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 Likes Little Penis Porn
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.
Self-Care
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.
“You are beautiful.
Your eyes are beautiful. Your
mouth is beautiful. Your breasts are
beautiful. Your cunt is beautiful.”
Lola Down, spread wide
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.
Mila asked to be included.Mila B. through the years
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.”
Lo
got me up from my slumber. Well, part of
me was already up since she wouldn’t let me climax earlier in the night. She had been switching off watching episodes
of “Gilmore Girls” and MILF porn since I had nodded off. Now she was ready for a second helping and
she had been coaxing my cock to an upright and locked position prior to my
regaining consciousness.
“Daddy,”
she whispered sweetly, leaning over so take my meat in her mouth.
“Yes
Lo?”
“Can
I tell you what I was thinking about?”
“What’s
that, Lo?”
She
took a few more licks and then she lay down next to me, her fingers stroking
between her legs. That’s when she told
me what she had been viewing.
“I
imagine,” she began, “Jess and Dean arrive at Lorelai’s house at the same time,
each thinking that he’s going on a date with Rory. When they meet on the porch, each carrying a
bouquet of flowers, they stare each other down and then exchange some snide
words. Rory hears the voices and comes
to the door.” At this point, Lo began
acting out the scene. A little known
talent of Lo’s is that she’s a great actor, just not in front of an
audience.
Rory
– What is going on?!
Jess
– Why don’t you tell us? I thought we had a date.
Rory
– You and Dean?
Dean
– This is no time for jokes, Rory. You
and I had a date tonight.
Rory
– Wait here.
Rory
runs upstairs to Lorelai.
Rory
– I’ve got a problem that makes Elizabeth Bennet look positively quaint.
Lorelai
– Really Rory? I can’t find my coffee
maker. And you think you got troubles.
Rory
– You’re looking in your bedroom. Did
you try the kitchen?
Lorelai
– Of course I tried the kitchen. That’s
why I’m in the bedroom.
Rory
– Did you bring coffee to bed?
Lorelai
– Maaaaaybeeee.
Rory
– Why don’t you just go to Luke’s and get his coffee?
Lorelai
– And bring him to bed?
Rory – No! Anyway, can you help me or not?
Lorelai
– Not until I have my coffee.
Rory
– (Sitting down on a pile of laundry.
She picks up dirty panties and a bra and discovers a coffee maker.) Here!
Lorelai
– You are destined for Harvard!
They
walk downstairs.
Rori
– . . . and so I guess I told both of them I’d go out with them tonight.
Lorelai
– Nothing wrong with a ménage à
trois.
Rori
– Mom!
Lorelai
– What? I’m just saying, if it’s good
enough for Lou Salomé, it’s good enough
for you.
Rori
– Her name was Lou Salomé, but you know
everyone called her Loose.
Lorelai – Rory! You know I’ve taught you not to slut-shame!
Rori – Can we get back to the. . .
Suddenly they hear thuds from the porch. They run to the front door. Jess and Dean are throwing punches and
wrestling. Lorelai separates them by
getting between them.
Lorelai – Hey! Hey!
Hey! Calm down!
Both of the boys are roughed up and Jess is bleeding
from the nose and Dean has a black eye.
Rori runs to get a towel and ice.
She returns and gives the ice to Dean and applies to the towel to Jess’
nose.
Dean – Oh, so you take care of him and just give me
a cold sack of ice?!
Rori – He’s bleeding!
Dean – And I have a black eye!
Jess – And I’ll give you another.
Dean – Oh yeah?
Lorelai holds down Dean while Rory holds down
Jess.
Rory – I’ve had enough of both of you!
Rory runs off into the night.
Lorelai and the boys go inside the house and they
sit in the kitchen while Lorelai brews coffee.
Lorelai – I can’t believe you two. You act like cavemen. Don’t you know how to treat a woman?
Jess – [Ashamed.]
No. My mom was never around.
Lorelai – Oh yeah.
I forgot sweetheart. [She puts
her hands through his hair.]
Dean – I was just. . . well, I guess I just am so
damn jealous.
Lorelai – It’s not jealousy, Dean, it’s
hormones. You’re all backed up with
testosterone. When’s the last time you
jacked it?
Dean – Wwwwwwhat?
Lorelai – You know: chocked the chicken, spanked the
monkey, beat the meat.
Dean – I, I, I. . .
