of course,” she said sardonically.

I stepped on the scale and cursed it saying, “You lying sack of shit!”

Lo, naked but for her T-shirt, stepped on the scale after me and said, “It better not be lying, it says I lost two pounds!”

“It lies.”

“Does it? Or could it be that my diet and exercise and drinking plenty of liquids has caused me to lose two pounds?”

“It lies.”

“Why would it lie to me that I lost two pounds and lie to you that you. . . well, uh, you’re. . . ?”

“Because it likes the view it has of you from down there.”

She laughed. She almost never laughs at my jokes, but I suppose this one also appealed to her vanity. I love it when she laughs.

“Do you like the view?” she asked, bending over and looking at me from between her knees.

“I don’t know why they call it mooning when it looks as bright and pink as the sunrise to me,” I said. “But as pretty as you are, morning glory, can we please go get breakfast?”

“Sure,” she said as she slipped into her bikini bottoms. “How do these look?”

It was a very skimpy pink thong bikini bottom that she purposely pulled up extra tight.

I gave her a cat-call whistle and launched into a sing-song limerick:

Do your labia hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie ’em in a knot?
Can you tie ’em in a bow?
Can you throw ’em o’er your shoulder
Like a continental soldier?
Do your labia hang low?

“What?!” she asked, looking down between her legs.

“Look in the mirror,” I gestured.

She took a look and could see what I saw: her puffy pussy lips straddling the skinny g-string. She’s very self-conscious of her large labia.

“Ah, fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissing my concern. She walked up to me and, seeing that I had pitched a tent in my shorts, she sang back:

Does your cock stand high?
Does it reach up to the sky?
Does it droop when it’s wet?
Does it stiffen when it’s dry?
Can you wave it at your neighbor
With an element of flavor?
Does your dick stand high?

“Touché,” I said.

“Tushie?” she asked, turning around and showing me her bottom again.

I smacked it hard and said, “That’s for being tardy.”

We finally got in the rental car and I let Lo drive. Lo being Lo, she blasted the radio and “I’m Real” by Ja Rule happened to be on, pounding the bass of the speakers to the chorus:

-Cause I’m real-
The way you walk
The way you move
The way you talk
-Cause I’m real-
The way you stare
The way you look
Your style your hair
-Cause I’m real-
The way you smile
The way you smell
It drives me wild
-Cause I’m real-
And I can’t go on without you

Lo was contentedly squirming in her leather bucket seat to the beat of the music.

“Can you shut that damn music off?!” I complained.

“You know, you sound like an old man when you say that.”

“You know, I am an old man.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just sad to think about.”

“Well, if you want to break up with me, go right ahead.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“No. You said that it’s ‘sad’ to think about me being an old man.”

“It is! I mean, I’m not even at the great hump of my life yet.”

“I thought I was the great hump of your life.”

“I should hope not.”

“What?!”

“What I mean is, I’m not over the hill yet.”

“I should hope not.”

“What does that mean?”

“It simply means, that at twenty-something, you still have some great humps to look forward to.”

“And you don’t?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m looking forward to humping you in about five minutes.”

“Why so long?”

“So long? Is five minutes too much to wait for you youngins these days?”

“Five minutes is like two and a half news cycles.”

“Well, here’s some breaking news: the best is yet to come.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause I love cumming.” She pulled up to the curb. “Here we are. Where are you going to fuck me?”

“Well, I need nourishment first. Let’s eat,” I said as we got out of the convertible and went to the hostess stand on the sidewalk. We were seated at a quaint table outside with a view of Ocean Boulevard and the beach across the street. Pretty people were walking by and fancy cars were cruising slowly to see and be seen.

A tricked-out car drove by – shiny, sparkly, loud. Lo was clearly impressed.

She observed it closely and then commented, “The exhaust is merely cosmetic.”

“Just like yours!” I quipped.

She gave me a look of faux shock.

A musclebound fella walked by in a tiny speedo and a loose fitting tank-top.

