As anyone who has ever read mysexlifewithlola or one of our books from the Match, Cinder & Spark series knows, I, your faithful narrator through the sexual adventures of my muse, Lola Down, am bound by my love, under her close supervision, to refrain from any dalliances, dainties, or even desires with, of, or for other women. She is allowed to fulfill all of her libidinous lusts, but I am strictly hemmed in to filling her and only her with my pent-up liquid longing. Not a drop shall be spent but with her heavenly consent.
And I would have it no other way. This arrangement pleases us both immensely.
However, I am here, dear reader, to confess to you that though it would seem inequitable that my lovely Lo is given free reign to spread her good cheer (and her legs) wherever her charitable caprice carries her while I chastely await her return, typing out reams and reams of erotica cataloguing her infidelity, the truth is that I take delight in contributing to as many, if not more, orgasms as she. Yes, it is the case that in back alleys, in cars, in bedrooms, in campgrounds, and other nefarious locals, Lo is busy bringing pleasure to her amorous companions. But I, dear reader, get the quiet satisfaction of knowing that my words, my loquacious soliloquies, my epic poem to my love brings gasps of climatic release to women around the globe! My fingers do not literally touch the aching, wet, desirous labia of my readers, but they do stimulate a more erogenous organ – the mind – of countless women around the world. For all I know, I could be bringing multiple women to multiple orgasms simultaneously at this very moment! And I probably am.
I know this because many of you, bless you all, write in to Lola and me to tell us so. Some of you include suggestive, flirtatious asides in your thankyou notes. (Very much appreciated.) And others of you include beautiful photos to accompany your kind words. (Also appreciated, by us both.)
Warm Skin Getting off to Lo
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am well aware that it is not merely my writing that has this effect on people, but Lola’s personality as well as her photogenic exhibitionism. And, as I am also well aware, a great many of her male readership takes extreme delight in posting “cumtributions” for Lo’s perusal, thus demonstrating that, whether in the flesh or in pixilated form, Lo is a Mistress of the Masturbatory Arts.
However, there is something about which she and I can both come together and agree upon: hearing from our fanbase of couples who have been brought closer through our artistic offerings. Sometimes it is a couple that is separated by distance. A scientist, for instance, based in the upper reaches of the arctic who shares with her boyfriend via email the stories and images that turn her on. A wife at home raising her two kids while her husband is deployed abroad is able to send dispatches to him of Lo’s sexploits that she wishes permission to do while he’s away. And the G.I. husband who shares with his wife (and his battalion) the cuckolding adventures of Lo, expressing his desire for a wife who would emulate Lo’s nympho tendencies. Sometimes the couple live under the same roof. The couple, for instance, who have been married for over a decade and find that the spark that has left their sex life has been rekindled by reading the salacious stories together before bedtime and pausing to discuss the aspects they enjoy and then, when the lights are out, they whisper in each other’s ear dirty imaginings inspired by the images of the page.
Sharing Couple of NJ Getting off to Lo
Whenever we hear from couples like these (and we have been lucky enough to meet some of you in person), it makes all of the “hard work” that went into creating this special niche of the pornographic panoply so worth it. Thank you.
Lo, darling, if you can find it within you to forgive me for pleasing all these women, I ask your humble forgiveness. I ask of all my readers, if you can find it within you to exonerate these trespasses, please sprinkle your holy water upon my confession and redeem this unrepentant poet.
Below is the email from Kimberley Diamond. She also sent in a few very, very sexy photos, but we will only reprint her profile pic from Medium here since we don’t have permission to show you the other stuff.
Hello Lola and H.H. from a wet and wild UK!
I’ve just finished listening to the audiobook of Match, Cinder and Spark and I loved it!
I loved it because it’s more than just erotica. Both my pussy and intellectual curiosity were piqued. It’s also more interesting than a standard biography because there are some fucking hot scenes that left me blushing on planes, trains and automobiles! I will definitely leave you a 5-star review on Audible but I also wanted to write something more personal to you both.
In the book, you say that a lot of women have hang-ups about sex – well, I am one of them. I feel liberated in that I can and do have sex with people who tickle my fancy, but I am often held back by my own acceptance and enjoyment of my body and its physiological responses.
I was both intrigued and enlightened to hear how Lola takes so much pleasure in self-pleasure. You wrote that she can amuse herself with herself. How wonderful! I think Lola has so much vital erotic energy that she can make love to the world just by being.
I was also painfully jealous to hear about her being pan-orgasmic. Cumming from a pedicure, I mean literally what the fuck?! Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine being that turned on from something so ordinary. While I do experience orgasm, it is with some difficulty and the feeling itself is almost always lackluster. Don’t get me wrong there are many other sexual sensations (and mental stimulations) that give me a lot of pleasure, but they are disconnected from that muted orgasmic response.
If I took just one message from this book, it would be the ease in which Lola demands sexual pleasure for/from herself. She doesn’t let anything get in her way; not body image issues, not the lack of man, woman or dildo, not work, not relationship bullshit, nothing! She has an unwavering commitment to taking exactly the pleasure that she needs. The cool thing is that in taking, she gives to so many others.
As a pleaser, I’ve always delighted in other people enjoying my body, but I’ve never truly enjoyed it myself – so that is something that my heart and pussy have both acknowledged and I will play with some more over the next few weeks.
Lola – I think you are a goddess incarnate and I kneel before you as a willing student, green with envy but desperate to learn of your magical powers. ….Haha, seriously though if you or H.H. write anything of a more instructional or “how-to” nature I would be thrilled to read and learn more.
H.H. – thank you for writing this wonderful story and for sharing your Lo with the world.
With love and lust
Kimberely
Thanks to Purple’s Gem for the second photo down. It was on their “fans only” Twitter Page and you should check it out!
“It’s so big!” gasped Lo. “It’s beautiful. Stunning. I just can’t believe it.” She truly was impressed. We had just pulled up in the driveway of Lily’s uncle’s mountain resort home. Her uncle was traveling around Europe and, since Lily was one of his favorites, he gave her permission to use it and to host friends. We happened to be the friends that she and Jim chose to invite up for a long weekend.
The air was crisp and the sky was clear and blue and radiant. All the trees on the mountain were in their peak of autumn perfection. We had the whole secluded house to ourselves.
Lily showed us around the grounds and gave us a tour of the home. Then she showed us to our quarters. The bed was enormous! The bathroom and bathtub were almost as big!!! This would be fun. Lo and I looked at each other knowingly, expectantly.
Since it took us quite a while to get up there, winding through the dangerous mountain switchbacks, we made some dinner and then had some drinks. We were all tired from the trip and Lo and I were eager to get to bed and get to each other.
Lo All Wet
She got naked and hopped into the clear glass encased shower as I drew a bath in the tub. From inside her little chamber, she pressed her tits up against the glass and then turned and pressed her ass up against it as she used the hand-held showerhead to massage between her legs.
She came a couple of times, struggling to keep her screams to herself. Then she emerged from the shower and slid her sexy self down upon my hard cock as I lay half-submerged in the water of the claw-foot white porcelain tub.