Lorelai – You see, you’re just too uptight. You have to learn to relax a little bit. [She runs her hand down his chest to his
crotch.] Look, I think I know how we can
find a way for the two of you to work together.
Follow me.
The three of them go up to the bedroom. Lorelai strips naked and pulls down their
jeans. She positions Jess in front of
her and Dean behind her and bends over.
The two of them are going at it with her and she’s about to cum when in
walks Luke.
Luke – What the hell is going on here?!
Lorelai – [With a mouth full of Jess’ cock.] I can explain.
Luke – Explain?!
Rory said you’d probably need me to break up a fight and make some
coffee.
At that point Lorelai positions Jess below her so
his cock is in her puss with Dean’s.
Lorelai – Come here, Luke. If you’re hung anything like Jess, then – I
never thought I’d say this – the coffee can wait.
When Lo was done acting all this
out, she pulled out her two dildos, putting both in her puss and taking me in
her mouth, going at me like never before.
I finally came deep in her throat and she came in convulsions that shot
out the two dildos followed by a cascade of girly juice.
“Holy shit!” she said.
“Holy shit is right,” I said. “You deserve an Academy Award for best
writing, direction, acting, and best picture.”
It was one of
those strange April nights when the temperature drops twenty degrees from the daytime
high of 68, the wind rustles up the new buds on the trees outside, and from out
of the darkness, lighting, thunder, and downpours fill the sky. Lola couldn’t sleep. When I got to bed she said, “I’ve tried
everything. I’ve tried meditation,
masturbation, guided meditation, guided masturbation. . .”
“Wait. What is ‘guided masturbation’?”
“Oh,
well, I called up a friend and asked him to tell me how he wants me to
masturbate,” she said as if it were no big deal.
“You
did?”
She
nodded her head in affirmation and pouted saying, “But it didn’t help.”
“I
bet it helped him. Why didn’t you call
me?”
“You
were working hard, Daddy.”
“So?”
I asked, frustrated by the thought that she’d rather hear inappropriate
instructions from one of her suitors than from me.
“Are
you still hard at work?” she asked seductively, rubbing my crotch to gauge my
state of arousal.
“Work
hard, play hard,” I said, as I pulled out my manhood for her to see.
She grabbed it while licking her
lips.
“You
know I’m not just a sex organ,” I said.
“I
think your brain is a sex organ,” she replied as she went down on me.
“In
that case, I have a very large sex organ.”
She
interrupted her activity to look up at me and say, “And growing larger.”
“I’m
not that big,” I said.
“I
meant your ego.”
“I’ll
have you know, I’m very humble.”
“Looks
to me, you have a lot to be humble about,” she said caustically.
“What
do you mean?”
She
pulled down the sheets to reveal her huge horse-cock dildo on the bed next to
her, still glistening.
“I’m
so big, wide, and wet that I wouldn’t feel any bit of you.”
“Care
to test that hypothesis?”
“I’m stretched to my
limit.”
“You have a limit? That’s news to me!”
“‘Limit’ is a flexible term. Like ‘full’ or ‘fucked.’”
“Oh, so it’s elastic?”
“Yeah, it can be used in many
different ways.”
“Depends on who’s using it.”
“Right. It takes a lot of abuse, but it is never
exhausted.”
“Never wears out.”
“Right.”
“Like this terrible pun.”
“What pun?”
“Are we still talking about ‘limit’?”
“I wasn’t, were you?”
“Darling, you certainly do push the
limits.”
“What limits?”
“All of them. But the real question is, why did you call on
some other guy for your ‘guided masturbation’ when you could have called upon
me?”
“So many married men turn to me for
sweet release. I’m a goddess of pussy. I answer to the call of depravity.”
“But you called him!”
“Well, I saw that he had posted a
pic of a cumtribution he had made for another girl and he wrote, ‘For my
beautiful cum slut.’ I called him to
remind him that I am his beautiful
cum slut.”
“You think you’re everyone’s
beautiful cum slut.”
“Well, aren’t I?”
“Everyone but mine, I guess.”
“Oh,
Daddy,” she said, still holding my cock firmly in her hand, “would you make a
cumtribution for me? Would you jack it
to my photos and cum all over them?”
“Lo,
why would I do that when I have you right here, in the flesh?”
“To
show me your unfailing love.”