“Lo, stop drooling. Or at least use a napkin.”

“What?! He’s a very beefy boy. . . and I’m a beefeater,” she said, taking a slow, seductive bite of her sausage.

After breakfast, we walked down the strip and Lo was window shopping, until she was actually shopping. I sat outside sipping my frozen drink. When she came back out, she gave me a t-shirt like the one worn by Mr. Muscles.

“I didn’t know whether to get you a large or an extra large,” she said.

“You should always get me grandiose.”

“To match your ego?”

We walked down to the beach and Lo pulled out of her oversized bag a sheet she stole from the hotel. She spread it out on the sand and then spread herself on top of it. I sat down next to her and began rubbing in the sunscreen on her shoulders. When I was done I said, “I’ll draw on your back with my finger and you tell me what I’m spelling.”

“OK. But where’s the top?”

“Here,” I said, as I scribbled up by her shoulder blades.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she asked as my finger went down between her butt cheeks.

“I’m just seeing where the bottom is. Oh! Look at that. I think I found the ink well.”

“Yeah?! You’re gonna have a broken nub if you keep it up!”

After a bit, she pulled out the deck of cards from her bag and began shuffling them.

“What are you playing?”

“Strip Solitaire.”

“Are you winning or losing?”

“I’ll take off my top and you tell me.”

I scanned the beach to see if any other women were going topless.

“Hey!” she said, “I’m over here!!!”

She thought she saw me looking at some of the other sexy women on the strand.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, teasing her. “So I like looking at them. They’re like boats: I like how they look, but I don’t want to have one.”

“Oh yeah? Like boats? You better watch out that I don’t wash them away with my tsunami.”

“Are you squirting again? I didn’t even see you touch your puss.”

“I don’t need to with all this eye-candy.”

“Oh, so it’s ok for you to look, but not me?”

“Exactly. Next pair of sunglasses I buy you will be blinders.”

With that comment, she left her card game and sauntered into the water. Just at the water’s edge, she turned back to me and called, “Daddio! Aren’t you coming?”

“Not yet,” I called back, “but I will be.”

“What?!” she called.

“I’m not coming!”

She yelled back, “I’ll fix that!” She then turned tail and bent over, revealing her shoelace thin thong. She feigned finding a seashell, but she was just showing off. She eventually walked in the water, sticking out her tongue at me over her shoulder as the waves crested and fell over her hips. Then she dove in.

When she returned from the cool dip, she asked, “What do you think of my hair?” as it dripped from its curls down her breasts.

“You look just like Medusa.”

“That’s not a compliment. Wasn’t she so ugly that she turned anyone who looked at her to stone?”

“No no no, that’s not it. What the Greeks meant was any man who saw her got hard as a rock and that’s how I feel about you and your wild, curly hair.”

“Nice save,” she said with a smile as she laid down next to me, getting me all wet.

I had just got comfortable and was engrossed in the book I was reading, The Postmodern Condition, you know, your typical beach read, when she said, “Let’s go for a walk Daddy.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes, Daddio. I want to go find something nice.”

“To wear?”

“To fuck.”

“I’m still available, you know.”

“Available? No you’re not. You’re taken.”

“I’d never know it.”

“You had me this morning.”

“For thirty seconds to help you get your rocks off.”

“So, what the hell are you complaining about?”

“I’d like to get my rocks off.”

“Oh, are your rocks aching?”

“Yes. Yes they are.”

“Follow me. Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

We went for a walk through the dunes to a little wooded park, verdant with scrub pines, palms, and colorful flowers. When we found a little bench, she said to me, “OK, you go over there and just watch.”

“What am I watching for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

I sat diagonally from her, about thirty feet away. I watched as she sat there looking pretty. Guys walked by, mostly couples. But then one muscular black man in a skimpy bathing suit, bulging out of the itty-bitty stretchy material, stopped and asked her a question. She looked up, batting her eyelashes at him, smiling, licking her teeth with her tongue as she looked down, furtively, at his crotch. They began chatting. And then, within not so very long they got up and walked out of sight.