We had to be careful because we didn’t want to make too much noise or too much mess. When she had finished cumming in reverse cowboy position, she turned and descended on my spear once more, this time facing me. Grabbing her tits and pulling her nipples, she asked me, “Shall I be a good girl this weekend, Daddy, or a bad girl?”
“You’re already a bad girl,” I said, “so, you might as well not deny your nature.”
She came again and then urged me to get up and out and dry off so we could enjoy one another in the plush bed. Bent over the side; face down in the down pillows; on her knees straddling me – we explored many positions, before she finally opted for being bent over a chair and seeing herself in the full-length mirror as I made her tits swing with my thrusts from behind her.
Just as we were both approaching the pinnacle of success in this position, she commanded, “Stop!” She wasn’t kidding. I did as she bade me. “Get a towel and put it on the floor.”
I followed her command. The towels were thick and heavy and the floor was wall-to-wall carpet.
“Get behind me and keep going, only harder.”
I again followed her command and within moments her clenching climax had pushed my member right out and she was squirting what seemed to be gallons on the towel beneath her.
She collapsed and said, breathlessly, “I knew that was going to happen.”
The next morning, after I had made everyone breakfast, we headed out on a hike. I happily pulled up the rear, right behind Lo, whose behind, in her black athletic tights, was the best inspiration for me to keep going.
Lo – Tight
It was an exhilarating trek through the crisp air of the mountain tops. The sights and the thrills were worth the exertion.
When we got back to the house, we were famished and we heated up a big pot of chili we had prepared before the trip.
We then settled into our vacation home and after a few glasses of wine, Jim suggested a game of cards. We decided on poker and I raised the stakes by suggesting strip poker. Lo kicked me under the table. I didn’t know why at the moment.
Our friends were game and we got to playing. Little did everyone (except Lo) know, but I’m a terrible poker player. I can never keep straight which is the better hand. Lo took pity on me and helped me all she could, to her own detriment. She did her level best of spying on my cards to help me, to discard her good hand, to lift me up by lowering herself. Doing that was tougher than actually winning! But before too long, she was shirtless, sockless, and then pantless. Not to be outdone by her rival, Lily went garment-for-garment with Lo. After only a couple of rounds they were both braless. It came down to a question of who was going to lose her panties first: Lo or Lilly? You guessed it! Lo was out and in her birthday suit. She seemed more than happy to be the loser of the game.
During the hour or so that it took for Lo to win or lose, depending on how you’re scoring this, we had finished a bottle of wine and Jim and I had broke the seal on our special bottle of Scotch.
Eager to keep playing, Lo suggested that since she had no more clothes to offer, we play for certain “favors.” These new rules started out tame enough. First Lo had to bend over to pick up a napkin. Then she had to get up and walk around the table to refresh my glass and Jim’s glass, with a little curtsy of course. She had to remove Lily’s panties when Lilly lost. But soon we moved on to having Lo’s writs be tied up around one of the support beams in the room as she bent over. We found a riding crop that Lily’s uncle used as a decorative prop, and we used it, each taking turns swatting Lo’s ass and occasionally her pussy from behind. Lily was the cruelest with the crop. But then we gave Lo some aftercare. Each of us got a turn fingering her from behind. She came almost immediately for each of us. After Lily’s turn (she went last), Lo pressed her legs together and commanded me to grab a towel, as she had the previous night. When I had spread it at her feet, she spread her legs and looked as if she was putting out a fire from between her thighs!
“Holy shit!” cried Lily. “I’ve never seen that actually happen in real life!!!” She seemed thrilled.
Lo slowly slunk to the floor, exhausted. She looked up, a smile on her face, a bit proud, her legs spread in a ‘V’ shape, and a puddle underneath her. “Really?” she asked.
“It happens all the time to Lo,” I chimed in.
“I’ve read about it, I’ve seen it in videos, but never actually saw a woman squirt. How do you do it?”
“I don’t do it. It just happens. Talent, I guess.”
Lily untied Lo’s wrists and helped her up.
“Do you think you could show Lily how to do that?” asked Jim, turning the tables on his bride, since she had been eager to have Lo teach Jim how to pleasure a woman despite his diminutive size.
“I know a lot of people claim to be able to teach it,” said Lo, “and there are a lot of websites out there dedicated to how to make a woman squirt, but I don’t know. I only know that it works for me when I’m super aroused.”
“It’s more of a problem than a talent,” I said.
Lo frowned at me. “What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“Come on, Lo,” I said, “you know that you sometimes accidentally squirt at very inconvenient times.”
“Oh, that’s true.”
“And the number of sheets we have to go through. . .”
“Yeah, it makes for a lot of laundry.”
“And how you shoot me right out of you mid-coitus.”
“That’s true too,” she admitted.
“I don’t need to squirt,” interrupted Lily, “I just would like to cum when having sex.” She blurted it out and I could see that Jim’s request of Lo and Lo’s performance clearly were making her feel inadequate and so she turned the tables right back on Jim.
“Look,” said Lo, always the peace maker, “I have an idea to help everyone. I’ve done this before, or a variation of this. I’m already naked. Why don’t we all get naked, light a candle, sit in a circle, and speak openly, honestly, candidly about sex, love, and relationships. As long as the light of the candle is illuminating our circle, there is no judgment, no accusation, no falsity. We will be vulnerable and compassionate with each other. Our nudity is only an outward symbol of our inward vulnerability.”
Lily looked at Jim and he nodded his head that he was willing to give it a go.
We all got naked and for the first time I got a view of the little that Lilly had to work with. Jim’s physique is fit, trim, and small. Attractive, but tiny. I’m not hung like a horse (horse cock being something Lo dearly likes), but compared to Jim I was. I had to remind myself, by the candlelight, there is no judgment. Right.
We all sat down in a circle with the candle at the center. Jim and I were cross-legged and both Lola and Lily, being more flexible, sat full lotus position.
Lola started us off, “Sex is good, but sex without meaning, without connection, without intimacy can be empty and leave you cold.”
As Lo said these words, I couldn’t help but think of all the times she fucked guys, strangers, in the back seat of the car as I drove, or at the beach as men came all over her body, or. . . . Wait, I reminded myself again, no judgment. Got it.
“Yeah,” said Lily, picking up the thread of the conversation, “that’s true, but sometimes, while having that meaningful connection, I just want to get rammed home with a long, hard cock. I want to submit to a domineering, rough, take-command partner. That can be both hot and intimate.”
“Jim?” asked Lo.
“I know she likes that, but it’s just not me. I’m kind, gentle by nature. I love her. I don’t want to. . .” he trailed off, not even able to articulate the deeds she wanted done to her.
“That’s totally understandable,” said Lo, “but there is a major gap between her desire and yours, or her idea of intimate intercourse and yours.”
“It’s clear you love each other,” I said, “but do you trust each other?”
“Completely,” said Lily right away.
Jim just nodded.