“Lo,
I write thousands upon thousands of pages of poetry for you, but you’d rather I
grab my masculine member and stroke it until I ejaculate a hot mess over your
image?”
“I
call it giving tribute to my icon.”
“Because
you’re a goddess of pussy.”
“Now
you’re turning me on!”
“Those
are your words.”
“Well,
you feel that way, don’t you?”
“How
could I not, darling. It is the truth.”
“So
you’ll make an offering at my virtual alter?”
“If
you want me to, I will.”
“Now?”
“Whenever
you say.”
“No,
not now. I want you to do it when I’m
away. Now you can enter my holy temple.”
“But
I thought I wouldn’t even feel you.”
“You
won’t and I won’t feel you, but why should that stop us from fucking?”
I
got between her legs and entered her. She
was right – it was like a mere mortal entering the pearly gates. However, that only made it more alluring for
me. She could tell I was getting turned
on.
“Cum inside me,” she said.
“Put your fingers inside you, right where you want me
to cum.”
She inserted almost her whole fist along over my cock
and I could feel her fingering her G-spot.
“There,” she said, “right there.”
I came and came with force all over her fingers. She gripped my cock with her hand inside her
and milked it for every drop.
When I pulled out, she said she was going to clean up. I drifted off on the bed until I heard her
calling out for God from the shower. It
startled me. I navigated the thick cloud
of steam to find her squatting on the shapely bottle of Dove shampoo, rubbing
her clit, and cumming uncontrollably.
(Do they make the bottles that shape for that purpose or did she buy that
brand because of its ergonomic contours?
The questions Lo causes me to ask.)
I disappeared into the fogbank as stealthily as I had
entered it. I went back to the bed. When she climbed in naked next to me, I held
her warm body.
“Just in time,” I said.
“Just in time for what?” she asked.
“Tomorrow is the first of May.”
“Hooray!
Hooray! It’s the first of May!”
she sung, “Outdoor fucking starts today!”
“No, silly,” I said.
“April showers.”
“Oooooh,” she said, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you see
my pink flower.”
“Me and the rest of the world.”
“A beautiful flower should not be hidden away to be
seen only by one man.”
You,
dear reader, already know that Lola is an inveterate masturbator. You also know that I am forbidden from any
onanistic activities, unless either explicitly given permission, or told to do
so as a performance for my dear Lola.
The fact that there is a gap in our respective frequencies of
masturbatory manipulation should come as no surprise to you, and writing about
it here would simply be redundant.
However,
what I do intend on explaining, or rather, complaining about, is the
fundamentally unfair masturbation gap that exists between Lola, me, and her
fans. You see, I am not allowed to
engage in solo pleasure, not even to Lola’s sexy photos, unless granted
permission by Lo herself. And she takes
so much delight in my stymied suffering and enjoys my engorged balls so much,
that she rarely gives me the green light.
But with her fans it is another story.
One might think that Lola has no say over what her admirers do in the privacy
of their own homes with her pixilated pussy.
But that is incorrect. One of
Lo’s most enjoyable pastimes is to give specific instructions to her loyal
lovers (both near and far) about exactly how they are to worship her image, pay
tribute to her form, and pleasure themselves.
One of Lo’s Long Admirers
One
adoring admirer writes to her and asks, “What’s up?” to which she replies, “If
you’re looking at my pics, then, your cock.”
She’s not wrong.
Another
writes to her and asks very politely, “Morning, Lola. How are you?” to which she replies, “Horny,
as usual. Now jack it for me.”
They
are more than eager to comply. It
matters not to them if they are at work, home, or, as Lola really likes, lying
in bed next to their sleeping wives.
A Very Happy Fan
She
commands some of them, especially the diminutively endowed guys, to go to a
lingerie store, like Victoria’s Secret, and pick out various silk, satin, and
lace panties for women. Then she
instructs them to put the panties on and jack it to her pics and cum in the
sexy, sheer, tight material – taking pics of it, of course. An even more intense kink of Lo’s is
commanding those same fabric fetish guys to steal the panties from their wives
or girlfriends in order to wear while jacking it to Lo’s photos.
Lo Loves All Her Fans, Big & Little
Those
are the lucky ones. There are some
unfortunate fellas who are stuck in cock-cages and can only enjoy Lo’s photos
without any self-pleasure.