About a half-hour later Lo returned to the spot where I waited for her.

She approached me slowly, with a look of wily satisfaction and mystery about her.

“You can have me now, Daddy. He’s all done.” I noticed jizz covering her clavicle. She grabbed my hand and walked me to the secluded spot where she had just been with the tall, dark stranger.

“Lo,” I said, “What do you mean he’s all done?”

“Well,” she said, “do you want me to act out exactly what we did?”

“Sure.”

She laid down on the bench and began stroking her pussy over her short shorts while I stood over her and looked at her.

“Well, Daddio?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to take out your cock and stroke it? That’s what he did.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did you do?”

“What do you think? What should a good girl do when she goes to the park and begins masturbating over her shorts and a tall, dark, hung stranger appears pantless ready to fuck?”

“Did you get his digits?”

“All of them.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah, all of them, inside me.”

“Right here?”

“Right here.”

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, confused.

“To a bar. I need a drink.”

Truth was, it was hot. I was thirsty. I was tense. I was irritated. I was horny. And I wasn’t about to start fucking Lola right there in the barely concealed patch of public privacy.

“Wait!” she said. “I have to change first.” She spread her legs and showed me the dark spot covering the crotch of her denim shorts where she apparently squirted.

She popped into the public restroom and a moment later, she popped out wearing just her bikini top and a short skirt.

“Wow!” I said. “You’re like a superhero!”

“Super Squirt!” she pronounced, swinging her shorts around her finger, grabbing me by my arm.

We went to a fancy hotel with a rooftop deck, pool, and bar. This was a new hotel and the rooftop was pretty high up there and it even had a balcony with a glass floor.

Lo walked out and leaned over the railing and said, “Wow! Don’t look down!”

“I’m not,” I said, “I’m lookin’ up – lookin’ up your skirt, that is.” No panties. No bikini thong. Nothing. Just her perfectly shapely and shaved mons pubis.

We then went and sat at the bar where I ordered a Tom Collins. Lo apologized to the bartender for my unfashionable taste in drinks, saying, “I’m sorry, he’s old.”

The bartender chuckled.

For the middle of the day, on a beautiful beach day, the bar was pretty busy. But, I guess for the people who live down there, going to the beach every day loses its allure pretty quickly.

Lo asked me, “You want to see what I saw on the bench?”

“Sure,” I said, not knowing where she was going with this.

She pulled out her phone and pulled up a photo of her with her legs spread and a guy with an elephant trunk hanging down from his crotch standing over her.

The old pervert seated next to Lo at the bar – not me, the guy on the other side of her – looked over Lo’s shoulder out of curiosity.

“Nice shot,” he said.

“Not nearly as nice as when he came on me,” retorted Lo without missing a beat.

“Is that so?” asked Mr. Intrusive.

“Yes, that’s so,” said Lo, followed by, “Oh, how rude of me. HH, this is,” she said, as if introducing an old friend.

“Kip,” he said.

“Kip,” said Lo. “Kip, HH,” she said, introducing us.

I shook his hand over Lo’s lap and said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” he said.

He clearly had had a few already. He wore a festive Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, sandals. I’d say he was about 46 and beginning to bald. A bit overweight. Genial smile and friendly – midwestern friendly. Too friendly, you might say.

Lo was in a festive, flirty mood and so she teased and toyed with this guy, telling both him and me what happened with her mystery man down by the beach.

“How very slutty of you,” he said.

“I thought so,” replied Lo proudly.

The guy asked, “Will you be my slut?”

“I’m everyone’s slut. That’s what being a slut is.”

“I don’t know if you could handle me,” said the guy.

“Why not?” asked Lo, defiantly.

“My cock – it’s pretty big and has a lot of girth,” he said.

