Autoerotica

Posted on September 19, 2019 by Lola Down

“Come,” I heard her yell from the bedroom down the hall as I walked into the house after a long Friday at work. She might have been saying “Cum!” to a lover. There’s never any way to tell from the sound of her voice – only on the page.

I cautiously walked down the long hall to the bedroom. What would I find?

The door was open a crack. I peeked in. She was naked, on her tum, her round rump nicely illuminated by the setting sun. Her legs were bent at the knees and her bare feet dangled up in the air, twined around each other. In her hand she held her phone.

“Come in, Daddio,” she said without turning her eyes from the screen in front of her.

I walked in and removed my jacket and tie.

“What you up to?” I inquired.

“I bet you’d like to know.”

“That is why I asked,” I said flatly as I removed my shirt and undid my belt.

“Get naked, get hard, and get in me,” she commanded.

“I’m already hard,” I said.

“As you should be,” she replied, moving her hand to her mouth, licking her fingers and then moving her hand to her ass and circling her wet fingers around her special spot.

“Oh,” I commented, “You want it like that?”

“No, Daddio,” she said, “I’m just enjoying myself.”

Always coy when it comes to her ass. Always for someone else, or for her own pleasure, but never for me.

I got behind her and tried to look at her phone by leaning forward over her back and seeing over her shoulder.

“Get up there and fuck me,” she instructed, her finger still rounding her sweet spot as I slid into her puss. “I’ll tell you what I’m looking at.”

I did as she said and she told me that a fellow blogger, a woman named TJ, wrote to us saying, “I love reading your blog. It gets me so wet.”

“Really?! Do I know this TJ?” I asked as I thrusted harder.

“She writes The Lustful Empress.”

I slowed down a bit trying to remember which erotic blog that was.

“Don’t stop!” Lo said as her hand grabbed the girth of my cock and she pushed her ass back into my hips, bouncing off of my bare bodkin.

I resumed my powerful, pleasurable, pelvic pounding.

“Look,” she said, putting her phone up on her back for me to read the email. It said:

I love how accepting you are of Lola’s magnificent sexuality. You guys seem to have ‘it’ don’t you? I wish I could masturbate as openly as you do, Lola. I feel self-conscious, like an addict or something. But I fucking love fucking myself. . . it’s the best. I am more autosexual than anything else I think. Keep celebrating each other.

Fan mail like that makes it all worth it. Well, that’s not completely true. I know that I would be writing all this whether no one read it, or only one person read it – Lola. But knowing that others read it, enjoy it, and get off to it is the icing on the cake.

Speaking of icing, as I read the email, Lo began to climax as one hand worked her ass and the other, from underneath, worked her clit. Her Kegel muscles contracted and I was squeezed out of her as she curled into a convulsing, throbbing ball, squirting uncontrollably. The more she pushed her knees up to her breasts in a tightly bound fetal position, the more she sprayed the bed and my knees. I lifted up her phone to prevent it from being ruined by the liquid.

TJ, author and model of The Lustful Empress, getting off to Lo

“Fuuuu-uuuuck,” she groaned as the last bit of lady juice spurted out of her.

When she regained control of her limbs, she slowly got up and pulled the soaked sheets with her, dropping them in the laundry basket. “I’ll clean up, Daddy, but right now I have to get ready.”

“Ready for what?” I asked, holding my throbbing, hard rod in my hand.

“My date.”

“Date?”

“With Robert. I told you, didn’t I?”

I just looked dumbfounded.

“We’re going to the movies.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“And what are you seeing?”

“The Favourite.”

“Is he your favorite now?” I asked, demoralized.

“No, Daddio, she said, caressing me and looking up at me with those beautiful big brown eyes. “That’s the name of the movie. It’s a period piece.”

“Really? Not a porno?”

“Well, I hear it has a lot of woman-on-woman sex scenes.”

“I knew it!”

“But that’s not why we’re going to see it.”

“You’re going to see it to have sex in a crowded theater.”

“Oh, Daddy, you always impute to me the most debased of motives.”

“So why are you going to see it?”

“It’s historical. It has great sets, acting, and costumes.”

“And?”

“And probably to fuck in a dark theater.”

“Don’t get caught.”

“But getting caught is at least half the fun. Does that make you jealous?” she asked, as her hand stroked my hard cock.

“So you’re leaving me home alone on a Friday night?”

“Not totally alone,” she said, “You have TJ.”

“Who?”

“TJ, the woman from the blog.”

“Oh, right,” I said to my consolation prize.

Lola made the bed and I watched her tits droop as she bent over to tuck in the sheets. Her naked body moved like a delightful dance as she unfurled the blanket.

“Look,” she said, as she hopped back in the bed and took up her phone. I sat next to her. Her left hand stroked my hard erection up and down as she scrolled through TJ’s blog with her right hand.

We read and looked at the photos together.

“She sounds like she could be your twin sister,” I said as I read about how TJ becomes aroused by her own naked body.

“Hold this,” she said, giving me the phone.

Now, with her right hand she was stroking her pussy and I scrolled through the blog.

“Oh boy,” I said, “You want her.”

Lo bit her lower lip.

“Lo,” I cautioned, “You just made the bed. You don’t want to. . .”

Before I could finish my sentence, she had jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before releasing her ejaculate all over the tile floor with a scream.

When she had regained her composure, she got some paper towels and got on her hands and knees to clean up the mess.

“What time is your movie?”

“Eight,” she called back. “But we’re meeting for drinks first.”

“Well, you’re going to be late,” I told her.

She jumped in the shower and I continued to look at the blog, hard up.

“Hey,” she called to me, “you’re not allowed to cum. You know that, right?”

“I still don’t understand how that is fair,” I said, taunting her.

I got up and looked at her in the shower.

“Get!” she screamed. She hates when I see her in her shower cap.

“How is it fair that you get to cum twice and then go on a date with another man and I’m not allowed any autoerotica myself?”

“First,” she said from behind the shower curtain, “it’s not autoerotic if you use someone else’s pictures. Second, you didn’t count the three times I came before you got home.”

“Lo, now you’re just. . .”

“And third,” she cut me off, “this has nothing to do with fairness. It has everything to do with me. What I want. What I allow you. Got that? Don’t forget it.”

Lo jumped out of the shower and hastily dried off before slipping into a blue dress and blue heels. No panties.

“You’re going to be cold like that,” I cautioned.

“I’m planning on things heating up quickly,” she said.

Soon enough she was out the door, leaving me alone.

I scrolled through TJ’s blog, which I recalled I had seen before, and I thought to myself, “She said no cumming, but she didn’t say no edging.”

I spent about an hour going through each and every post before I thought to myself, “If I don’t stop this right now, I’m going to explode!”

In order to take the edge off, I switched to photos of Lo, which are always fair game, and I pulled out the old Stoya Fleshlight. Lubing up Stoya and myself, I imagined what Lo was up to with Robert. I didn’t even need to see Lo’s photos. Soon enough I was cumming and cumming hard and deep in Stoya’s pussy, just thinking about Lo in a dark theater, legs spread, and Robert discretely moving his hand up her smooth thigh until reaching that wet pussy, pulsating with anticipation. Gently he would rub and flick her pussy lips, clandestinely making her cum. I pictured her hands gripping the seat and her upper teeth biting down on her bottom lip to prevent the scream from escaping her mouth. That was enough to bring me over the edge and release me into a deep sleep.

Hot & Cold

Posted on September 1, 2019 by Lola Down

When I left, Lo and I were in a big fight. It’s never good to leave for a week-long business trip halfway across the country on bad terms. Especially with Lo. There wasn’t one thing that was the catalyst of this rift, but rather lots of little things. Both she and I had been dealing with pressures at work, I had been recovering from the flu, she had an unexpected major expense that had to be paid. We both were stressed, exhausted, and short-tempered. Each of us had been prickly with the other, like two porcupines in close quarters.

“Come here, Daddio,” she said the night before I left as I was getting ready for bed. It was her way of trying to rekindle the relationship. “I’m so cold. Come and warm me up.” Though she really was cold, she also was naked on the bed, spreading her legs for me, rubbing her puss.