“If you trust each other,” I followed up my thought, “then maybe an open relationship. Having a bull who will come over and do for Lily all the things she wants and needs could expand your relationship pallet.”
“A bull?” asked Jim naively.
“A man who fucks married women,” explained Lily. She obviously had explored this herself.
“H.H. does that with me,” said Lo, “and he loves it.”
“I like to see her satisfied,” I said. “If she likes to be fucked by another guy, then why should I stand in her way?”
“Come on,” said Lo, to me as if calling bullshit. “You are not simply standing to the side while another guy fucks my brains out. You love it. You love to see it and to guide him through it and to hear all about it if you can’t be there in person.”
“She’s right,” I confessed. “Honesty.”
Jim, who was very visibly uncomfortable by everything he was hearing, said, “I just don’t think I can do that. I mean, we’ve given an open relationship a chance and it drove me crazy. I almost called off the wedding because I was so enraged and jealous.”
“Jealously is a symptom, not a cause,” said Lo.
“A symptom of what?”
“Of so many things – a feeling of inadequacy, a fear of being left, anger with a previous girlfriend who hurt you. I mean, it could stem from any number of deep-seated insecurities. But mainly it’s a form of fear.”
“That doesn’t make it any less real. Understanding it doesn’t remove it,” said Jim.
“No, you’re right. I’m just pointing out that what you’re feeling doesn’t stem from what Lily is doing. She loves you. But she also has desires. She wants to be with you. But she also wants to have wild, earth-shattering orgasms.”
“And I want to be used, abused, humiliated, and tossed aside like a worthless fuckdoll” said Lily.
There was an awkward silence before Lo said, very reassuringly, “All healthy desires if channeled properly.”
I decided to be daring. “Would you like me to demonstrate?” I asked, knowing full well that Lo’s jealousy would explode inside her heart like a hydrogen bomb.
“I’d love it,” said Lily looking at my limp cock.
Lo gave me a sidelong glance and said, “I don’t think right now is the time for that. We’re making progress.”
“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t mean now. I just meant. . .” I was caught now, but it was worth it to get Lo’s ire up after that perfectly detached and clinical explanation of jealousy she just pronounced as if she were so far beyond and above it. But I felt bad immediately after because it suddenly dawned on me that she might not have been talking from a superior position to jealousy, but from her intimate knowledge and understanding of it within her own heart.
As if to strike back at me, she then said, “Jim, I feel as if you’re bottling up your emotions and not letting them flow out. What can I do to help you?” As she said this, she caressed his knee with her left hand. I saw his cock twitch at the unexpected touch.
“I just feel like I don’t know how to please her.”
Lo’s hand moved closer to his crotch. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“I want to find a way that I can be everything she needs,” he said.
Lo’s hand got to his balls and began fondling them as his micropenis started to grow.
“We cannot be everything for our partners. We have to be content with who and what we are for them and who and what they are for us.” She began stroking his little cock with her thumb and index finger. “Do you like that?” asked Lo.
“Yeah,” he said, “it feels good.”
“Lie down,” said Lo.
He reclined on the carpet as Lo continued to jerk him off. Her right hand was caressing his legs, spreading them apart. Her left hand gently held his little member between her thumb and finger.
“You know, I wouldn’t even feel you if you were to penetrate me,” said Lo.
“I know,” said Jim as if in a hypnotic trance.
“But that wouldn’t matter to you, would it?” asked Lo.
“No,” said Jim, “I’d be really into it.”
“I know you would,” said Lo.
From where I was sitting, I could see Lily begin to stroke her pussy as she continued to sit in the lotus position. She was enjoying this.
Lo lowered her mouth to Jim’s cock and tickled the tip with the tip of her tongue, clearly in order to let us see what she was doing. Then she lifted up her mouth and said, “Don’t cum.”
“I’m trying not to cum, but it’s so hard. It feels so good.”
“Stand up,” commanded Lo.
Jim stood up.
Lo pulled him forward and positioned him next to Lily as Lo, still on her knees, manipulated his tiny pud with her fingers.
“Close your eyes,” Lo said.
Jim closed his eyes.
Lo stroked faster and faster and lifted her mouth to his little balls to kiss and lick them.
“You may cum now,” she said, and no sooner did she say this than he came, right on Lily’s face.
“Open your eyes,” said Lo to Jim.
He followed her command and looked down at Lily who was covered in his ejaculate and smiling.
“There you go,” said Lo. “Did you like that?”
Both of them said “Yes” at the same time.
By the way, I was hard as a rock at this point and I finally said, “Lo, any chance I will get to cum?”
“Oh, are you hard-up?” she said in a mocking manner.
“Yes.”
“Do you deserve to cum?” she asked with a look in her eye that told me I was being punished for my comment earlier.
“I sure do,” I said confidently.
She was feeling surly, but despite that, she indulged me and she told me to lie back.
I followed her instruction. To my surprise, instead of doing to me what she had done to Jim, she sat on my face. She was facing my toes and she invited Lily over as I began lapping Lo’s wet pussy lips like a thirsty dog.
Lily grabbed my cock and balls (I could tell it was Lily, though I couldn’t see her, because I know Lo’s touch) and began furtively fondling. Then she began to jack me off. I felt a mouth lower on my cock, but now I wasn’t too sure whose it was. Lost in the mystery of it all, I gave in and came in heavy, forceful spurts. Lo came as well, drenching my face. I practically drowned.
When she got up and I sat up, Lily said, “You come almost as quickly as Jim does.”
“That’s not fair,” I said in my defense, “I’ve been watching Lo for over an hour now. I was primed and ready.”
“Ready to be pumped dry,” said Lo.
“Well,” said Jim, “I think we all got something out of this.”
“Um,” said Lily, “of the four of us, three of us came.”
“Well Jim,” said Lo, “you got some work to do.”
Jim smiled and asked Lily, “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”
Lo looked at him, got up, exited the room into the mud room and returned with one of the dog leashes that was hanging there. She put the collar around Lily’s neck and gave the handle to Jim. “That’s not how you ask a slut like Lily. Take her upstairs.”
Jim stood up and gently pulled on the leash. Lily got on all fours and crawled like an obedient bitch at his side. Off they went.
“Well done,” I said to Lo.
“Don’t give me that ‘well done’ bullshit. You’re in big trouble mister.”
“Me?” I said innocently, “What did I do?”
“You know very well what you did.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. I just want you to admit it.”
“OK, so maybe I tried to suggest that I do something with Lily. But look at what you actually did with Jim.”
“There is no comparison.”
“How not?’
“Because I’m your slutty hotwife and you are my obedient, chaste, little stag.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Would you have it any other way?”
“No. Actually I wouldn’t. I was just teasing you to see if you would be jealous.”
“I wasn’t jealous. I just want you to know your place.”