Lola pulled out her phone and found a photo of her horse cock dildo. “This is one of my toys,” she said. “I can handle any cock. Any human cock, that is.”

The guy was trying to play it cool, but I could see he was intrigued by Lo’s unabashed candor.

What about Lo? She was flirting and teasing, but was she actually into him? I couldn’t tell.

We had a few more drinks and continued chatting. The fella next to us was married, had adult children, older than Lo, and claimed to be in Miami on business. But it was Thanksgiving weekend. Who is in Miami on business?

Lola was waxing rhapsodic about how much she loved Miami – the ocean, the beaches, the restaurants.

The guy interjected, “The orgasms on the boardwalk.”

Lo squirmed in her barstool and pressed her knees together.

She looked at me, embarrassed. I knew what happened.

I said, “You could say, she cums with the territory,” as I feigned spilling my water.

“That’s the worst pun you ever made,” said Lo as she watched me clean up the mess she made under her stool from her perch.

“Really? I’m sure I’ve made worse,” I said, looking up at her, hoping she wouldn’t have another accidental squirting orgasm.

“I’m sorry,” Lo apologized to our new friend, “Dad jokes.”

“I’m a dad,” he said, “no need to apologize.”

Along one side of the pool there were semi-private alcoves with recliners made for two. Lo ordered another drink and suggested we take the one that was recently vacated before someone else got it. She picked up her bag and casually sauntered to her destination.

Mr. Middleage followed her, leaving me to grab (and pay for) our last round.

When I got to the little cabana, Lo was lying down with her Mr. Marriedman next to her. I handed Lo her drink and said I was going for a swim. Her antics were beginning to upset me, if I’m honest.

I got in the warm water and rested up against the side of the pool with my drink in hand, watching Lo and her beau.

She lay with her legs crossed under her skirt. She removed her bikini top. The guy ogled her. They were making small talk. I could practically read Lo’s lovely lips when she said, “That’s ok, you can touch.”

The guy put his hand on Lo’s hip and slowly caressed her. Lo turned over and he put his hand down under her skirt and I could see him touch her bum as she took a sip from her straw.

She rolled on her side, showing him her tits and letting her skirt open in front. She said, “You like what you see?”

He said something I couldn’t make out.

“Are you hard?”

Again, I couldn’t make out the words.

“Jack it,” she commanded.

He pulled a towel over his cargo shorts and reached down. Lo watched him intently.

She loves being the stimulant for sexually starving strangers, the sweet release for men and women who need a focus for their swirling smut-dreams like a mantra for meditation.

She was speaking softly to him, encouraging him, telling him dirty things about her, probably telling him about how she sucked my cock after letting me have her ass that morning.

His head dropped back and he became rigid for a few seconds before crumpling like a suit having all its starch sucked out in one magic moment.

Lo got up and came into the pool. Her skirt billowed behind her in the water. She swam to me and said, “Let’s go, Daddio.”

“Mission accomplished?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. My mission is to make you cum like that,” she said as she grabbed my cock under the water.

We got out and Lo put her top on, and we walked out, both dripping wet, but she in more ways than one.

She blew a good-bye kiss to the man with the mess in his cargo.

Back at the hotel, Lo could hardly wait.

“Did you like everything today, Daddy?” she asked as she lay naked on the bed.

“Most of it,” I said, thinking it over.

“Let’s take a shower,” she said, just as I got out of my clothes and was very ready and eager to have her.

“What? Now?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I got sand in my hoo-ha.”

“What did you say?”

“You know, I’m not interested in any pearls in the ole clam.”

“Only you, darling, only you,” I said, amused at her pornographic poetry.

The shower had a small seat built into the back wall of it. She sat on it, spread her legs, looked up at me, and said, “Was I a very bad girl today, Daddy?”

“Yes, yes you were.”

“Was I a dirty little slut?”

“Very much so.”

“Are you mad that I let a man cum on me in public?”

“No, darling.”

“Are you mad that I walked around with his cum on my body all day?”