“Cold? Looks to me like you have a very warm fleece,” I said of her au naturel triangle, “and all that friction you’re making might light that bush on fire.” The words came out more sarcastic and biting than I intended. My loving little banter was not warmly received.

“If you don’t like it, you can’t have it,” she shot back, covering herself with the blankets.

“I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Well, too late. This bush is only for someone who truly appreciates me.”

“And who might that be?”

“ME!” she said, pulling out her Hitachi, her dildo, and her phone.

No sooner had she gotten the giant white ice cream cone revved up and the dildo delved in deep and the phone queued to one of her favorite porn videos than, to her great surprise, the phone rang! She nearly jumped out of the bed. She dropped the Hitachi and it was still buzzing. Her dildo was left dangling, and she had to fumble with her phone as she said hello because all the moaning and groaning sounds of the porno film were still playing.

“Hi Lo,” the person on the other end said, “Is this an ok time?”

“Yeah. Yes. Sure. Just one sec.,” said Lo as she tried to compose herself and shut off all her stimulation devices. Finally she was focused on the call and I climbed into bed next to her, stroking my cock. Seeing her pleasure herself still gets me off after all this time. But seeing her interrupted and frustrated is a rare delight.

It was Robert. He needed someone to talk to. He was feeling despondent. And he had been scrolling through the blog.

I curled up next to Lo and whispered, “Don’t tell him I’m here,” as I guided my cock into her cupped hand. She mindlessly gave me a hand-job as she talked to Robert. Or rather, I should say, I eased my way in-and-out of her palm. She was unaware of or unconcerned with my movements.

She talked to him in a consoling and kind tone, listening to his lament of loneliness. He hadn’t been with someone in so long. The night at the museum was such a powerful moment for him. Since then he had done more study of Koons and his Made in Heaven installation.

Jeff Koons and his wife Ilona Staller, “Made in Heaven”

When I heard that, I was both amused and angered. I’m the one who turned Lo onto Koons! I deserve the credit for that. Whatever.

I continued to slide my cock in-and-out of her cupped hand. I kept quiet.

“What did you like about it?” asked Lo to Robert in her seductive tone of voice.

“I, um, I liked, I like that you suggested it to me.”

“Really?” asked Lo, intrigued. “Why?”

“Lo, I, uh, I never met a woman like you.”

“Go on,” she said, captivated by the story of herself.

“You’re so brazen. Is that the right word? So, daring. So. . .”

“Slutty?”

“That’s not the word I was going to use.”

“Use it,” she commanded.

“What?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her properly.

“Call me a slut. I like it. Say it. I’m touching myself now.”

She wasn’t. She was holding the phone with one hand and my member with the other.

“OK,” said Robert. “You’re a slut.”

“Yesss,” said Lo.

That was too much for me. I pulled back and grabbed my cock and came all over myself as Lo looked on, desirously.

Now she was touching herself.

“Are you jackin’ it?” she asked Robert.

“Am I. . . ?”

“Are you jacking off? Stroking yourself?”

“No,” he said, as if offended.

“Why not?”

“Lo, I didn’t call you like someone would call a phone sex service.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I. . .”

“But you can. What do you want to hear?”

There was a long silence on the other end interrupted only by Lo’s occasional moans of pleasure. Self-pleasure.

“Do you want to hear that I loved sucking you off?” she asked.

“You did?”

“Yessss,” she said.

“Why?”

“I love sucking cock. Any cock. Lots of cock. I love helping guys out. I love giving relief. Let me help you. Are you by your computer?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Pull up a pic of me if you haven’t already.”

“I, I, I,” Robert stammered.

“You already had it up, didn’t you?” accused Lo.

“I did,” he admitted.

“Good. Which pic is it?”

“It’s of you in your neon blue panties stroking your pussy lips.”

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Well that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. I’m stroking my wet, pink, pussy lips with my beautifully manicured fingers, slowly sliding them up and down and in and out. Does that turn you on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you stroking your cock?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I want you to hang up the phone and take pics of you stroking it to my pics. Make sure my photo is in the frame so I know that I’m the one who is making you hard and makes you cum. You will cum, won’t you?”

“If you want me to.”

“I do.”

“OK.”

“Do it and send me the pics.”

“OK.”

“And Robert.”

“Yes?”

“What am I?”

“A dirty, filthy slut.”

“That’s right. Don’t forget it,” she said and she hung up on him.

I was cleaning myself off when she got the notification that a text was sent to her. She opened it. There were three photos. One of Robert jackin’ it to her pics. One of him cumming. And one of the mess he made. Lo looked at them again and again and she eventually came herself.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?” she said.

“For making me cum,” I said.

“Oh, did I do that?” she asked, sincerely unaware of her passive powers.

The next morning, before Lo woke up, I was off to the airport, sad that we hadn’t properly reconciled.

Compersion

Posted on August 31, 2019 by Lola Down

My good friend, Dr. Robert Smith, thought I was unaware of the time Lo sucked his cock, but there he was wrong. Lo may cheat, but she doesn’t lie. In fact, she brags. Furthermore, I find her regaling me with tales of her infidelity arousing. And Lo found Robert’s erectile dysfunction not only endearing, but a personal challenge.

The next time we saw him, at a fundraiser reception in an art museum, Lo affixed herself to him. Arm-in-arm they strolled the corridors, pausing in dimly lit corners. It was a nighttime event and the university spared no expense and was eager to show off its faculty to the wealthy alumni and other donors. Because of the book I published long ago on art, I was one of the featured speakers. After a brief hello exchanged with Robert, I was left to review my notes and consult with the university president about the order of the program. However, every once in a while, I’d catch a glimpse of Lo leading Robert about, taking delight in the whispers and scandal that she was causing among our petty and gossipy colleagues. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t irk me a little bit. It would have been a totally different story if I could have been with them, observing, commenting, and teased by Lola’s cuckolding up close.

As it was, they disappeared out of my sight. I only heard later, while horizontal with Lo in the darkness of our bedroom, impaling her with my rock-hard rod, between her gasps and groans, what happened.

“I walked with him as he politely escorted me through the various galleries: Impressionists, Expressionists, Cubists, and so on. At each one he attempted to explain to me what I already knew, but I flattered him with my oos and ahs and reallys? – as if he were telling me something new.”

“You’re bad,” I said. “I bet you do that with me too.”

“No, Daddy, never.”

Her lies are transparent.

She continued, “I knew the museum very well, of course, and I eventually led him to the contemporary art gallery. I asked him if he liked contemporary art and he admitted he didn’t really understand it.”

This was a rather intellectual conversation for pillow talk. But I was willing to follow her lead.

She said in her sultry, seduction voice:

When we got to the contemporary, I brought him to see Richard Prince and his ‘Girlfriend’ series. He looked very confused and asked, ‘How can this possibly be art?’

I asked, ‘Don’t you find it beautiful? The artist was so in love with his girlfriend that he chose to photograph her nude and put her up in an art gallery for all to see.’

‘That’s exploitation,’ he said.

‘Not if she likes it,’ I said.

‘A good feminist like you? – How could you like it?’

‘How could I like being photographed naked and put on display for all to see?’ I asked to clarify his meaning.

‘I mean, how could you think that she likes it or that a woman likes it or. . .’ he stammered uncomfortably, ‘how could you like this,’ he said, indicating the large photograph.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘HH does the same for me.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘He likes to photograph me nude and then share it with the world.’

‘What?!’ he asked, shocked.

I looked down at his crotch to see if he was getting hard. I think he was.

‘It’s called candaulism. It’s a kink. I’m surprised you don’t know of it – an educated man like you,’ I said, gripping his bicep. ‘It comes from an ancient Greek story about Candaules, the king of Lydia, who was so proud of his beautiful wife, he arranged to allow his minister, Gyges, to see her naked.’

‘Is that so?’ he said, as if he were only academically interested.