And
then there are the women. It is such a
complement to Lo when lovely ladies from around the globe take photos of
themselves jillin’ off to her. I will
admit that I find it very flattering when the women also make a comment about
“the steamy writing,” or say, “that story made me cum five times.” It is nice to know that every once in a while
the literary seduction I work so very hard to create from the raw material of
Lo’s sexual exploits is appreciated, especially by the lonely women, the
married but unsatisfied wives, and the other sexual insatiables out there like
Lo.
A Lovely Couple – He took the pick of her getting off to Lola
There
was a time, early on, when I actually had a small cadre of female fans who
wrote to me regularly. It was, not
coincidentally, around that time that Lo took over the email and other social
media outlets, telling me, “You do the blog, I’ll spread the word.”
Reading the Blog
Spread
the word. . . yeah right! She meant,
she’ll spread her legs and then disseminate her photos across the
internet.
But I’m not complaining. I am glad that our little corner, or crotch, of the blogosphere makes so many people happy, even if it means that I must deny myself the pleasures that others get from my hotwife Lo. After all, I have to admit that I have nothing to complain about since fans and her lovers alike all tell me how lucky I am. Can’t argue there.
[In honor of all our friends, such as Cara, Hy, Catherine, and of course, Michael & Molly, who are attending Eroticon this weekend, a little fantasy of what we envision our attending it to be like. Hopefully next year.]
Drawing of Lola by nglare
“LOLA”
– her name lit up the marquee. As we
approached the theater from the street, slick from the recent rain, Lo looked
up and said, “Big, bright, beautiful, and inviting. That’s me alright!”
We
were in England for the annual Literotica convention and somehow we were the
headline event for this evening’s performances.
Lo was giddy with excitement.
Entering
the theater from the side door for performers, there was a flurry of activity
backstage. Everyone was primping and
preparing. Lo, herself, had tried on
three different outfits and five different pairs of shoes before settling on
the glittery gold sequin top, the slinky green skirt, and the flashy four-inch
heels. “Green and gold,” I said, “the
colors of money.”
We
were there to do a reading and book signing, but Lo had plans for oh so much
more than that. Her Marina Abramovic
performance-art streak was activated and she had conspired with me to put on a
show. We were to be a Penn & Teller
style duet. She’d be Penn, the showman,
and I’d be Teller, the silent sidekick. She
had her props: a little wooden lectern on which she put the book, some paints,
paint brushes, markers, and a sign. The
sign read:
Match, Vol. I – $35
Match, Vol. II – $20
Match, Vol. III – $20
Complementary with
your purchase:
Squeeze
Tease
Pull
Paint
Draw
Write
Kiss
Suck
Cum
NOT ALLOWED:
Penetration of any
sort
Photos
(Mild BDSM is ok)
All prices USD
After
the opening acts, we were introduced to a loud round of applause. I got butterflies in my stomach and I’m sure
Lo did as well. We took our places on
the otherwise empty wooden stage under the hot spotlights. I stood next to Lo at the lectern with three
stacks of books and my portable credit card swipe device plugged into my phone.
Lo
opened the books to the places she had specially chosen for this event and read
some select passages: The preface to Vol I, penned by her; the encomium to the
color red; a few poems. As she read each
passage in her sweetly seductive voice, she slowly removed first one and then
the other strap of her blouse and let it fall, revealing her breasts. She then wriggled out of both the blouse and
her skirt until she stood stark naked but for her sexy heels. The poems were read in the buff.
When
she was done the music began – selections of songs mentioned in the books. I invited the audience members who had pre-purchased
books to step up and have Lola sign them while they each took a turn participating
in one of the activities mentioned on Lo’s sign.
The
first ones in line were a bit shy and timid.
They ventured a kiss or a gentle tug on Lo’s nipples while she leaned
over to sign one of the gloss nude photographs of her in the book. A few others took up the Sharpie pen and
wrote love notes to Lo on various parts of her body. Some wrote “Slut” or “hotwife” or “cum here” with
an arrow pointing to her puss.
As
the audience saw the performance taking place, those without books were eager
to get in line and I began selling our inventory. Men took out their cocks and began stroking
as they eagerly awaited their turn in line.
Some
of them stroked it next to Lola as she signed the books and wrote cute comments
about the men’s anatomy in the margins.
The
first man to cum did so on Lo’s feet, filling up her shoes with warm jizz.
The
next man to cum had a powerful ejaculation and managed to hit Lo’s tits with remarkable
aim. He even got a bit of applause!