“Proud of your accomplishment?”

“Oh yeah,” she said.

“Am I terribly disgusting?” she asked.

“Not to me,” I said. I can’t lie.

“Show me, Daddy, that I’m yours,” she said.

I wasn’t sure what she was after.

She reached out and grabbed my cock and held it in her hand.

“You drank a lot at the bar,” she said.

“Not too much. A few drinks.”

“Have you peed even once today, Daddy?”

Now I knew where she was going.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she said, a certain neediness in her voice.

I closed my eyes, relaxed, and let go.

She shook her tits and spread her legs wide as I drenched her in the warm stream from her chin down to her twat.

“That’s right, Daddy,” she said, “I’m such a slutty, cum-hungry, whore.”

I looked down at her, dripping wet, and said, “Ah, the Fountain of Youth!”

When I was done, we turned on the warm water and took turns washing and worshipping each other.

When we finally got in bed she said, “Use me, Daddy. Use me however you want. Treat me like your little fuck-doll.”

I had her on the bed just like I did in the morning. I slid in her puss only briefly and then went back to her other hole, filling her from tip to balls.

“Mmmmm, yes. Hold me down. I like that. Slap my ass. Slap my puss. Slap me. Hold me down. Hurt me. Make it hurt! Make me yours again, Daddy. I’ve been so bad today. I just want to be yours. Yours. Make me stop whoring around town. Make me good again. Make me so sore I can’t even walk. Make me stop searching for cock. Make me good again.” She went on like that the entire time I fucked her until I was nearly ready to cum – finally after a full day of teasing and edging, watching her degrade herself for me and for others, in private and in public. Finally, I was ready to explode with all that pent-up jealousy, desire, rage, ravage, revenge, lust, love, and “Lo!” I called out as I was about to erupt.

She quickly hopped off my rod and spun around, opening her mouth wide and accepting the offering I emitted like a parched nomad in the desert desirous of every last drop of life-giving liquid. She wrapped her mouth around my cock and sucked, encouraging me to continue cumming until I could stand no more.

I fell down on the bed next to her and immediately lost consciousness, falling into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Thank You Daddy

Black Friday: A Juicy Story Before Brunch

Posted on December 1, 2019 by Lola Down

[Note: Continued from the Thanksgiving Day story, Very Thankful]

“Do you remember what happened last night?” I asked her as we were getting dressed in the morning.

“Yes,” she said. She slipped one leg and then the other into her pink thong panties.

“Everything?”

“What are you talking about? We went out for Thanksgiving dinner and then we came back to the hotel.”

“Right. And then what happened?”

“We went to bed.”

“That’s all you remember?”

Now she was getting agitated with my questions and feeling at a disadvantage.

“Why don’t you tell me,” she said as she adjusted her bra.

“We came home. You were more intoxicated than I thought. I guess those after dinner drinks were strong.”

“They were. But I wasn’t drunk.”

“To hell you weren’t. You barely got up the one flight of stairs to the room.”

“Pshaw,” she scoffed.

“And then we got in here and you quickly got naked.”

“Nothing unusual there.”

“And you were lying on the bed fondling and fingering yourself, begging me to have you.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said, now buttoning up her blouse.

“But I said, ‘Lo, I think you had too much to drink. I don’t think you can consent.’”

“And?”

“Well, if you don’t remember, then I was right.”

“I’m just seeing if your recollection is the same as mine.”

“Yeah, sure. Anyhow, you were very insistent and very horny.”

“Did you want me?”

“Of course! I always want you.”

“Did you have me?”

“Keep listening and I’ll tell you. I again declined your offer, saying you were too inebriated, but you were your usual demanding self. To stall for time and to get ready for bed, I told you to wait for me while I brushed my teeth. When I came out of the bathroom, I found you asleep, naked on the bed, face down, ass up. I was naked at this point too and I got next to you.”

“Were you hard, Daddy?”

“Yes I was hard.”

“For me?”