‘Yes. It turned out that the queen, Nyssia, was aware of the spying eyes and, according to legend, in order to teach her husband a lesson, summoned her husband to come to the bed and pleasure her. Of course she knew that the figure in the shadows was not her husband, but, unable to escape, Gyges obeyed the command of the queen and, in the dim light, approached the bed. All the while Candaules was secretly watching with a curious mixture of arousal and jealously. Gyges entered the bed and then entered the queen. She said all sorts of salacious things as they made love in order to drive the point of her lesson home, and that she did, wounding the suffering king with her cries of passion. Finally, at the climactic moment, the king could hold back no longer and he made himself known to both Nyssia and Gyges. Drawing his royal sword, the king made to slay the dutiful minister, but Gyges narrowly avoided the steel blade and, removing it from the king’s hands, impaled the king with his own sword. A tragic tale, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, yes indeed. And it should serve as a cautionary tale for HH.’

‘Oh, but that is all ancient history,’ I said, waving my hand. ‘What HH and I do together is very fun. Its proper term is ‘compersion.’ That is, the delight of seeing one you love pleasured by another. Would you like to see?’ I asked, pulling out my phone.

‘Perhaps later,’ he said just as we approached the Koons’ sculpture. ‘Dear Lord!’ he exclaimed as he saw the porcelain rendering of Woman in Tub, ‘What is this gallery?! The Museum of Pornography?!’

Not Koons’ “Woman in a Tub,” but Lola in a Tub – the inspiration

‘Oh, don’t be so rigid, and hardened in your ideas of beauty,’ I said to him as I patted him on the chest. ‘This is a classic.’

‘Oh yeah, right up there with the Mona Lisa,’ he said sarcastically.

Having my phone out, I snapped a shot. ‘It should be,’ I said. ‘You’re just priggish in your stodgy ole professor way. Don’t be such a prude.’

“I bet you weren’t a prude, were you,” I said to Lo as I continued my steady rhythmic forays in and out of her puss with my cock.

“I got 99 problems, but being a slut ain’t one.” she said.

They returned to the courtyard of the museum where I was to give my talk and I watched them sitting in the audience next to each other. Lo’s legs were crossed and she was proudly displaying her beautifully shod foot. At one point I saw them passing notes.

“What did you write to him?” I asked her.

“I just wrote that I found it incredibly sexy to see you up there at the podium in the museum giving your talk.”

“Really?”

“True, Daddy,” she said. “Do you like that?”

“I do.”

“And then I wrote that I was getting too wet to sit still.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did, Daddy. That’s when I got up.”

I remembered seeing her walk out on my speech. The thought of the reason why was too much for the erogenous zone of my brain to handle and I unleashed a torrent of my pent-up desire inside her.

“Oh Daddy,” she said, surprised, “Stay in me while I tell you the next little part.”

“OK,” was all I could mutter as I caught my breath.

I went to the Ladies Room and quickly took care of my craving. When I returned, I sat next to Robert and asked if I missed anything.

He said, ‘No, but I feel like I missed something.’

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘What’s that?’

‘You,’ he said.

‘Me?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I missed you when you were gone and I’m supremely curious as to where you went and what you went to do.’

‘Come with me,’ I said, ‘and I’ll show you.’

We got up and I took him to the Medieval room of the museum, and there, in the dim light, surrounded by the muted reds and blues of the stained glass windows, I sat with him at a pew and took out my phone to show him all the photos of me from the blog, most of them of me masturbating.

‘Robert,’ I said, ‘Here we are in a place of devotional art and you see all these beautiful images and the illuminated manuscripts over there?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Well, this,’ I said, indicating the images on my phone, ‘is HH’s devotional literature for me. This is the illuminated manuscript of the 21^st century. Sex is no longer sinful. Sex is spiritual. And I am a sex goddess.’

“How extraordinarily pompous of you!” I said.

“You would have said the same,” she retorted.

“You know me too well. But I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Rub off on me, Daddy! Rub off on me!” she pleaded as I was still firmly sheathed in her dripping cunt.

“What happened next?” I asked as I leaned into her, pressing my now tumescent cock deeper. She came and she came in massive orgasmic waves. Clearly the memory of being the object of worship was pleasing to her.

“Then he took the phone and looked at it as he leaned toward me. Our lips touched and he held me tightly in his arms as our tongues entwined. I saw that, as he was kissing me, he was looking over my shoulder at the phone he held in his hand, staring at my sexy photos. I reached down and grabbed his cock and it was rock hard. His other hand reached down and felt my soft leg all the way up to my panties. I wanted so much more, but the event had just let out and we had to look presentable.”

“That’s when I found you with him walking over to me with that devilish grin on your face.”

“I thought I looked angelic.”

“A devil is a fallen angel,” I reminded her.

Clickbait

Posted on August 9, 2019 by Lola Down

“What’s there to eat in the fridge?” I call to her through the bathroom door. I had just gotten home from work and I was famished.

“Nothing,” she calls back as I hear the squeak of her opening the valves to take a shower.

“Nothing?! I saw a cucumber in the bottom right drawer.”

“Oh, that’s not for eatin’,” she says. “Come to think of it, will you bring it to me darling?”

Good grief. I get the green gourd from the fridge for her and a cold beer for me. I pass her the vegetable when she extends her hand through the narrow opening of the door.

“Can’t I see you?” I ask.

“No.”

“You do know that I’ve seen you naked before? Most of the internet has seen you naked before. Probably most of our neighbors have seen you naked before.”

“I have my shower cap on.”

“Oh, well then.”

The door shuts. I sit down to read and sip my beer and await her exit from the bathroom. And wait. And wait. After her repeated cries to God and profanities that I imagine were directed at her pleasure-bearing plant, I hear the waterspout squeak off.

Finally she emerges.

I whistle at her. “You look half as good in your clothes as you do out of them.”

“That’s insulting!”

“Would you prefer the opposite: You look twice as good in your clothes as you do out of them?”

“How about you just say I look fabulous.”

“You look fabulous, darling. And delicious. I had no dinner. Can I please eat you from bottom to top?”

“Oh, Daddy, I have to catch my breath,” she says, lying naked on the bed next to me.

“You do that and I’ll caress your snatch with my tongue.”

She puts her laptop over her shaved triangle and opens it up.

“Darling,” I ask, “what are you doing now?”

“Just checking some email and sprucing up some social media accounts.”

Dejected, I get up off the bed.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m taking off my work clothes and. . .”

“Getting naked?” she asks, licking her lips.

“If that would please you.”

“Will you lie next to me?”

“As you wish,” I say, somewhat sarcastically.

I sit next to her, reading my book as she scrolls through pages with her right hand. Her left hand is resting on my cock. It grows in her palm. I put down my book and turn on my side, rhythmically fucking her fist. Unconsciously, she allows it, but doesn’t enthusiastically respond to it. She’s engrossed in whatever it is she’s reading.

After a couple of moments, I look at what is on her screen. It’s a page of nearly naked women.

“What is that?” I ask.

“You’ve never seen a woman before?”

“Not until I laid eyes on you, darling.”

“Funny.”

“What is that page?” I ask with more specificity.

“Oh,” she says, “I created a Pinterest page.”

“I can’t help but notice, I’m nowhere on it.”

“Do you like it?”

“The pics of you, yes.”

Just as I was enjoying seeing her in the naked flesh next to me, and also her pixilated portrait resting just above her pink vulva on her laptop computer, she scrolls away from the page. And, to make matters worse, she removes her hand from my hard rod.

“Now what are you doing?” I ask.

“It’s well known that lists create web traffic and a fan asked me to list six facts about my body.”

“Clickbait,” I respond.

“You can call it that,” she says, but I think I’m the real bait. Clitbait, you might say.” She strokes her bean under the computer as she says it.

She returns her hand to the keyboard and writes:

Six Facts About My Body:

It is an instrument of pleasure.
It is a canvass for cum.
It inspires creativity.
It drives people crazy.
It drives me crazy.
I love it.

“Not bad,” I say.

She ignores my compliment because now she is engaged in answering emails.

One guy asks, “Who are you?”

“Cum and find out,” writes Lo, followed by, “Wait, reverse that.”