Illustration of HH and Lo by LittleGem of purplesgem.com
The light was red. The wallpaper was red. The tablecloths were red. And the candles were red. A live jazz trio played at the other end of the bar. We sat in plush, tufted red leather chairs drinking martinis. Lo’s bare knees were exposed, her legs crossed, her short skirt inching its way up her thighs. She looked at Jim with wide eyes as he told us about the plans for their wedding which was only a couple of weeks away. I sat across from Jim and Lo, nursing my drink as they talked animatedly. They were fond of each other. I was enjoying the beauty of the two of them as the liquor transformed the dive bar to a dreamscape.
“I can’t believe that in little more than two weeks, you two will be married!” said Lo, grabbing Jim’s hand as she said it. “Married!” she repeated.
“Are you going to have a bachelor party?” I asked. “A big send-off to say goodbye to your days of freedom?”
“I already had it,” he said.
“What?!” asked Lo, surprised. “When? Tell us!”
Jim told us that the previous week he had gone back to his hometown to spend a long weekend with his college buddies fishing at a remote lake.
“Fishing?” asked Lo, skeptically.
“Yeah,” said Jim.
“No strip clubs?” she asked.
“No,” said Jim.
“Oh, I get it, they came to you at the cottage.”
“No. No strippers. Nothing like that. It wasn’t a weekend in Vegas. It was just friends spending time together. Fishing.”
“Well,” said Lo, “shouldn’t you have a proper last hurrah?” As she said it, she indicated with her tongue what she had in mind.
“Where’s Lily?” I interjected. As much as I enjoyed seeing Lo seduce Jim, I also wanted to give him a moment to think it over. He seemed so much like a deer in the headlights.
“She’s in New York. Actually, for her bachelorette party.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, very matter-of-factly. “What’s she doing for it?”
The trumpet player had just ramped up his virtuosic solo and was now growling with the horn. I looked over at him for a moment. My eyes returned back to Jim. He was in agony. He looked at me. He couldn’t look at Lo. He said, “She’s with her friends.”
“What’s she doing? Having a party with her girlfriends from college?”
“No,” said Jim. “She’s with. . .” he paused, “she’s with her guy friends. She’s having her ‘last hurrah.’ A crazy orgy or slut-fest with every guy she’d slept with when she lived there.”
“You’re kidding!” said Lo, putting her hand on Jim’s hand and laughing.
“No, I’m not!” he said, frustrated, embarrassed, angry.
“Well, good for her,” said Lo. “I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic to you or anything, but fuck! Good for her, you know. Fuck the patriarchy!”
Jim laughed, despite himself.
“But if you didn’t get your slut-fest for your bachelor party, then let’s make it happen tonight,” she said, sliding a little closer to him.
I suppose now is as good a time as any to inform you, dear reader, that none of this was done without Lily’s knowledge. In fact, it was done with her blessing, her planning even. She thought that there was no one better than Lo to help Jim with his self-esteem and jealousy sprouting from their having an open relationship in which only one party had any traffic entering her open door.
Lily thought it best that Jim not know that she was in cahoots with this plan and allow him to enjoy the feeling of seducing Lo, or being seduced by her.
Jim looked to me as if to ask my permission.
“No pressure,” I said, “but I’m fine with it if you are.”
We paid our tab and I drove the two of them back to our place. They sat in the back seat, making out. This was a very familiar scenario for Lo and me by now. I could see her reach down for his cock.
“Lo,” I said as I pulled up to our place, “we’re home.”
I shut off the car. Lo held Jim’s hand and led him in.
“You two have fun,” I said as I fixed myself a whiskey on the rocks.
I listened as best I could, but I didn’t hear anything. I picked up a book and began reading on the couch in the living room. Lo is usually louder than that, I thought.
About twenty minutes later I heard the squeak of the shower knobs being turned. I thought for sure I’d hear the sound of Lo’s voice soon to follow.
Not only did I hear her voice, but I saw her lovely image as she walked into the living room wearing only one of my old t-shirts.
Lola in a T-shirt
“What brings you out here, dear?” I asked, looking up from my book.
She sat close to me and, in a whisper, she said, “He came.” She was disappointed.
“What?”
“Yep. In the car.”
“Oh, Lo,” I said in a tone of sympathy for her loss.
“I hardly even touched him. I just rubbed him maybe once or twice.”
“And that’s it. He’s done for the night?”
“He’s very embarrassed. He’s taking a shower now to clean up. He thanked me, but I think he wants to go home.”
“Hmmm,” I said, taking it all in. “I guess I’ll take him home then.”
“But Daddio,” she said as she reached to unbuckle my belt, “what about me?”
“Lo.”
“I’m the do-gooder here who’s left high and dry.”
“More like all wet.”
Lola Reverse View
She fumbled with my belt buckle. “Please, Daddy. Let me have it.”
“Lo.”
“Please. Just one look.”
“Fine.”
She took out my hard member. She lowered her mouth on it.
“Lo!”
“Just one lick.”
“You said ‘look,’” I rebuked her.
As I did so, she eagerly took me deep in her mouth. She slid her lips off my rod and then straddled me on the couch, riding my cock up and down. “Just one. . .”
She wanted just one something. She was going at it when Jim returned, dressed, from the bedroom. He sat down in the chair across from us. He watched Lo rise and fall and she looked at him seductively. She grabbed her tits and flicked her nipples with her fingers.
She maneuvered me so that I was now sitting behind her and she was reverse cowgirl on me, looking right at Jim with her legs spread. “Come here,” she commanded to him.
He obeyed, walking right up to her, between my spread legs and hers. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to give her a kiss.
I could feel Lo’s pussy clench on my cock and I knew what was coming next.
“You might want to step back a bit,” I said to Jim too late.
Lo was moaning and rubbing her clit as she lifted up off my cock and squirted, soaking Jim’s slacks.
“Jim,” she said, when she regained her senses, “just stay the night.”
“I appreciate the offer. . . and everything,” he said politely, “I really do, but I think I should just get going home.”
“OK,” I said, fumbling to replace my protruding member into my underwear, zip up, and buckle my belt uncomfortably.
Lo had left the room to get some paper towels and was on all fours on the hardwood floor, her ass partially exposed, cleaning up the puddle. She looked up at Jim. “You’re welcome to stay, but if you want to go, HH will drive you.”
“It’s ok, I’ll walk,” he said, “It will be good for me to get some air.”
Lo got up and hugged him, and I said, “See you at the wedding.” I immediately regretted those parting words.
He let himself out and Lo cuddled up next to me on the couch. “Poor Lily,” she said.
“Yeah,” I concurred.
“You don’t know the half of it,” said Lo.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, not only did he cum after only two strokes, but he’s tiny.”
Tiny Dicks Welcome
“You only saw him after he came.”
“Daddy, I’ve seen a lot of cocks in my day. I know a tiny cock when I see one,” she said as she lifted her pinky in the air and said, “Smaller than this.”
“Well, at least they love each other,” I said.
“Love can fill a lot of gaps in a relationship,” said Lo, “but there’s one hole that needs more than just love.”
“What a true romantic you are.”