“Don’t go getting yourself all excited and wet. We have a brunch date to get to.”

She pouted, sat on the chair and put her hand down her shorts. “Go on,” she said.

“I was next to you and you made a half-hearted attempt to grab my cock. You whispered, ‘Have me,’ before falling back into a slumber. I grabbed the moisturizing lotion from the nightstand, slathered it over my cock. I had every intention of jacking off to your naked body.”

Now she was rapidly fingering herself under her shorts and panties.

“I like where this is going,” she said.

“I began to do that, but you looked so good that I wanted to kiss you. I got on top of you. You were still face down, so I began lightly kissing your back, shoulders, and neck. As I was positioned over you like that, my cock found its way between your round ass cheeks. It was all lubricated and so I began sliding it back and forth, swiping it like a charge card through your tight buttocks. You hardly moved. I continued until I couldn’t take it anymore and I came on your back.”

As I told her this confession, she came, squirting through her panties and shorts, dripping down her thighs onto the carpeted floor. I got a towel for her.

“That was hot, Daddy,” she said as I, on my knees, wiped her up from her feet to her crotch.

“I had to clean you up with a warm, wet washcloth last night, much like I’m doing now.”

“You’re so good to me, Daddy,” she said as she slipped out of her clothes and into the shower where she went at it again, self-stimulating in the steamy mist.

When she got out, she sat naked on the bed and put on her sexy tank-top T-shirt. She reached over to the nightstand where she picked up the pack of cards that was sitting on it. She had brought it with her on vacation. Was she hoping to get a fun game of strip poker going? I don’t know. She pulled out the Ace of Spades and held it between her legs. She looked up at me with her mischievous smile and a glimmer of wickedness in her eyes and said, “You know what day it is today, Daddy?”

“No, Lo, I don’t,” I said, wondering where she was going with this.

“Black Friday.”

Lola Painted by Roman Doodle

Schrödinger’s Pussy

Posted on November 14, 2019 by Lola Down

“Lily texted me,” I texted to Lola, “and she invited me to meet her at the bar to watch the World Series.” It was the seventh game. She was hoping to see her team win. “Do you want to join?”

“Will Jim be there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nah,” Lola texted, “I’ll stay in.”

I walked into the crowded watering hole after a long day at work. Lily, was sitting at the bar, close to the TV. To my surprise, she had saved me a stool next to her. She gave me a hug and turned toward me. Despite the cold October air, she was wearing only a short skirt and a thin, loose fitting blouse. Her legs were spread a bit as she talked to me.

“Where’s Jim?” I inquired.

“He’s with some of his friends watching at their house.”

“You didn’t want to join them?”

I could see that she hadn’t invited me there just to watch the game. She was already on her second drink of the night. What was on her mind?

After just a little prodding (it didn’t take much), she revealed her true design. She was looking for some free legal advice and simultaneously looking for some special attention.

She had recently graduated and got her Master’s in Sexuality and Gender Studies. Now she was looking to do something with that degree and was interested in becoming a “Sex and Spirit Guide” to individuals and couples. The question on her mind was, “If my therapeutic techniques involve hands-on help and I accept money for it, what’s the legal distinction between that and prostitution?”

It was a real zinger of a query – one that they don’t ask you in law school! And my first inclination was to say, “I’m not sure I follow. Could we please go back to your place and you can provide me with a demonstration in order that I understand what you do a little better?” But I wisely withheld that request, which was purely for the academic purpose of gaining clarity, and I asked instead, “So you envision digitally manipulating and stimulating your clients?”

“Well, not only that, but possibly role-playing, BDSM experimenting, discovering their inhibitions through play therapy – you know, taking them on a real sexual and spiritual journey to the seat of their soul.”

“Wow!” I said, “It sounds very Jungian.” Once more the images of Sabina Spielrein and Carl Jung came to mind.

“Yeah, this morning I had a professional photographer come to take some risqué photos to advertise my services.”