Another guy sends a dick pic. Lola tells him that if he is going to do that, he has to send one with her photo in the frame. He replies, “I don’t usually send dick pics.”

“I bet you say that to all the sluts,” she replies snidely.

I can see that she is getting excited. Her right hand moves to her chest and she pulls at her nipples, making them erect.

“Looks like you’re ready to give some pointers,” I say.

Another fan read the story, “Divine Destinies,” about Lo’s immaculately pure pink posterior flower. He wrote to Lo requesting some steamy chat, adding that, “I love to talk about dirty things.”

Lo, taking offense at this, replies, “Are you suggesting that the pinnacle of my success is ‘dirty’?”

“Lo,” I say, “turn over and I’ll take a pic of my tongue deeply penetrating your perineum and we’ll show him how you’re more beautiful than Charlene and Mr. Clean.”

She chuckles and asks, “How the hell do you know that song?”

“My brain isn’t as old as my body.”

“If by that mean you mean that you’re immature, then you’re right.”

“Roll over.”

She closes her laptop and I think I’m in luck, but then she takes out her phone. She does turn onto her tum and begins going through photos from fans. “I just need a little something to wet my whistle, if you know what I mean,” she says, as she puts her right hand down between her pussy lips and strokes, then, using that natural lubricant, moves to her porn star.

She passes me the phone and says, “Look what I found in my in-box!”

I, looking at both her boxes intently at that moment, take the phone from her.

“Read it aloud,” she says, “I’m all ears. . . and vagina.”

I see a long email from a fan, a woman named “Jen X.” It reads:

Lola,

You are a much curvier, sexier, more luscious version of Audrey Hepburn. Think about it, HH is Gregory Peck. And you, my dear friend Lo, you are a Princess.

You’re so innocent. He’s older than you. He’s a writer, a professor, a man of mind, body, soul and spirit. He’s brilliant. You are his muse. He is obsessed in the best possible way by you. You dominate his thoughts, his feelings, his emotions. You go further than he could possibly believe now…you’re so deep in his consciousness; as deep as his dick passionately penetrating the walls of your strong, shaking, quivering pussy.

Because of the way HH writes about you and your magnificent personality, I want you! I have a deep desire to have you pop my girl-on-girl cherry. However, HH has got to be there and ease us through it. I want him to watch us, jerk off, and then we both share his cum.

He just channels your soul’s sexiness, your perfect pair of tits, your sweet soft strong flexible box, and your behind. Your behind forces him to forget anything that isn’t about you. He loves not just looking at you, he loves to take you with his eyes. In his mind he is cumming into every atom of your being.

HH is a Voyeur. He’s a genius. And I have a crush on HH because I’m perfectly straight, yet I adore you Lo, I truly do, because you are one of the funniest, most caring, sexiest women in the world. I feel your sexiness and your body through HH and I want both of you!

I have never had a FFM. I’ve had two MMF trysts in real life, but the guys freaked out about touching each other. I’m not saying a need a bi male partner. I would love that, however, the way you yank me into your stories…WOW! I want to co-write a hot story of Lola introducing me to you. I believe this should be a gift from us to you.

Lola’s the hottest thing since fire! – classy, highbrow, but with a twisted, kinky, warped sense of humor. Imagine the Magical Kink Fest Lola and I could create for you.

HH, I need you to pitch your fantasy for this erotic project I’m co-creating with your sweet innocent lollipop licking Lola.

Let me know if you want my company in your bedroom or dungeon.

Kisses babes,

Jen X

As I read the lusty letter, Lo is having finger fun time between her legs and her feet are working in tandem to stroke my cock. The words are so poetic and prurient that I very nearly cum. Lo can feel it and she turns and says, over her shoulder, “I just got out of the shower. I didn’t wash my hair and I don’t intend to today. If you cum, don’t cum in my hair.”

“Do you think Audrey Hepburn ever said that to Gregory Peck?”

“Look, I aim to please, so please be sure to aim.”

Just as she says it, I take aim and hit my mark, right between her shoulder blades.

After I recoup, I get up and go to the bathroom to clean myself off. There, on the sink, is her giant cucumber. “Do you think this is still ok to eat?” I call to Lo.

“What, your cock?”

“Well that too, but I was referring to your veggie vagina filler.”

“Oh, I’m not done with it yet. Toss it here.”

I do so and I also return to the bedroom to get dressed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks as she stuffs herself full of the jolly green giant.

“To the store to get something for dinner. Do you want anything?”

“How about an eggplant. This is not nearly enough to feed me.”

Sun-Kissed

Posted on July 3, 2019 by Lola Down

A July vacation at a beach house for a week can be the perfect antidote to all of your problems. Unless that vacation is a family reunion and the beach house is for thirty people. And among those thirty people are married dads in their forties and fifties who are in good shape. And your girlfriend is Lo. Then, you might have ninety-nine problems, but Lo is the only one you have to really worry about.

That was the case this week. Every seven years or so my extended family decides that we should make a pilgrimage from all the corners of the globe, rent one enormous house on the beach with enough bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate us all, and stay under one roof for seven days straight. We have been doing this for a few decades now, but we hadn’t had one of these since I started dating Lola.

She hadn’t met most of my family – only heard about them through various stories I told her and, to be fair, with thirty of them, I doubt that she really could tell one from the other without having met them in person. But this week, right in the middle of July, we were all going to be up-close and personal with each other. Foolishly, I hadn’t thought of warning her prior to our departure. This was my family. Did I need to warn her? Apparently so.

You see, if I do say so myself, I come from a very good looking family. My brothers and sisters and my cousins have certain family features in common – features that drive Lo wild. I’d even venture to say that, of the lot of us, I am probably the least physically attractive. My male relatives all have strong-cut jaws, expressive eyes, and the classic broad shoulder tapering to a thin waist. They are very health conscious, for many of them were athletes even through college. My female relatives share many of the same good genes that have preserved their looks into midlife. And they are married to rather attractive spouses.

Throw into this mix of middle-age men – all walking around topless, biking, kayaking, swimming, cooking, and being dads to their respective kids – a twenty something nymphomaniac with daddy issues wearing a skimpy bikini and you have just brought all sorts of wrath down upon your head. Such was my lot for a week.

It began innocently enough. We were on the beach with a few of my cousins. The sun was blazing and the waves were rough and tumble. We had our boogie boards with us and, after a beer, Lo said she wanted to ride the waves with me. We grabbed the boards and went into the refreshing water, waded out past the crashing waves and waited for the right moment. As we were out there, Lo turned to me and said, “Daddio, I’m so wet!”

“We’re in the ocean, Lo. Of course you’re wet,” I replied.

“I don’t mean like that,” she said with a devilish grin.

Before I could respond, a wave came and soon she and I were soaring towards the shore atop the white crest of the surf. Conditions were just right for multiple sorties. She looked happy, like a little girl. I had never seen her see so happy. She was grinning from ear-to-ear. What I didn’t realize, since I was next to her for most of the wet-n-wild rides, was that each and every time we caught a wave and were carried in atop the undulating surge, Lo’s bikini top would be pushed downward and, each and every time she stood up from the excursion, her breasts were popping out, wet and glistening in the sun for all my cousins to see.

I only found out about this later, when, back in the house, she got naked in the bathroom with me to take a shower. “Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

“Why would I be mad?” I said as I saw her perfectly tanned body before me.

“Because of my ‘accidents’ at the beach.”

“What accidents?” I asked, naively.

Then she told me about her struggles with keeping her top on her tits.

We got in the shower together and washed each other down with body-soap. It was one of those large shower/hot tubs that had a comfortable seat to sit. I told Lo to sit down below me and spread her legs. She did so, mistakenly thinking that I was going to put my cock in her mouth. She opened up to receive me, but, instead, I took aim and let lose, releasing the golden stream formed from the many beers I had had on the beach. She relished in the warm stream I doused her in, covering her tits and tum, puss and feet. When I was good and done, she pulled my hand down and reversed positions with me and, putting one foot up on the ledge, she took aim and allowed me to get it just as good as I gave it.