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Mark and Stephanie came over for
appetizers before we all were going to go to see a play. Lo had planned this night for the four of us
months ago. She was very excited because
the play was one that she had heard great things about and she thought that Mark
and Stephanie were just the couple to invite to it. My guess was that she had designs on Mark and
was hoping to get him into a showdy corner of the dark theater and play a
little herself. But what actually
happened was way beyond my wildest imaginings.
Lo, as is her practice of primping
and prepping, spent most of that lovely summer Friday afternoon cleaning up the
house for our guests, making a special dip, stocking the bar, adorning the
small tables with bouquets of flowers, and then hopping into the shower. I, for my part, cracked open a beer and
watched Lo do all this work in her panties and bra. I hope you, dear reader, don’t get the wrong
idea about me. I’d be more than happy to
chip in with the chores, but Lo is such a perfectionist that I have learned the
hard way over time that it’s best to leave it to her.
As I sat on the living room couch, I
heard what could only be described as Lo’s mating call, if mating occurred for
her the way it does for komodo dragons, that is, through parthenogenesis, or
without the need of a male. Yes, this is
a very long-winded way of saying that Lo was fucking herself in the shower with
one of her many dildos and calling, to God, to me, to anyone, with her
distinctive, “OH GOD! YES! FUCK! YES!
YES! YES! YES!”
Not quite as poetic as the final paragraph of Joyce’s Ulysses, but the same sentiment. When she got out of the shower and found me
sitting on the bed, I wasn’t the only one who was long-winded. She was panting for air since her hot, steamy
shower only added to the heavy, humid air of our apartment.
“Thinking of Mark?” I asked
snidely.
“Mark, Mike, Matthew, Milton, it
doesn’t matter.”
“Allow me to rephrase. Thinking of dick?”
“Many, many dicks,” she said.
I got up off the bed to spank her
bottom as she was bending over the sink to wipe down the mirror when I caught a
glance into the tub and saw it was populated with not one, but four
dildos!
“What the hell did you need four dildos for in there? You only have three orifices to fill.”
“I like to feel wanted,” she said as
she set out to blow dry her hair.
“How many times did you cum?”
“Three or four or five.”
“Seriously?”
“No, deliriously. I used different dildos for different holes
and different sorts of orgasms. I used
this one,” she said, pointing at the one that was stuck to the tile wall by its
suction cup base, “for my puss. Then I
added this one in my ass,” she said, indicating her large red double-ended
dildo. “And then I used that same one on
both my ass and my puss before I used this one,” she said pointing to the horse
cock dildo on the floor of the tub.
“What about that one?” I asked,
pointing to the black dildo we call “Tommy gun” because it looks like a little
machine gun the way the ball sack is attached to it.
“Oh, that one I just held in my hand
for fun. You know my motto.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Be happy: jill off, jill often.”
“Well, you’d better clean up your
bathtub toys before our guests arrive.”
“Why, were they planning on taking a
bath?”
“You never know.”
“That would be fun.”
“I bet you’d like that. But, remember, Mark hasn’t had sex with Stephanie in over a year now.” We knew this from what Stephanie had told me at their Super Bowl party.
“First, that’s not
due to any deficiency on his part. And
second, even if it was, I know I could help him. I’m a cock whisperer.”
“I think you still
aim to ‘help’ him,” I said, knowing that Lo is terribly attracted to Mark.
“So,” she
responded, “Why do you think I have so many dildos in the tub? I like to get men hard. I like them to desire me. I like to be what gets
them up in the morning and what gives them sweet dreams at night. I want to be a vessel into which men drain
their lust.”
“Everyone but the
shoemaker’s wife,” I said under my breath.
“What?” she asked
as she slipped into her dress.
“Everyone except
the shoemaker’s wife,” I said more loudly.
“What the fuck
does that mean?” she asked.
I responded, “You have to clean up
your language, young lady.”
“Fine, I’ll clean it up. I’ll take out every word except ‘fuck.’”
“You know what I mean.”
“Fuck?”
“Stop it.”
“Fuck fuck.”
“You’re being vulgar.”
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”
“OK, I’ll play your game. What do you want to do tonight?”
“Fuck.”
“I bet you do. Fuck Mark.
Like I said, everyone except the shoemaker’s wife.”
“That’s the third time you said
that, now tell me what the fuck it means before I shove this shoe up your ass!”
she demanded as she held her high heel in her hand.
“It’s a saying. Everyone gets a new pair of shoes except the
shoemaker’s wife. The shoemaker never
gets to her because he’s so busy making the shoes for everyone else.”
“And what does that have to do with
us?”
“You’re the shoemaker. Everyone gets to drain their lust into you
but me.”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” she said,
feigning playing the violin for me. “You
get more than you can handle. Nine out
of ten times you deny me. That’s why this shoemaker has to go all
around town like the prince letting everyone try on Cinderella’s slipper.”
“Now this metaphor has jumped the
shark.”
“Look, if you want some of this,”
she said, slapping her pussy over her dress, “all you have to do is ask for it,
or better yet, take it!”
“I want it!” I said, lifting up her
dress and noticing that she hadn’t put on panties.
“Not now! They’ll be here in a minute or two.”
“I only need thirty seconds. You know that.”
“And people say romance is dead.”
At that moment the doorbell
rang. I went to go answer it and Lo
called to me and said, “Tell them I’ll be right out. Oh, and put the chips out and the dip. Oh, and can you turn on the Bluetooth speaker
to some up-beat music?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to remember
all I was supposed to do.
I took out the chips and dip,
grabbed Lo’s phone and pulled up Spotify, and turned on the speaker so it
played in the living room. Then I let in
Mark and Stephanie.
I invited them into the living room
and we sat down. “Lo will be right out,”
I said as we made polite conversation.
They looked very dapper, all dressed
up for the theater. She was wearing cute
flats, tight jeans, and a very sheer white top.
She doesn’t have very big breasts, but they are perky and she has a cute
bob haircut. He was in nice jeans,
leather shoes, and a tight fitting black t-shirt under a blazer. It was a dated, slightly “Miami Vice” look,
but he can be forgiven since he is from Miami after all.
I offered them drinks and they both
gladly elected for the harder stuff, passing over the beer and wine. I was surprised. Before theater events I find I can’t have
anything too strong, except coffee, lest I pull a Jack Nicolson and fall asleep
during the performance and begin snoring.
As I was entering with drinks in
hand, Lo made her stunning appearance. I
had seen her little, short black dress, but to see her with the sexy, shiny
black heels, her full makeup on, and that smile of hers was really
something. I wondered if she was still
commando or if she had elected to wear panties.
Ah, those perennial philosophical questions that I ponder in my life
with Lo.
We sat in the living room talking
since we had plenty of time before we had to leave for the play and somehow the
conversation turned to the topic of tattoos.
I pointed out that neither Lo nor I have any tattoos and we were
discussing what and where we’d get them if we chose to do so.
“Do you have any tattoos?” asked Lo
of both of them, but she touched Mark’s arm as she asked it.
“Lo, don’t you remember? – We went
to the beach with them. I didn’t see any
tattoos on either of them,” I interjected.