I got lost in my imagination as I envisioned the scene, but she continued. “And Jim even joined for some of them.”

“Oooh,” I cooed, “Boudoir photos?”

“Some were,” she replied alluringly. She began to pull out her phone as if ready to show me the raw, unedited shots. I wanted to look. I wanted to tell her all about the blog. I wanted to divulge everything. But I knew better. First, it’s Lo’s secret to reveal, not mine. That has always been the rule. Second, I’ve learned that letting on to the blog to people who are in the blog creates a Schrödinger’s Pussy situation – where the knowledge of being observed contaminates the observation.

Again I got lost in my thoughts.

She was clearly trying to attract my attention. She regained it as she unlocked her phone. I fumbled for my words a bit and said something stupid like the answer to her legal question would take some research. “A deep dive,” I remember saying.

“If you could advise me,” she said, playing the role of the helpless dancer in need of a savior, “I’d appreciate it so much. I want to heal people, not get arrested.”

Her allusion to consequences kept me in check and I soon paid my tab and said a friendly farewell to her, looking forward to going home to my sweet slutwife.

I got in late. I found Lola in bed, almost asleep, Stoya on my pillow.

“What’s this?” I asked. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “Come to bed. I’ll explain.”

I removed my clothes, washed up, and got in bed. She was on the verge of sleep. I moved Stoya to the nightstand.

“I’m all ears. . . and a penis,” I said.

She rolled over toward me. “I was bad,” she began. I could have figured that. “I was thinking of Heather and Erin and all the other women I’ve been with. I was feeling like being with a woman tonight.”

“So you took out Stoya?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I tried a little experiment,” she said.

“Schrödinger’s Pussy,” I muttered under my breath, recalling my conversation of earlier in the evening.

“What?”

“Nothing. Continue.”

“I fingered myself a bit, rubbed some of my girly juice on her lips, fingering her, and put her over my clit. I fucked her pussy with my clit.”

“Did you cum?”

“Many times. It really does feel pretty realistic.”

She hugged me and asked, “Are you mad?”

“No. But I take it you didn’t wash her properly when done.”

“Sorry Daddy.”

I got out of bed and performed the recommended cleaning to Stoya’s pussy and then hung her out to airdry.

When I got back into bed, Lo was sound asleep on her tum. I was on my back. My right hand caressed her back. Then her lower back. Then the roundness of her rump. Then between her legs. I could feel how wet she was still. My fingers circled around her pussy, becoming soaked. I then slid one finger back and did circles around her other special spot. Slowly, gently, furtively, I dipped in, just a bit. No response. Then a bit more. Lo’s ass raised slightly. A little more. She either consciously or unconsciously elevated her hips. She looked like an inchworm as my finger wormed its way into her bum.*

Then a moan. Then a sigh. Then a “Daddy, what are you doing?”

“Nothing, Lo. Sleep.”

I was in up to my first knuckle. I went deeper. And deeper. And then added a finger. Her ass indicated it liked what it was getting. It was completely relaxed and open to exploration.

And then, without warning, it seized up on my fingers. It clenched like a vice and I heard Lo’s breathing accelerate. After only a few seconds it was over. I pulled my fingers out. She was back to sleep. I was hard-up.

“There’s always Stoya,” I thought.

* See the story, “Sin-esthesia” in which Lo gives her “blanket consent” to being fucked while asleep.

Absolution

Posted on October 29, 2019 by Lola Down

[Continued from “Holding on Comes Easy“]

Last I remembered, Lo had engaged in a lengthy session of self-service before falling asleep between Robert and me. When I woke in the morning, she was sound asleep, her back toward me, and Robert had his hands around her waist. I was turned toward them, my arm drooped over her side, my hand fondling her breast, and my cock rigid and eager for more attention.

I carefully extricated myself from the bed, found a robe and quietly went to the kitchen to make some coffee.

As I sat down to take my first sip, Lo suddenly appeared in the kitchen wearing one of Roberts t-shirts and nothing else. She was carrying a bundle of clothes.