Then she got down on her knees on the floor of the shower and took my hard cock in her mouth, fondling my balls with her right hand as her left rested on my knee. Her long, wet, dark hair bobbed up and down under the stream of the shower. She wanted me to cum, that was clear. She worked hard to earn my ejaculatory appreciation, but I denied her the satisfaction of completion. Before she got lockjaw, we got out of the shower and dried off.

She bent over the bed, her ass beckoning me. It was my turn to get on my knees and worship her tumescent pussy lips with my tongue. She tasted sweet and I wanted more. I buried the tip of my tongue as deep as it would go in her cunt and then in her ass and back again and again. She came multiple times, her cum dripping down the sides of my mouth and saturating my beard as it streamed down my neck onto my chest. I delighted in making her so wet. Due to the cramped living quarters, she had to bite her lower lip and swallow her orgasmic screams. She buried her head in the pillow to moan and groan.

At some point I heard the sound of a radio playing from the pool area outside our window. AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” was narrating the scene.

She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean

They sang as I licked the smooth mons pubis of Lo from behind. She could take it no longer and she crawled forward on the bed like a wounded soldier out of the heat of battle. She rolled over, exhausted already, and spread her listless legs.

She was the best damn woman that I’d ever seen.

I slid in her pussy with my aching rod and, honestly, I couldn’t feel a thing. Just wet. So wet. At the very instant of my shaft lodging deep inside her, she came in waves – waves like those of the ocean that we were riding just a little while earlier. After her quick climax, she was suddenly filled with new energy. She rolled me over onto my back and slid her wet slit down the length of my solid pole, kneeling on top of me as she pulled and pinched her nipples. I grabber by her hips and rocked her forward and back, slishing and sliding over my hips.

She had a certain size,

Telling me no lies,

Knocking me out with those American thighs.

She came again. Again, all I could feel was wetness cascading down upon me.

She dropped her head down to bite on my neck and then she slid off of my rod slowly as her tongue slid down my chest, over my abs, eventually resting at my cock. She took it all in her mouth and down the back of her throat.

Taking more than her share,

She had me fighting for air,

She told me to cum, but I was already there.

I filled her with my pent-up power. But she wasn’t done – no, not by a longshot.

She wanted no applause,

Just another course,

Made a meal out of me,

And came back for more.

Had to cool me down

To take another round,

Now I’m back in the ring

To take another swing!

She licked and sucked, bobbed up and down, and opened wide for my balls – everything and anything she could do to get me back up and hard again. When she finally succeeded, she lowered herself slowly on me once more and grabbed me, letting her nipples gently touch mine as she let her body become enfolded in mine. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.

From her state of delirium, she began whispering in my ear.

“You know,” she said in a hushed tone, “I think your family likes me.”

“I’m sure they do,” I said.

“I mean, especially your brothers. They really like me.”

“I think they really liked what they saw.”

“And I liked what I saw.”

“What was that?” I asked as I felt her excitement increasing with the taboo things coming out of her mouth. I slowly moved my hands from her back to her thighs, to her ass cheeks, and then I pulled them, spread them, and placed my index finger on her special spot.

“They’re so built,” she said enthusiastically, “so mature.”

“You mean old.”

“Not old.”

“Older than me.”

“Yeah, but in such good shape.”

“I see,” I said, knowing where she was going. . . and liking it.

“And so big.”

“Big?” I asked as I entered her ass with my finger.

“Their cocks. Their balls. Wearing a Speedo. . .”

She couldn’t finish her thought. She was cumming and cumming harder than any of the previous times. My finger was deep inside her and I could feel her clenching up on it and releasing multiple times.

When she was done, all orgasms finally brought to fruition and her body exhausted, she said to me, “That last orgasm, it felt just like I was riding that boogie board. It felt like I was riding that wave, topless, the sea carrying me, lifting me, thrilling me, covering me with spume and salt and sun.”

“Did you cum when you were out there?”

“I think I might have, a little bit.”

“You really are a nymph, fucked by Poseidon himself.”

Writing Down Lo

Posted on June 9, 2019 by Lola Down

What does it mean to be an “underground” author in the age of the internet?

Lately I’ve been reading a lot of and about Charles Bukowski. Largely ignored for most of his life, he submitted his rough, distinctly “low-brow” poetry to independent and small press journals. Through these he gained an “underground” following that slowly grew by word of mouth until other independent and small press publishing houses printed his works in book form for that “underground” fan base. Bukowski’s work caught the eye of other writers and musicians, mostly in the L.A. and San Francisco areas, until eventually he caught on nationally and even internationally.

But in today’s media world, what does it mean to be an “indie” author or to have an “underground” following?

This indie author, whom you are now reading, dear valued patron, has a substantial following, or, shall I say, a much larger following than I ever imagined would sprout from my initial blog posts about Lola. As I have explained in various interviews elsewhere, this compulsion, which borders on graphomania, came into being because, after a few months with Lo, I discovered that there was almost no literature out there about being in a relationship with a nymphomaniac. Since no one else was writing about it, I figured I’d toss my hat in the ring and give a first-person account of what it’s like – the proverbial trials and tribulations as well as the orgasms and titillations.

Before I knew it, I was suddenly gaining a following and garnering the praise and accolades of other fellow sex-bloggers. Women were sending me fan mail and nudes of themselves, much to the consternation of Lo. Men and women were writing to Lo and sending her all sorts of salacious selfies, much to her lurid enthusiasm.

The Beautiful Faye Daniels getting off to Lola Down

Our subscriptions and unique visits to our blog went up and soon we were being featured on sites like Bustle and Top Sex Blogger lists.

I compiled various stories into books and those sold swiftly. And now, today, we have over 20,000 followers on our various media outlets.

However much those numbers might dwarf the reach and following of a Bukowski back in the day, with the potential of today’s technology, that seems far less impressive than it would have been when the only way to get your writing in front of a reader was through the mimeograph machine.

Are you, dear confessional confidant, part of an underground audience? Does it even make sense to speak of such in today’s complex and multilevel media ecosystem? Or is “underground” just a term that is used retrospectively to describe a core following of people that read a certain author before he or she hit the mainstream? Is it something that can only be applied with hindsight?

I don’t know the answers to these questions and I suppose, on some level, it doesn’t matter since I write about what I love and I love what I write about – Lo. As long as the love is good, I feel the writing will be good as well. And though the letters and gifts from the readers are flattering and the money (what little there is) earned from the writing is appreciated, what matters most is that I really enjoy doing what I’m doing.

Accessory to a Masturbator

Posted on May 26, 2019 by Lola Down

I was asleep, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. It was 4:45 in the a.m. and I was stirred from my slumber by the sonorous buzz of Lo’s vibrator, the rhythmic rattle of the bed, and the blue glow illuminating her face that was so contorted with a look of singular focus and intensity that I thought I was seeing a ghost. She was lying on her tum, both hands buried under the covers and under her body, the phone propped up on a pillow about six inches in front of her. From the sound of the Hitachi’s hum and the shaking of the bed, I deduced that she was working her clit with the Magic Wand and her puss with a dildo, leaving no hands free.

I opened one eye first and, upon seeing her apparition, I surprised myself with my ability to remain inconspicuous. I didn’t stir. I tried to give no hint that I was, in fact, awake – inconsiderately propelled out of my torpor. I saw her struggle to keep the pleasure points stimulated while simultaneously fumbling through her phone for images.

Acutely aware that no mortal would be able to withstand the auto-erotic stimuli that Lo was producing, I announced my awakening by asking Lo, “Can I help you?”

I was hoping she would be grateful if I would get behind her, replacing her dildo, freeing up one hand so she could scroll through the photos. But no.

“Yeah,” she said, not surprised and unconcerned that I was awake, “swipe left.”

I did as she commanded. I looked at her phone and there were pics of men, women, couples – all getting off to her photos. As she gazed at each image, she took in the content, and then said, “Swipe.”

She was demanding, insistent, and a tad rude about it. But she had a goal and nothing was going to get in her way – certainly not good manners.