A
woman was in line and she gave Lo a very warm kiss on the lips and then slid
her tongue down Lo’s neck to her glazed breasts and cleaned off the previous
customer’s cumtribution.
This
performance went on for some time, until we sold out of all our books!
Unfortunately
for Lo, all of this fun foreplay was merely a tantalizing orgasm tease. She whispered in my ear and I briefly
disappeared off stage to grab Lo’s favorite toy from one of the event sponsor’s
display: The Hitachi Magic Wand. We
plugged it into an extension cord and I brought the large, white device to Lo
who proceeded to use it on her clit while sitting in a high stool. She spread her legs and, within only a few moments
filled with tension and anticipation, Lo finally gushed with an torrential
outpour of emotion, release, and fluid that covered the stage.
After
her grand finale, some stage hands appeared at Lo’s side with warm, wet towels
and they cleaned her off. One of them
gently removed Lo’s feet, one at a time, from her shoes and wiped them
down. Another person mopped the wooden
floor. Once Lo was cleaned off, she got
dressed again and we walked off the stage.
Before exiting, though, Lo took a long bow, but not to the audience, but
to the wings of the stage, thus giving the audience one last look up her
skirt.
Congratulations
were showered on Lo and me from our fellow literotica friends and authors and
we got ready for the afterparty.
The following interview was just published on the very elite blog: AuthorsInterviews by the wonderful Fiona Mcvie!
Hello and welcome to my blog, Author Interviews. My name is Fiona Mcvie.
Let’s
get you introduced to everyone, shall we? Tell us your name. What is your age?
LOLA:
Hi, my name is Lola Down. I’m in my
mid-twenties. My man, H.H., the author,
is in his mid-fifties.
Fiona:
Where are you from?
LOLA:
We’re both from the U.S. The North East
to be more specific. But that’s about as
specific as we get.
Fiona:
A little about your self (ie, your education, family life, etc.).
LOLA:
We’re both well educated with graduate degrees.
My family background is rather tattered and filled with pain. His is all American Apple Pie, so far as I
can tell, but I’m sure that there’s lots beneath the surface. He doesn’t talk much about it, so it’s a bit
of a mystery to me. We met when he was
my art history professor. I was a
freshman and 18. He was in his late
forties.
Fiona:
Tell us your latest news.
LOLA:
Latest news is that soon we will be publishing the third book in our series of Match, Cinder & Spark. The first volume, subtitled “Nymphomania and
the Single Girl,” included a lot of stories about me when I was single. The
second volume, subtitled “MORE!” included more stories. The third volume, subtitled “Writing Under
Cover,” included a story about living a double life: of normal folks by day,
and sexplorers by night. The next volume
is subtitled “Sexy Shorts” and will only be two-three page stories.
Get all of the books, hard-copy for best results.
Fiona: When and why did you begin
writing?
H.H.:
I began writing in high school. Short
stories, mostly of a sci-fi genre. In
college I tried a bit more, but it wasn’t very good. It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties,
early thirties and going through some very tough times in my personal and
professional life that I turned to writing as a form of escape, release, or
therapy. That’s when it began to go much
better.
Fiona: When did you first consider
yourself a writer?
H.H.: I never really felt like a writer and certainly never
introduced my self as such because it seemed so pretentious and false. But at a certain point I just had written so
damn much that it was undeniable that that was what I was. A tiny fraction of it had been published, but
it wasn’t until starting the blog, mysexlifewithlola.com, that I really felt
like a writer. That’s when our
readership just went up and up and people from all over the world began writing
to us saying how much the writing (and Lola) inspired them. That felt great!
Fiona: What inspired you to write your
first book?
H.H.:
After a few years of regularly writing and publishing for the blog, the
manuscript of stories was into the hundreds of thousands of words. Currently, as of today, the word count of
only the published stories is 476,472.