“Here,” she said, passing the clothes off to me.

“And a good morning to you too,” I said sarcastically.

“Get dressed.” They were my clothes.

“What?”

“Get dressed. You have to get out of here.”

I was perplexed. “What do you mean I. . .”

“Imogen is still sleeping. When she wakes up, she can’t find you here. Remember, she thinks I’m Robert’s girlfriend and you’re just Robert’s friend. You have to go home.”

“Are we still putting on that little ruse?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, if that’s the case, why don’t I just crawl into bed with Imogen?”

Lo gave me an angry look.

“Ok, Ok,” I said. “I’ll get dressed and go.”

She gave me a quick peck on the cheek to show her appreciation. “Don’t worry, Daddy,” she said, “I will make it up to you.”

My cock must have liked her tone because it immediately popped up like a little puppy who just heard the treats bag open.

“Nope, none of that now,” said Lo curtly, before turning tail and returning to the bedroom with Robert.

I dutifully got dressed and went home to shower, have more coffee, and nurse my hangover.

Sometime later I got a call from Lo. She sounded out of breath.

“Lo?”

Pause. “Yeah?”

“Are you ok?”

Pause. “Yeah.”

“Are you at Robert’s?”

Pause. “Yeah.”

“Are you fucking?”

“Yes, Daddy, he’s behind me, fucking my ass now. What would you like us to do next?”

I won’t deny that I was titillated by the call, but I was also furious. I was home, hard-up and hungover, while she was being banged by her backdoor man.

“I want you to tell me you love me.”

Long pause. “I – I – I love you, Daddy,” I heard.

I put the phone down for a moment and hurriedly grabbed my Stoya Fleshlight, some lube, and picked up the phone again. Lo was screaming. I could hear Robert smacking her ass.

“Daddy, I love you,” she repeated.

I slid the prosthetic vagina down on my cock. I held the phone with my left hand and slid the contraption up and down with my right. I listened to Lo getting fucked. She was calling out, “Harder. Harder. Deeper. Cum in my ass. Cum deep in my ass.” As she was saying that, I thought of how Robert came in her mouth after fucking her ass yesterday.

“Daddy,” she said into the phone, “I want him to cum in my ass. Do you want him to cum in my ass too?”

My eyes were shut. I was vividly imagining her bent over his dresser, Robert behind her, looking at her tits swinging in the mirror as he fucked her from behind. I pictured her left hand holding the phone to her ear and her right hand moving back to her ass, pulling her right cheek to spread as wide as she could go for him to bury his long dick in her bum. Maybe she was fingering her hole as well.

I heard her ramping up, going into the overture to her orgasm.

I slid Stoya’s cunt up and down more vigorously and I could feel my cuckolded cum rising to the surface. Lo launched into her operatic aria and I could hold out no longer. I came and came deep inside Stoya as Robert came deep inside Lola.

A perfect triple play!

After we all were able to bask in the beauty of the trifecta, Lo stayed on the phone with me as Robert went to clean up.

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

“You. Are. Amazing,” was all I could say.

“Do you like seeing him make me cum, Daddy?”

“I didn’t see you,” I said, confused.

“I meant yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “You’re a dirty, dirty girl.”

“Am I bad?”

I changed the topic, fearing she’d get all riled up again. “Is Imogen still there?” I asked.

“Oh her? No. She woke up, I think a little embarrassed and very hungover, and we called her a cab. She only had fragments of memory from last night, but she asked me to say something nice to you.”

“Oh, and what was that?”

“She really just said, ‘Say something nice to him.’”

I laughed and she did too. Apparently all was forgiven. Nothing absolves me of my transgressions like Lola’s seducing men to sodomize her.

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

Category Archives: fingering

Lola Mounted

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A Brush with the Little Death

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Impressive Size

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Quiver

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Black Friday: A Juicy Story Before Brunch

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Absolution

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