“Swipe,” she said. I did as told. Another photo of a guy jacking to her pics.

“Swipe.” A photo of a woman jilling to Lo.

“Swipe.” A picture of a couple; the woman gives the guy a blowjob as Lo’s image is on the computer in front of them.

“Swipe.” A man with what looks to be a 12 inch cock. He holds it with two hands as if wielding it like a weapon. I hear Lo whisper, “Fuck.” She scrunched up her legs under her like an inchworm. The bed rattled. It’s a big, heavy, solid bed. It takes a lot for it to rattle.

Lo said, “Fuck!” Louder this time. More angry almost. I heard the Hitachi click into high gear. Lo squeezed her eyes closed tightly.

“FUCK!!!” she called out. I heard the dildo shoot out of her followed by the sounds of her geyser gushing onto the bed. She convulsed, clutching the bed sheets, burying her head in the pillow and screaming at the top of her lungs: “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!”

Then silence. Peace. Stillness.

She struggled to lift her head. When she did, she looked at me. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“You ok?” I asked.

She nodded, a little ashamed.

“Feel better?”

She nodded again.

“Ready to sleep?”

She nodded a third time.

I pulled her head to my chest where she rested it comfortably. One wet leg was lying flat on the bed nest to my leg. She lifted the other wet leg and placed it over my legs, parallel to her arm which reached around my chest. She was wrapped around me like a marsupial clinging to a tree. I felt her puss still slippery and perhaps ejaculating a dribble more like a leaky faucet on my hips.

I kissed her forehead and said, “Sleep.” There was no need. I could tell by her breathing that she was already in dreamland.

Meanwhile, my cock was rock hard as the first light of dawn began to illuminate the windows.

Caught

Posted on May 23, 2019 by Lola Down

Lo came home from work late that night. I had already eaten dinner and was lying on the couch engaging in my favorite illicit pastime while Lo’s away, watching “SMILF.” She walked in just as Frankie Shaw was engaging in a self-pleasure solo session, which isn’t all that coincidental, given how often she does that in the show. (Since Frankie Shaw writes and directs the series, I think that she secretly wishes to be a porn star.)

Lo stood next to the couch looking down at me, judging hard.

“What?”

“You know what,” she said, accusatorily.

“I was just. . .”

“I don’t care what you were just. Turn it off. If you want to see a sexy woman engaged in sex-for-one, then get in the bedroom. I’ll be there filling my snatch full of fun.”

I shut off the episode and met Lo in the bedroom where she was on the bed, legs spread, dildos laid out next to her like a surgeon’s tray of scalpels, forceps, and clamps. She had her phone in her left hand.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I call it my ‘in box.’ It likes to be filled.”

I didn’t know if she meant what she was looking at on her phone or her beautiful mons pubis, which at the moment she was about to penetrate with her long, red, double-ended dildo.

I removed my clothes and sat in the bed next to her, vying for her attention. She was busy reading something. I inquired.

“I’m reading about my friend and blogger, Nero Black. His wife caught him about to masturbate.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” she said, easing the dildo into her tight taco. “His wife loves to read erotica and masturbate, but she never lets him get in on the goods.”

“How does he know her reading habits?”

“He has access to her Kindle subscription and sees what she downloads.”

“Oh.”

“And he’s hard-up as a result.”

“I bet you find that an open invitation to flirt.”

“Who wouldn’t? Anyhow, the other night he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his pants and boxers around his ankles, his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, when she unexpectedly walked into the bedroom.”

“Uh-oh. And?”

“And she ignored him! She acted like she didn’t even see it.”

“And that gets you off?”

“No, what gets me off is imagining that the porn she reads is our blog and that the porn he was about to wank to was my photos.”

She dropped the phone and lay on her back to continue the fantasy.

“Did you ever get caught?” I asked her.

“Caught? Doing what?”

“You know, jillin’ it.”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No.”

“Not by any of your previous boyfriends?”

“Look, it’s not something I hide. If they found me jillin’ off, then I kept on going. So it’s not like ‘getting caught.’ It’s more like putting on a show.”

And put on a show she did, without ever offering to provide me with any sweet relief. Punishment for my “infidelity” watching Frankie Shaw.

The Porn Identity

Posted on May 17, 2019 by Lola Down

“You are beautiful. Your eyes are beautiful. Your mouth is beautiful. Your breasts are beautiful. Your cunt is beautiful.”

I was reading a message Lo received on her phone from an admirer of the blog.

“A regular Shakespeare, that one,” I said.

“I think it’s sweet,” she responded, as her left hand began to fondle her pussy lips under the covers.

“Sweet?! He left out your hair, your nose, your neck, your shoulders, your tum, your ass, your legs, your feet, and your toes!”

“I’m sure he was going to get there,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Can I get there?” I asked, sounding a bit desperate for affection, or her attention.

“Get where?” she asked, playing with me.

“Anywhere. Between your legs, ideally.”

“Let’s see where this goes,” she said about her internet friend, unfortunately, and not about my bid for her caress.

“I know where this goes,” I said, putting her hand on my hard rod. I was hard because her internet friend had sent a slew of photos of himself jacking off to her pics and cumming all over them. She looked good in the sexy photos.

“Daddy,” she said, protesting, “I’m busy trying to please my loyal fans.”

“I don’t mind, as long as you do it while spreading your legs.”

“I’m spreading the love.”

“Can you spread the love wide enough for me to get in on it?”

“Your pussy looks pretty and gorgeous,” wrote another fan.

“It is pretty, gorgeous, wet and waiting to be filled,” she wrote back.

“Me, me!” I said, “Pick me.”

“Calm down, Daddio,” she said, full of vanity fed by her fans’ flattery.

“Tell me more about you,” wrote another internet correspondent.

“Read the books,” typed Lo, “There’s too much to tell and too many people to tell it to.”

“You’re hard, girl,” responded the inquirer.

“Funny, everyone tells me I’m easy,” quipped Lo, “and that makes them hard.”

“I love your stories,” wrote one female fan.

“H.H. writes. I inspire,” wrote Lo to her.

“Do you inspire with your body?”

“And my wit.”

“I’m inspired right now!” I said to Lo as I grabbed my cock firmly. “They all are cumming to you. Can I cum to you?”

“Cum to, on, in, with, over, under, around, beside – I provide the pussy. You pick the preposition,” she said, dismissively.

I got up on my knees and stood over her, jacking my cock.

“Just don’t cum on my phone,” she said as she continued to scroll through her contacts.

She continued to fondle herself beneath me for a while before she said, “Daddio, lie down next to me. I’ll help you.”

I lay down and she grabbed me by my shaft. “I’m your righthand man,” I said as she jacked me off with her right and scrolled with her left.

“My wife is nothing like you,” wrote one desperate, sad husband.

“You two should read our blog together. It would open up her mind. . . and pussy.”

“I could never suggest it,” he wrote, “she’d freak!”

“But you like it?” asked Lo.

“God yes,” he sighed through the medium of type.

“Tell me what a young, sexy, slutty person such as myself does for you.”

“I’d love to eat your yummy, sloppy, used, cum-filled holes,” he wrote.

“Another bard!” I opined sarcastically.

“Shut up and cum,” commanded Lo as she tugged more aggressively.

“Are you in a rush?” I asked.

“Both hands are full,” she said, “leaving nothing for my snatch.”

“I’ll happily fill that gap.”

“You stay right where you are,” she ordered.

“Has she ever caught you jacking off?” wrote Lo to her married man.

“No. It would be a big deal if she did. It would be an even bigger deal if she caught me jacking off to you and not to porn.”

“I am porn,” protested Lo.

“I mean, it’s one thing to get off to anonymous, vacuous, impersonal, professionally produced porn and it’s quite another thing to get off to you.”

“That’s more like it,” responded Lo.

“That’s it, I’m getting up and out of bed,” I said.

“But nooooo.”

“Yes. You’re just treating my cock like it a joystick to your favorite video game.”

“A game I always win.”

She continued stroking.

“Are you into length or girth?” asked her internet interloper.

“I’m into cock. And cock gets into me.”