That doesn’t include the words in the hopper ready for publishing on the
blog, or the notes that have incomplete stories and fragments. So, even though the stores didn’t have a
narrative arc, and they were mostly a collection of stories with two main
characters in each story, I thought, this is a good way to make access to the
stories easier for people. The blog
navigation can be as confusing as it is easy, if that makes sense. I didn’t spent time shopping the manuscript
around since we already had a built-in fan base of over many thousands. Unfortunately, the first volume, Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and
the Single Girl, was rather lengthy and, in the hard-copy, we included a
lot of high-quality, glossy photos. That
shot the price really high. I didn’t
realize how expensive it would be until the project was finished. By that time, after all that work, I decided
that I was just going to publish it as is, let the buyer pay for the book. It
is a collector’s item, after all. And,
with some more work, I could publish an e-book version and sell it for
literally 1/70 the price. Unfortunately,
at the time, the technology was not available for the photos to be included in
the e-book, but that also meant that people all over the world could safely
read it in public places, like the subway or on a plane or the airport, without
fear that Lola’s pussy would suddenly pop up on the screen. And if they wanted to see Lola’s va-jay-jay,
they could always just do a Google search of mysexlifewithlola.com.
Fiona:
How did you come up with the title?
Lola: Match, Cinder & Spark – He’s the
“cinder,” that is, the fire that has passed its prime. I’m the “spark”; the catalyst that sets things
aflame. Together, we’re a match. I won’t say a perfect match, but one that is
highly combustible. . . and hot!
Fiona: Do you have a specific writing
style? Is there anything about your style or genre that you find particularly
challenging?
H.H.:
The writing usually comes very easy. It’s mostly quasi-autobiographical. Lo provides the inspiration and a lot of the
raw material for the stories and then I just take artistic liberties to craft
it into a story that has some form. But
every once in a while I try to switch it up by trying out a new narrative
style. I once wrote a story called “Fuck
Noir” and I tried, not too successfully, to adopt a detective novel narrative
voice. I was particularly fond of the
last line, but that was all Lola’s doing.
Fiona:
How much of the book is realistic and are experiences
based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
H.H.:
Like I said, almost all of the book is based upon something in our lives,
either individually or together. We take
pains to protect the innocent as well as the guilty, and I use poetic license
to intersperse scenes out of sequence in order to tell a better story, but
there’s very little there that didn’t actually happen.
Fiona: To craft your works, do you have
to travel? Before or during the process?
H.H.:
Travel provides great material. There has never been a trip that we have gone
on, either separately or together, that hasn’t produced at least one fun
story.
Fiona: Who designed the covers?
H.H.:
I once wrote a story called “How My Girlfriend Became an Amateur Internet Porn
Star” which is all about the design of the cover of our first book, Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and
the Single Girl. I had chosen some
stock photo for the cover and when Lo saw it, she freaked. “I go
on the cover. No one else. Me.” Well, from then on, I knew that any promo for
the book or the blog had to be of Lo. It
meant a lot of photo taking by me (and some sexy selfies), but it’s truly a
labor of love.
Fiona:
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
H.H.:
Love yourself. Love the one you’re
with. Love each other. And if you’re single: Love yourself and love
our blog and books.
Fiona: Are there any new authors that
have grasped your interest? Who is your
favorite writer, and what is it about their work that really strikes you?
H.H.:
There are a lot of bloggers in our blogging community whose work I really
love. Too many to name them all, but a
small sample includes: Cara Thereon of CaraThereon.com, Hyacinth of
adissolutelifemeans.com, Nilla of Vanilla Mom’s Blog, just to name a few.
Lola:
Also, lately I’ve really enjoyed TJ of The Lustful Empress, Nero Black and his
eponymous blog, and lots of writers on Medium.com, most especially MyErotica
run by Rose, and the columns by Madelaine Hanson.
Madelaine Hanson
Fiona: Outside of family members, name
one entity that supported your commitment to become a published author.
Lola:
Actually, none of our family members know about this blog. But I’d say that
Medium.com has done the most in that they pay their member authors for the
content they create based upon some mysterious formula. I’m sure that they
somehow make far more than the authors, but it’s more than other platforms
provide.
Fiona: Do you see writing as a career?
H.H.:
Outside of the erotica that I write, I have a whole host of other works under
my real name. One day, maybe after I’m dead, the truth will out and then it
will become the unenviable task of others to reconcile the “legit” writing with
the “scurrilous” works. That is, of course, if anyone cares.
Fiona: If you had to do it all over
again, would you change anything in your latest book?
H.H.:
Well the latest book is just on the cusp of being published and so I’m trying
to insure that it will be the best yet.
Fiona: Did you learn anything during the
writing of your recent book?
H.H.:
I learned how much I love Lola, not because she’s so incredibly sexy, so dirty
in her thoughts, but because she is so incredibly funny. Writing dialogue with her is so easy because
our day-to-day lives together are full of amusing banter. We like to think of
ourselves as like Nick and Nora Charles from The Thin Man movies.