“Actually,” Mark said, “I do have a
tattoo.”
“Na-ah,” said Lo in disbelief,
grabbing his arm. “Where?”
“Well, I’m actually not too proud of
it.”
“Come on,” she said. “Where?” she asked, turning to Stephanie for
a hint.
“There,” said Stephanie, pointing at
his crotch.
“Na-ah,” said Lo again. “On his. . . ?”
“No,” said Mark. “Not on
it. Just above it.”
“What is it, I have to know,” said
Lo.
“If you’re that curious, I’ll show
you,” said Mark, standing up and moving to undo his belt buckle, but obviously
joking. But Lo didn’t take it as a
joke.
“Really?!” she said, the word
escaping her mouth faster than her brain realized what she had said and with
how much enthusiasm she had said it.
“No,” said Mark. “You don’t really want me to show you, do you?”
Lo unwittingly licked her lips and
nodded her head “Yes.”
“Fine,” said Mark, “I’ll show
you.” He actually unbuckled his belt.
I suddenly got up and said, “I’m
going to refresh my drink. Can I get
anyone anything?”
I was met with no answer. I looked at the tableau. There was Lo on the couch on one side of
Mark, her head directly level with his pelvis, looking intently. Mark was standing, undoing his belt buckle, a
big smile on his face. And Stephanie was
sitting on the other side of Mark, almost unable to see the action, her legs
crossed, a slight frown on her lips, watching her husband’s movements in front
of this woman who was over ten years her junior.
I was in the kitchen and I suddenly
heard Lo’s admiring voice coo, “Wow!
Impressive!”
When I returned to the living room,
Mark was buckling up his belt.
“So, why an eagle?” asked Lo, now
touching his knee.
“I was in college, I was drunk, and
I thought that. . . now this is really embarrassing.”
“Out with it,” demanded Lo.
“I was into the symbolism of spirit
animals and I felt that the eagle was my spirit animal and this,” he said,
running his hand across the top of his pelvis, “was the seat of my spirit.”
Lo did her best not to giggle and to
really stroke his ego (though she wanted to stoke something else, I’m sure). But then she said abruptly, “Oh, fuck, I
forgot, I have to send a quick email for work.”
I was confused and I saw her grab
her phone and scurry off. “I’ll be right
back. Just five minutes. Promise.
I just have to take care of this little bit of business.”
OH!
I thought, Is that what she’s
up to now. You see, “TCB – Taking Care
of Business,” is our little code for her masturbating. That’s what she texts me when she can’t come
to the phone because she’s busy cumming to something else.
And just as quickly as that
revelation hit me, a second, more menacing one alighted, “She took her
phone. Oh, shit!”
But that second realization was just
a bit too late in arriving. She must
have already gotten into the bedroom or bathroom, took down her panties, if she
was wearing any at all, and already found a dirty little video to watch because
suddenly the music on the Bluetooth speaker switched to the sounds of two (or
more) people fucking. Yes. Right there in the living room, the pornographic
soundtrack filled the air like an ambient disembodied orgiastic orchestra.
“Ha ha,” I fumbled, “must be a
random connection crossing paths with our wireless.” I jumped to shut off the speaker and couldn’t
find the confounded button fast enough!
Finally, in the awkward silence, we sat just sort of looking at each
other as I struggled to fill the air that was now devoid of sex sounds but
pregnant with nothing. Small talk into
the void, I thought, not finding the words that would penetrate those deafening
drawn out moments of muted embarrassment.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, that shriek of Lo’s
climax cut the stillness with “Oh FUCK!”
“I’ll just go to check to make sure
everything’s ok,” I said, in haste to remove myself not only from the living
room, but, if possible, from the continent.
“LO!” I whispered as I entered the
bedroom and found her with her dress up over her waist, one of her dildos up
her crotch, on hand manipulating it as her other held her phone as she was
kneeling on the bed. She scampered to
make it look like she wasn’t up to no good, but there was no evading her
shenanigans.
“What?!” she angrily asked, also in
a whisper.
“They heard you. They heard everything.”
“What?”
“Yes. The porn, the orgasm, all of it. Now, put your toy down and get out here. Oh, and make up some sort of an excuse.”
I returned to our guests, looking as
if nothing was wrong and said, “Oh, Lo just, er, dropped her computer on her
foot.”
“Is she ok?” asked Stephanie, seeing
right through the ruse.
“Oh yeah,” I said, waiving my hand
as if to say, nothing to worry about.
No sooner had I done that than Lo
came out, in her heels, smiling, and she said, “Sorry about that, I just found
out that something terrible happened at work.”
“How’s your foot?” asked Stephanie.
“My foot?” asked Lo, perplexed. “Fine.”
“We were all worried,” I said,
“about the computer you dropped on it.”
“Computer I. . .” she began.
If I could have stepped on her foot
to give her the hint, I would have, but as it was, I think my eyes were saying
everything.
“Oh yeah,” said Lo, “my foot’s
fine. Just a little bruise,” she
said. “Will you rub it?” she asked me as
she sat on the couch and took off her heel and put her foot up on my lap.
“I thought you rubbed it.” I said,
accusatorily.
“Oh, I did. I did rub it, but it still hurts,” she
said. “It needs more rubbing,” she
added, and I could just hear her saying, “Daddio,” but she kept that to
herself, thankfully.
She shook her foot, as if to demand
my attention, and I said, “Wasn’t it your other
foot Lo?” just to mess with her.
“No, silly,” she said, “I think I
know which foot I dropped my computer on.”
So I began caressing her foot. We all continued our little chat, but this
time without any ambient music.
Eventually it was time to go and we
went to see the play.
Prior to that evening, I had no idea
what the play was about. I hadn’t even
heard of it. But ever since, that play
has been etched into my mind. In brief,
it is the story of a late 19th century doctor who treats women with
hysterical paroxysms. He used to induce
them digitally, but now he has discovered this newly invented medical device
that uses the also newly invented technology of electric power. The device?
A vibrator! The wife, who is
sexually frustrated, becomes curious about this mystery treatment and uses it
on herself, to her delight. I won’t give
too much of the wonderful story away here, lest you, dear reader, go to see it
– which I highly recommend.
But for the four of us to see that
play together, well, I can only surmise that this was the scheming of Lo’s
cunning mind. For, as you know by now,
Stephanie and Mark have been struggling with rekindling the sexual spark in
their marriage. In many respects, they
may have felt like they were watching their relationship play out on
stage.
Lo’s little foreplay at home may
have been an elaborate prelude to the main event. A little masturbatory appetizer for our
guests, only in order to fete them with a full course meal of onanistic
explorations. During the performance, Lo
was squirming in her seat as she sat, very conveniently and strategically
between me and Mark.
At intermission, Stephanie pulled Lo
aside, leaving Mark and me to get drinks at the crowded bar. I was thankful for the distraction, for I
honestly didn’t know what to say to him.
When we did have a moment of awkward interaction, he asked, “What do you
think of the play?”