“Once again, I must protest!” I said. “You’ve got a very capable, compatible, and coveted cock right here, but you’re not letting it into you!”

“What, ole man, my right hand isn’t enough for you?”

“Not when you’re teasing those guys about how fast and loose you like to play.”

A new fan chimed in, “I have to stop sinning. I’m religious, that’s why I can’t go on doing this.”

“Sex is spiritual. And I’m a sex goddess. Worship at my alter,” replied Lo.

“Now you’re offering theology lessons?” I chided.

“No. Just encouraging them to be good semenarians.”

“That was terrible. Low hanging fruit,” I replied.

She cupped my testicles and said, “Very low hanging.”

“Oh, does your wit never cease?!”

Now she squeezed my balls to show me that I had better be careful about mocking her.

Another woman asked Lo if she liked taboo tales. To which Lo responded, “How taboo are we talking here?”

The woman said she was into watersports and bestiality.

Lo wrote back, “Let’s knot.”

“Don’t you mean. . . oooooh, I get it,” I said.

“Woof!” she said to me.

The woman, whose name was Mila Beijne., went on to tell a little story.

I was a model a few years back and after doing a shoot I was talking a bit with the photographer, the lighting guy and his assistant. They invited me to their home. I trusted them and liked them. We were all horny and I was willing, I admit. At the photographer’s home we had some drinks and then they slowly undressed me. They got naked too. They were all good looking men and one was really hung. They kissed me everywhere and started fucking me in my mouth, pussy, and ass. I was very horny. After quite a long time, they changed positions, each taking a different hole. Then they rotated again and fucked me a long time again till I was exhausted. They filled me up in every place they could. But the fun was not over yet. One put me on the floor and the other started urinating over me. Then the other two joined in. It was a lot and all over my body and in my long hair. There was no shower, so it was a special experience driving home. It was my first time doing that and I liked how the act showed their dominance over me.

I could see Lo getting increasingly more excited as she read the short little story from Mila. She quickly wrote back, “Yeah, HH does that to me. I love it. Being below him, feeling his warm stream flow over my back and butt.”

“We haven’t done that in a while,” I reminded her.

She ignored me because another fan had written to her. This guy was old. I mean, like twenty years older than I and I’m in my 50’s! His name was Bob and he wrote:

Hi Lola, and thank you! You are an inspiration to me. I hope you can give me some advice.
I’m in my 70’s and I’ve been in a relationship for over 25 years. No passion or sex for the last 20 years. I’m at a loss as it has become impossible to talk about it with her. I’ve made the mistake of combining our lives and living situations this whole time. It has become all about her for the last several years. I feel I’m too old to begin another relationship with a woman, yet I still admire all women and all that I see on your blog. I’ve even become curious about men as I feel that may be the only way to explore my unresolved sexual fantasies. Yet I’m still conflicted as I long for an intimate relationship that I’ve missed in my life.

Do you have any suggestions??

Lola wrote back, “To tell you the truth, Bob, I’m just good wanking material, but I’m not a sex coach or a sex therapist. You might want to check out one of these trained professionals to get some expert advice on having more sex with spirit.” She provided a link. Then she added, “But if you’re looking for a real hotwife, cum to me.”

“What?!” I said to her, shocked that she’d even offer that to him.

She ignored me and typed, “I have a very soft spot for old married men whose wives no longer have sex with them. Would you like to see it?”

Of course he said yes. Lo sent him a naughty pic of the place between her legs that she was denying to me.

“Lo, that’s just cruel!” I said.

“What? Soon you’re going to be that old and you’d want the same from me. Wouldn’t you?”

“What’s cruel is that I’m that old man who is being denied right now!”

“If what I’m giving you isn’t good enough, then take matters into your own hands,” she said.

As she said it, another married man was singing her praises in a message that read, “I’ve come to worship your holy holes.”

“See,” she said, “I’ve got fans who know how to woo me.”

“Woo you? They worship you!”

“What’s the difference?”

After some flirtatious back-and-forth, Lo asked to see a pic of the man’s wife.

He asked why she wanted to see that and Lo responded, “I like to see who I’m beating out when guys are beating off to me.”

The guy sent a photo. His wife was beautiful. But apparently she lacked the ‘personality’ of Lo. He wanted to know more about Lo and he asked her questions.

“I’m like an open book, there for anyone to read,” she responded, “You just have to know where to find me. Are you familiar with the Dewey Decimal system?”

“Like, in the library?”

“Yeah.”

“So, I can find you in my local library?”

“If only,” wrote Lo, “I’m indexed under XXX.”

“As in 30?” he wrote with a winkface emoji. “Still pretty young.”

“Pretty, young, and slutty. I’ll tell you what, you can virtually finger my folios at: mysexlifewithlola.com,” she said, “and you can also buy the books there. I suggest you get a few copies of each and donate the extras to your local library so everyone can spread my centerfold for free.”

As Lo was typing, she guided my cock to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip. She looked up at me as her hand continued to glide back and forth from the base to her mouth. I began to cum and she hungrily held me in place so as not to spill a drop. I was so worked up that I couldn’t control my convulsions. I began breathing deep, heavy breaths. Lo looked up at me and said, “What?! Are you having a stroke?”

When I finally managed to catch my breath, I looked down at her and said, “Yeah, I’m having a stroke. A really good stroke.”

Lo wrote a final line to her fans: “Good night all you kinky sexy rogues. Dream of me in your debauched nocturnal thoughts.”

She put her phone down, grabbed her Hitachi, lay back, shut her eyes, and began vibrating until she was the one violently convulsing, squirting, and gasping for air.

When she was done and had removed the Magic Wand from between her legs, she grabbed my hand and placed it on her bare pussy for me to feel how wet she was. She’s proud that she can turn on the tap almost at will.

“Pull my pussy lips, Daddy,” she said. I stretched them. “Harder.” I pulled more. “Harder Daddy,” she complained.

“Lo, if I pull them any further they’ll be down to your knees.”

“Try it,” she said. She likes the pain or pleasure.

As I pulled I asked her, “What were you thinking about when you came?”

“I think about you.”

This line from her was as false as Marlow telling Kurtz’s betrothed that Kurtz’s last words were her name.

“OK, that’s enough of that,” I said, calling bullshit. “What did you really think about?”

“I think about you,” she said. “And I think about cock. I think about a lot of cock.”

“That’s it?”

“And pussy.”

I gave up there knowing that the litany of licentious thoughts could go on endlessly. I sat silently and she mistook my silence for judgment.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be me!” she blurted out defensively.

“Oh yeah, you’ve got it so hard,” I said sarcastically.

“I wish,” she said even more sarcastically as she lifted up my flaccid member in her hand.

“You know,” I said, “your porn persona and your personality are not consistent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“All those people out there thinking you’re a nymphomaniac, thinking that I am so inundated with your pussy that I barely can find a moment’s peace, yet the reality is that you denied me just now.”

“There’s no inconsistency.”

“How not?”

“Because I know you’re going to write about this and so it will be part of my porn persona.”

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Orgasms

Posted on May 6, 2019 by Lola Down

My good friend John from Seattle and his three sons (ages twelve through eighteen) came over to visit while they had winter break. They were in our town looking at colleges for the oldest and enjoying a bit of vacation – skiing, museums, historical sites. I hadn’t seen John for a couple of years and I was glad that, instead of booking a hotel, he asked to stay with us for the four days they were here. I suppose I should have known, however, that having all that testosterone under one roof would drive Lo wild.

It’s hard to keep Lo’s libido under wraps in the best of circumstances, but fill the house with four male guests, three of whom need to sleep in the living room, and, well, keep on reading.

One of the days that John and the boys were visiting, Lola came home from teaching her night class at the local community college where she has been guest lecturing on sex and sexuality in the Woman’s Studies department. She walked in the door in her knee-high black leather boots with the tall heels and her hip-hugging tight red dress. She looked. . . voluptuous. She said a quick hello and then grabbed a glass of Cabernet and joined us in the living room where the boys were sitting, playing games or texting on their smart phones or iPads, and John and I were quietly talking.