Fiona:
If your book was made into a film, who would you like to play the lead?
H.H.:
Jeremy Irons. I think he is wonderful in the remake 1997 of Lolita. But he’s probably a bit old for
the part now (though he’s in great shape).
Maybe Jeff Goldblum.
Lola:
Amanda (Donaghey) George. She looks just like me. Or maybe Sasha Grey, because she looks a bit
like me and is willing to do anything.
Amanda GeorgeSasha Grey
Fiona: Any advice for other writers?
H.H.:
Never take advice from a fellow writer.
They’re all full of shit.
Fiona: Anything specific you want to
tell your readers?
I write erotica. No. Scratch that. What I really write is love poems to Lola. Really, really, really long love poems. So long that, to the untrained eye, they read like prose.
Niel Gaiman once said, “If you’re only going to write when you’re inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet,but you will never be a novelist — because you’re going to have to make your word count today, and those words aren’t going to wait for you, whether you’re inspired or not. So you have to write when you’re not inspired.” I don’t have a problem with this advice in general, but part of the problem is that when I’m not inspired, a certain detached, disinterested, distant feeling comes over me with regard to my writing. I hesitate to say “objective,” because that implies a truth to the judgment and, for the life of me, I pray that that cold view of my writing is not true.
I struggle to capture exactly the feeling I get at these moments of disenchantment, but there are a few readily available examples of how I feel about my work that I can offer. If you’ve ever seen The Big Lebowski, then you may recall the “modern interpretive dance” scene where The Dude watches his landlord, Marty, perform. It is painful and comic to watch. But it means so much to Marty. That’s certainly part of it – if Marty was an author and not a dancer.
Another analogy is thinking thoughts when very stoned as compared to reading those thoughts when sober; some crucial élan vital is missing. A third analogy is that of being naked. One can be nude with one’s lover and that can be magnificent, or one can get caught naked in public, as often happens in humiliation dreams. The difference between nude and naked is as great as the difference between consent and coercion.
Being nude is easy. Writing is not.
But then there are also times like now. Last night Lola and I went out to a party with some friends. She wore her jack-pot top that prominently displays her cleavage and she wore her tight jeans with heels. She looked good and I wasn’t the only one to notice. Most of the evening her eyes sparkled and her teeth twinkled as she chatted and laughed, throwing back her long hair and touching the arms of those she liked. She flirts. And I love seeing it. I watched her from afar and occasionally I sidled up next to her sliding my right hand over her round butt. I wanted her all evening and the longer we stayed the more I wanted her. But I’m not as young as I used to be. The witching hour approached and my energy for performance and social settings dwindled. I felt fatigued on the ride home. Lo and I were traveling in the back of a cab and she was clearly not ready for the night to end. She kissed me and reached down between my legs. She reached between her legs and she enjoyed the thrill of being just out of sight from the driver as she made small-talk with him.
We got home and I got in bed, loving her, but needing sleep. She joined me, naked, and feeling dejected by my drowsiness, pulled out her Hitachi, phone, dildo, and began her nightly bedtime ritual of self-pleasure.
In the morning I awoke before she. She was curled in the fetal position facing away from me. I was wrapped around her, holding her tightly for it was a chilly morning and we needed each other for warmth. My hand roamed over her soft skin from her shoulder down to her breast, feeling the flesh of her tum and over her round hips. I wanted her. My rod was stiff between my legs, protruding into her. She was down for the count.
Desirous of her, but respectful of her sleep, I snuck out of bed, washed up, made my coffee, and set up my little writing nest on the couch and began to compose this lustful literary tribute to her, my muse. I know that when she wakes she will be full of passion for me as I will be for her. And when I read these words to her, she will find them flattering, beautiful, and inspired. That will make up for all the disenchanted moments when I look upon this massive encomium to Lola as if written by someone else. My love, my longing, my lusty imaginings and my self-critical eye will all be aligned. All shall be well, at least until the next wave of despair, alienation, and disenchantment plumes within me. But, until then, I’ll take what I can get – of Lo and of writing.
The latest book of the stories from mysexlifewithlola.com is now on sale. Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume III – Writing Under Cover is only $9.99 for the soft-cover. This book contains 35 chapters of the sexiest, naughtiest, funniest smut since, well, since Volume II was published.