I answered, “Wonderful, wonderful,”
ambiguously.
“I can see what Lo likes about it,”
he said, just as ambiguously.
“What wouldn’t she like about it?” I
asked rhetorically.
Just then the ladies returned and
the lights flashed off and on indicating time to return to our seats.
The final act was a very satisfying
one, especially if Mark and Stephanie saw themselves in the main
characters. After the final curtain came
down, Mark and Stephanie said hasty goodbyes, claiming they had to get home to
relieve the babysitter. But who knows
what the actual cause of their haste was.
When Lo and I were alone, I rebuked
her for her bad behavior.
“Are you angry, Daddy?” she asked.
“Lo, why did you give in to your
carnal desires when we had guests? Were
you just prepping them for the play or were you too much in lust after seeing
Mark unzip his pants for you?”
A couple getting off to “Match, Cinder & Spark” and mysexlifewithlola.com together
“A little from column A,” she said,
“and a little from column B.”
“More like a lot from column B,” I
added. “What exactly did you see?”
Earlier
that day, dear reader, we had gone to the beach with our friends Stephanie and
Mark. They’re a married couple in their
30’s, they have a couple of young kids, suburban house, everything – a quaint
picture of domestic bliss. Then you
throw Lo into the mix and, well, you’ll see what unfolds (or unzips).
Stephanie is a
work acquaintance of mine who has her office down the hall. Every so often she texts me little notes
like, “Lunch today?” followed by a winkface, a smileyface, or some other
emoticon that drives Lo crazy! Lo is
convinced she has the hots for me. But
it’s hard to stay seated atop her high horse when she is just as often on her
knees in front of a different man. As
you shall soon discover, Lo was in for a dénouement all her own. Lo, it so turns out, has more than your
casual fondness for Mark. In fact, she
has made it no secret how she feels about him.
The first time we
had dinner with them, when Lo first met Mark, Lo rushed us home and threw me
into the bed, jumping on top of me, humping me and, looking down at me from
where she lifted and descended at a rising trot’s pace, she asked, “Do you
think he wants me?”
“Mark?”
“Yes, Mark,” she
said, panting.
She didn’t even
let me answer before she finished.
Apparently just the mention of his name was enough to get her heart
palpitating.
She fell down next
to me and, caressing her soft lower lips, she said, “He’s hard-up.”
“How do you know?”
“Did you forget
that Stephanie and I had lunch together a few weeks ago?”
“And she told you
that?”
“I have my ways of
getting information. I know that they
have sex once every six months, if that.
And it’s not for his lack of wanting.”
“Do you think he wants you?”
“Fuck me and I’ll
tell you.”
She spread her
legs and I slid in.
“He’s so tall,”
she began, “and sitting next to him I could tell that he was looking down my
blouse at my tits all night.”
“I did notice
that.”
“And his long legs
touched mine under the table.”
“Did they?”
“And his cock!”
She was cumming again. “His cock
is huge. I could see it bulging right
through is pants. Oh, it’s such a waste
for her not to be on that every night!!!”
She came hard this time.
That dinner date
was a few months ago.
Now, we were at
the beach and I could tell that Lo was all riled up to see Mark in just his
swimming trunks. Knowing where Lo’s
attention would fall, I gazed at his crotch and had to admit to myself, she was
right – there was no disguising the size of that thing. It was truly amazing that the tip didn’t peek
out the bottom of those loose-fitting shorts.
As soon as we
staked out a spot for us to set up our chairs and blankets on the white sand,
Lo removed her sheer blouse, revealing her tiny bikini top and lovely tum. She had the confident air of a woman in her
twenties, showing off and prancing around her thirty-something
competition. And that self-assured
swagger sure got Mark’s attention.
Stephanie, who was
busy with the two kids, was oblivious to all the sexual tension coursing
between Lo and Mark. I watched,
contentedly. Lo was soon removing her
cutoff jeans-shorts, slipping out of them like a stripper on stage. Her bikini bottom left little to the
imagination, but I could see Mark desperately imagining what was left.
When she was down
to just her bikini, she got on all fours on the beach blanket in front of Mark,
who was sitting in a beach chair. She
roved around the blanket like a dog looking for its bone, but Lo was looking for
the sunscreen. Or so she said. I think she was just looking for attention. .
. and getting it.
“Where did you put
it?” she asked me.
“I don’t know,” I
said.
“He’s good for
nothing, Mark,” she said, jibbing at me.
As she was on all fours, her breasts hung down right in front of Mark
and then she turned and, searching her bag, her ass was up in the air right in
front of him. I’ve seen strippers on
stage who were more discrete than that.
“Oh, here it is!” she exclaimed as she pulled it out of her bag, looking
behind her to see if she was being watched.
She began applying
the lotion to her feet, legs, tum, chest, arms, shoulders, neck, face. “I missed a few spots,” she said, passing the
lotion to me as we exchanged looks – mine saying, “You’re pushing it.” Hers saying, “I want it pushed.”
I applied some
lotion to her back. “Lower,” she
said. I applied it to her lower
back. “Lower,” she said. I applied it to her ass and she pulled up the
bottoms into a thong and said, “Don’t take any chances.”
I applied it to
her ass cheeks as I looked at Mark and said, “The princess likes to be
pampered.” He laughed, but was clearly
thinking about pampering the princess in his own way. I enjoyed it.
A group of four
men strolled onto the beach with their cooler, chairs, volleyball, and
snacks. They set up camp right next to
us, attracted to Lo, no doubt. They were
all in their twenties, jacked, and looking to have fun in the sun. Lo’s attention was suddenly split between
Mark and the men. It looked like the numbers
won out – unless Lo was just toying with Mark now the way she had been toying
with me. Once she had the fish hooked,
she was content to throw it away and see what other catch she could accomplish
with her bait.
The guys, after
settling in and cracking open a few brews, set up the volleyball net and began
a game. Lo looked on enviously.
“Go play,” I said,
giving her permission.
“No, you come
too,” she said, ambiguously.
“I don’t want to.”
“Mark, will you
play?”
Mark was up for
it. The two of them approached the guys
and soon it was five guys and Lo bouncing the ball back-and-forth. Lo danced upon the sand, dashing here and
there, stretching to spike the ball, bending to pick it up, lunging to serve. She was clearly distracting to her teammates
and opponents alike. At some points her
bikini bottoms were showing her cute ass and at other points her breasts were
on the verge of flying out of their cups.
Stephanie talked
with me in between rebuking or cautioning the children. We discussed work and then leisure time. I had recounted some of the things that Lo
and I had done over the summer thus far.
“Wow!” she said, “You two do so much!”
“Well, if I had my
druthers, I’d probably just sit at home and read and write, but Lo is always on
the go-go-go.”
“One of the
downsides of dating. . .” she searched for the least judgmental words she could
find, “someone so young.” No matter how
she said it, it dripped with derision.
“She keeps me
young,” I said, simply, with a smile on my face as I watched my young nymph
flirt with the four guys and Mark.