“I’m so disgusted!” Lo began.

“What? What happened? Did class not go well?” I inquired.

“I know it sounds ridiculous for a woman in her twenties to say it, but honestly, kids these days!”

“What happened?” asked John.

The boys turned their attention to Lo. Or, rather, they had looked up from their blue-glowing technology the moment Lo walked in the door and now Lo had their rapt attention. She sat on the couch and said, “Not that many years ago, when I was an undergrad, I wouldn’t have even thought of texting during class. I mean, yes, I would be on my laptop and not always taking notes, but isn’t it a sign of disrespect to openly text during a class?”

“Don’t you have a policy against it or something?” I asked.

“Yes, of course I do! But these two guys in the front row – they are on their phones the whole time. They’re texting and even passing their phones back-and-forth between them. I’ve said something to them privately. I’ve called them out before the whole class. Now I’m done. I’ll just fail them.”

“It would suck to fail at sex,” John quipped.

“You teach about sex?” asked his middle boy.

“It’s more than just sex – it’s about consent, the media, law, intersectionality,” Lo began, but she lost his attention after the word sex.

We talked a bit more and then the boys asked if they could watch some TV. To my great surprise, they wanted to watch “Gilmore Girls” on Netflix.

“Really?” I asked. “That show was popular like twenty years ago.”

“Let’s be real, it never was popular,” said Lo.

“You used to watch it?” I asked.

“On occasion.”

“So why do you boys want to see it? Isn’t it like a chick-lit show?”

“HH, you’re so gender-conforming. Not everything breaks down easily along gender-roles,” said Lo sarcastically, with a hint of irony in her eyes as she spoke to me.

“Why don’t you let the boys answer?” I shot back.

“Haven’t you heard,” asked one of them, “they’re bringing ‘Gilmore Girls’ back.”

“What?” I asked.

“Yeah, like ‘Arrested Development’ and ‘The X-Files,’ it’s making a comeback on Netflix.”

“Oh.” I said, learning something new, “but that doesn’t explain the appeal to you,” I said to the boys.

“It’s a good show,” they said as they clicked it on. “Watch and you’ll see.”

We watched a couple of episodes together as we ate some Chinese food we had had delivered.

Around midnight we went to bed and, in the bedroom, Lo removed her tight red dress revealing that all she had on under it was her bra.

“No panties?” I asked.

“I can’t take the chance of panty-lines in this dress – not with a room full of students watching my every move.”

“Don’t you think that that can be a bit distracting?”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she slipped out of her bra and stood naked, looking at herself in the mirror.

“You know what I mean. You’re just fishing for a compliment.”

She batted her eyelashes at me and asked, “Aren’t I just the sort of bait that would lure compliments?”

“That you are.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Don’t you think that the class will be studying your every curve if you wear dresses like that?”

“Like what?”

“Let’s just say that a dress like that on a body like yours should be enough to distract anyone from their phones.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said disingenuously.

“Haven’t you ever read ‘The Scarlet Letter’?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s The Scarlet Letter of dresses my dear.”

“So, you give my dress an ‘A’?”

“Ugh.”

“What do you think of me without my dress?”

“Can’t you tell?” I asked, displaying for her my member standing at attention.

“Though your sign language is easy enough to interpret, tell me. I like your words.”

“I think your breasts look pretty and perky.”

“Go on,” she said as she pulled and twisted her nipples, running her fingers over them to make them even more erect.

“And your shoulders are incredibly strong and sexy.”

“More.”

This went on for some time with me complimenting the small of her back, her smooth legs, her elegant feet. Then she said, “You haven’t even mentioned my butt. I mean, even I want my butt. If I could be with me, I would fuck my butt.”

Finally she got into bed and said, “Don’t you want to fuck my butt?”

“That I do!”

I got behind her as she was on all fours and she licked her finger and ran it round her special spot as if pointing out the target. “Go ahead, Daddio, but be slow and gentle.”

As I began to penetrate her, she moaned aloud.

“Lo, shhhh. We have guests.”

I ran it in deeper. She moaned louder and said, “Gentle!”

“Right. Now Shhhh.”

I lodged myself deep inside her extremely tight spot and she said, “Stay right there. Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now let me do the work.”

I remained still as she lunged forward and back, slowly at first, but increasing in speed like a locomotive beginning to pull away from the station.

“You know, Lo,” I whispered, “I have a distinct image in my mind.”

“And what’s that?” she said as she was slowly churning away.

“Those two boys sitting in the front row of your class, showing each other the texts on their phones that you told us about. . .”

“Yeah?”

“I like to think that they found your photos on the internet and now they’re looking at them as you teach.”

“RED!” she said, referring to our fantasy rule of The Raunchy Game. Red means, nope, you just crossed a line. “That’s my worst nightmare,” she said, “stop right there.”

Despite her words, I could feel her orgasm beginning to surface. Not wanting to lose the moment, I said, “Well, I can also imagine them sitting in the front row surreptitiously taking your picture with their phones or their computers or something and then saving the pics for later and jacking off to them in their dorm room.”

Lo was coaxing the orgasm and sliding on-and-off my cock, forward-and-back. “Yessss,” she moaned. “Do you think they jack off to the pics together?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I said. “I bet they do it every night after class.”

“My picture’s worth a thousand orgasms,” she said as she came, quite loudly.

When she was done, the two of us were lying on our backs looking up into the darkness of the room. “Can I ask you a weird question?” I asked.

“I love your weird questions.”

“When we were watching ‘Gilmore Girls’ tonight, did you sense something odd about it?”

“Besides the fact that it’s always Friday, the town has five people that live in it, Emily and Richard Gilmore are cliché cutouts of ‘rich people’ and that every problem on the show is a privileged white-person problem?”

“Yeah, besides all that.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Rory has these two boyfriends, Jess and Dean, and what are they? – sixteen, seventeen?”

“I guess,” she answered, lying on her back, her eyes closed.

“And each of them keeps ending up in scenes alone with her mother, Lorelai, who’s all of thirty-two.”

“What are you saying?” Lo asked, her fingers clearly moving up and down under the covers between her legs.

“I’m saying that I think there’s some subtext going on.”

“Fuck me and tell me,” she insisted, spreading her legs as she lay on her back.

I got between her wet thighs and entered her. I held her tightly and whispered, “Lorelai was a MILF before that term was invented.”

Never one to miss an opportunity to correct me, she said, “Darling, I think MILF was invented then. You just hadn’t heard about it until much later.”

“Whatever,” I said, “the point is, that’s exactly what she’s supposed to be and then these strapping young men have all these one-on-one scenes with her in the house, alone. Don’t you think they’re suggesting something?”

“I’d like to see that play out,” she said as her breath quickened. “When I reach my thirties, I hope I’m a MILF.”

“Darling, you don’t have kids and you’re already a NILF. A nymphomaniac that I’d. . .”

“Do you think that’s how they see me?” she asked, ambiguous as to whom she meant, but it didn’t matter, she was already cumming.

Successful in my duty, I gave myself permission to climax with her, but, sensing my imminent orgasm, she said, “No! Don’t cum!” She insisted that I save it just as I was about to reach the pinnacle of my performance.

I kept on keeping on in her.

“I said no!” she yelled, pulling her body away.

“What the fuck?!” I said in an angry whisper, very frustrated, very aggrieved. Whereas I am frequently all for edging, keeping my Chi to myself, sometimes I need a release and releasing in Lo is the best release.

I turned over, lay flat on my back on the bed, tried to catch my breath as Lo, who had already cum twice, grabbed my member, licked it clean, and then kissed her way up to my mouth.

“Why can’t I cum?” I asked.

“Don’t you know by now?”

“No.”

“I like you to stay hard because you never know when I’m going to need your dick again.”

“Oh, I know all right.”

“You do?”

“Yes. You always need it.”

“That’s true. So, keep it cocked and ready so that it is fully loaded at a moment’s notice.”

Sure enough, she needed it again later that night. She woke me from a sound sleep as she was watching some MILF porn on her phone.

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

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