It also is replete with original erotic artwork of Lola (and H.H.) by five renowned artists. Because this volume is itself a work of art and a collectors item, unlike past versions of Match, Cinder & Spark, this one will NOT be coming out in an e-book edition.
“Oooohhhh, you mean the hockey team that I met on my trip.”
“Yeah, that hockey team. Why? Is there another I should know about?”
“There are a lot of hockey teams in the world.”
“And you’re just the gal for each of them, aren’t you?”
“If you say so,” she says, batting her eyelids.
“Just tell me about the hockey team you began telling me about the other night.”
She had begun telling me about it the night she returned from her business trip, but I was so primed and ready for our reunification that I didn’t last long enough to hear any more than the teasing preview. Now a few weeks had gone by of my living in ecstatic mystery wondering about her little hints and jibes and I felt ready to hear the full-length tale.
“First,” she says, “get naked and lie on your back.”
I follow instructions.
She pulls out the massage oil and drips it over my cock. She begins to rub as the starts up where she left off.
“I told you, I was on my way back up to my hotel room when I got in the elevator with a bunch of guys who had arrived in town for a hockey tournament. I think they positively could smell how horny I was. They began to make small talk with me and I flirted back. They told me that they had the entire ninth floor of the hotel. I told them I was on the eleventh floor and I asked if they were up for coming up.”
“Let me guess, they were all very hard-up.”
“Oh yeah,” she says, caressing my member with both hands. “Just like you. . . only bigger.”
“And?”
“Well, they invited me to their floor first and so I got off.”
“Off the elevator?”
“Well, I got off on my floor, went to my room, got myself off, freshened up, and then went to their floor. All the doors were open on their floor and everyone was coming and going like in a dorm room. I flitted here and there and some of them were changing or walking around with their shirts off and a few had just gotten out of the shower and had nothing on but a towel around the waist. They were all gorgeous.”
“I bet. I bet you didn’t even see their faces.”
“Oh, no. I saw their faces and their arms, their chests, their lovely sculpted legs. I saw just about everything.”
“But you wanted more.”
“More is my favorite amount. So I invited five of them down to my room.”
“You did what?”
“You heard me. A select five.”
“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. How did you select them?”
“I had the whole team stand at attention in a row naked and I selected the five longest cocks.”
“You did not!”
“No, but a lady can dream, can’t she?”
“Anyhow, I selected the five nicest guys and we went down to my room and I told them a bit more about me before slipping off my panties. I had my little black cocktail dress on and I bent over the side of the bed and let them take a look under it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And I encouraged them to pull out their cocks and jack off behind me, which they did willingly.”
“I bet.”
“And then I said, ‘Go on, slap it.’ And one of them gave me a good, solid whack.”
“They were so kind and considerate.”
“I thought so too! My fingers were down between my legs, caressing and pulling my long pussy lips. They could see as they took turns slapping my ass. First they were timid, but then they grew more confidant as I moaned and said ‘Yes.’ Then I asked who wanted to be first in. One of the guys immediately got behind me and began thrusting as hard and fast as he could. It was rough and manic like a jackhammer horizontally placed in my cunt.”
“And you loved it, I bet.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong. But he came so quickly, deep inside me. I crawled up on the bed and let the next guy in. He was slower, more loving.”
“Loving?”
“Well, more gentle. I turned over my shoulder and said, ‘You can do better than that,’ and his friends encouraged him. They each had their puds in their hands, except for the guy who had just cum in me. But guy number two couldn’t finish. I guess it was a lot of pressure. He pulled out and a lot of cum from the first guy dripped out of me. One of them snapped a photo of me from behind just before the third guy went in me. After that, I sort of lost track of who was where because then one of them got under me and entered me so that they were double penetrating my pussy just like I always wanted. And later one was fingering my ass and then he let himself in there, cumming deep inside while a different guy was under me in my puss. I have no idea who came where or how many times I came. One of them even got in front of me and came in my mouth and on my face. In the end, let’s just say that everyone had scored at least once.”
“Who says that hockey is a zero-sum game?”
“Right? Win-win!”
“Any chance I can get a shot on goal?”
“It’s wide open,” she says as she gets on top of me and slides her puss down my pole.
“How’s it feel,” she asks.
“Smoother than ice, and a whole hell of a lot warmer.”