The sun was
beating down and I could see all the players wilting in the noontime heat. They broke up their game and Lo grabbed some
cash from her bag and said she was going to get a snow cone.
“You were really
playing hard,” I commented.
Out of breath,
sweating, she just nodded.
“I mean, hard to
get,” I added sardonically.
“Daddio, I don’t
play hard to get. I play to get them
hard.”
She asked if we
wanted something. After putting in my
order, I watched as she and two of the young men walked down the path toward
the dunes, behind which was the concession stand. Just before they were out of eyeshot, I saw
Lo stop and untie the halter-top of her bikini and ask one of the men to fix it
for her. He was fixing it from behind
while the other guy was in front of her.
The guy fumbling with the stings “accidentally” lost his grip of them,
letting the top fall. Lo laughed as she
pulled it back up. Down it went again as
she tried to pass the string to Mr. Butterfingers. They all laughed as Lo covered her breasts
with her arm. They retied the knot and
walked on. They were away for a long
time.
When Lo got back
from the concession stand, Lo asked me to go into the ocean with her. “Where’s my snack?” I asked, expecting that
she would at least bring it back.
“Whoops!” she said
with a smile. “I got a bit. . .
distracted. Come with me in the water
and I’ll tell you about it,” she said, up to no good. I gave her an angry look, but she’s knows I
can’t be cross with her for long.
I followed her to
the deep blue sea. The water was
warm. We were relatively alone at that
part of the beach and I carried Lo in my arms.
When we got out to the point where I could still stand, but was lifted
as the waves crested, Lo kissed me passionately.
“Wow!” I said,
surprised.
“Feel me, Daddio,”
she said, moving my hand between her legs.
“Am I wet?”
“Lo. We’re swimming. In the ocean.”
She smiled. “Oh, trust me, I’m wet.”
“What were you up
to?”
“Nothing.”
She kissed me
again.
“Lo, I know you
were up to something. I saw your little
ploy to flash them your tits.”
“You
saw that, Daddio?”
“Yes.”
“What
else did you see?”
“That’s it. You disappeared behind the dunes. You were away for a long time, while I
patiently waited for my snack. No snack
came back.”
“Oh,
you’ll get your snack,” she said. “Your
snack will be coming soon.”
She
kissed me again. It was like she was
drunk on sunshine, shore, and attention.
“Finger
me, Daddio.”
I
put my index finger into her slippery hole underwater, beneath her bikini
bottoms.
“Oh,
yeah,” she moaned. “Hurry up. I have to cum.”
“What
were you up to?”
“Let’s
just say that the snow cone was dessert.”
“What
did you do?”
“Both
of them, with my mouth. Are you mad?”
“Oh,
that’s why you were so salty. I thought
it was just the sea water.”
She
moaned. Beneath the rolling waves I felt
her pussy clench on my finger. She
came.
“Do
you think Mark knows?” she asked when her momentary ecstasy was at an end.
“Why
would he know?”
“You
think he thinks I’m a slut?”
“He
has no reason not to.”
“Good.”
“Why
do you tease these poor married men?”
“I
just like being an inspiration to people.”
“You’re
so altruistic.”
“I
think so. I really hope that they’ll go
home tonight and fuck like banshees.”
“But
you know that she isn’t up for it.”
“Well,
then I hope they’ll go home and after she falls asleep, he’ll make himself cum
five times next to her in the bed to the thought of me today at the beach.”
“And
you’re going to cum to that thought at least five times in the shower tonight,
won’t you?”
“If
not before.”
Her
orgasm achieved, we swam back to shore.
She adjusted her bottoms as we emerged from the water. We walked up to our beach blanket and chairs
and as we approached I could see the guys next to us speaking in hushed tones
and looking at Lo. I could see them
making eye contact with her and her smiling back at them. The two who lucked out were gloating to their
two hard-up companions. I wondered if
Mark and Stephanie could hear them.
When
we got up to the group, one of the guys asked Lo if she’d like to play some
more volleyball now that she cooled off.
“The game was tied up. You’re not
going to leave it that way, are you?” he asked.
“What’s
wrong with being tied up?” asked Lo suggestively.
“I’m
game,” said Mark.
“OK,”
said Lo, “Let’s play.” She and Mark went
over and the six of them volleyed. I saw
Lo running and jumping, bending over in a set-stance like Kerri Walsh. At one point, she ran to hit the ball in the
far corner of the impromptu court. She
missed it. As she fell down and was on
all fours, she crawled to the ball and I thought I saw something that I
wondered if anyone else saw. I wondered
if it was what I thought it was. The
sand between her knees was wet. After
she tossed the ball to Mark she said, “I have to take a break,” and she came
over to me sitting on the towel.
Luckily, Stephanie had gone in the water with her kids and was swimming,
seeming to ignore the action of the court.
“Lo,”
I said, “did you. . .”
“You
saw?!” she asked, mortified.
“So
you did?”
“Yes. Accidentally.
Do you think anyone else saw?”
“Even
if they did, your bathing suit is wet from the ocean. They probably just thought. . .”
“But
Daddio, I gushed. I’m still gushing,”
she said, spreading her legs a bit to show me a burst of clear liquid spraying
onto the towel as she accidentally squirted.
“This is bad!” she said, adding, “But it feels so good.” A look of relief was on her face after her
release.
“Have
some water. Stay hydrated and take it
easy.”
Lo
rolled over on her tum and watched the five guys hitting the ball around.
“Lo,”
I said, “If you don’t want to have any more accidental orgasms, then stop looking
at the eye-candy.”
“I
wish I could,” she said. “Or I wish I
could just get good and fucked right now!”
Lo lay in her
agony only for a little while before Mark quit the game. The guys had lost interest once Lo bowed
out. Mark rejoined us.
Soon
thereafter, Stephanie and the kids came back up and all were ready to go home
for an early dinner.
We
went back to Mark and Stephanie’s place.
Stephanie changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt and Mark manned the
grill, still in his bathing suit.
Lo
was back into her cutoff jeans-shorts and bikini top. No bikini bottoms or panties. She helped Mark with some food prep in the
kitchen before we all sat outside to eat.
The
kids were getting cranky and soon after dinner we left so they could deal with
the inevitable melt-down that we could see coming.
“Match, Cinder & Spark,” great beach reading
On
the ride home Lo said to me, “Did you hear what Stephanie said when Mark
commented about the curls of my hair?
She said, ‘You don’t even notice I have hair.’ But honestly, she doesn’t do anything to keep
herself up and attractive. And she
doesn’t even have a sex-drive.”
“Don’t
you see the pattern?”
“What
pattern?”
“The
pattern: Hunter and his wife, Mark and Stephanie, Carl and Hollis – so many of
them. These youngish hot guys with very attractive
wives and there is just nothing going on.”
“How
is it a pattern?”
“I’m
old enough to have seen the pattern.”
“What
pattern?!” She was getting impatient
with my teasing now.
“Lovely, fun,
free-spirited woman (or so she appears) locks that shit down, puts a ring on
it, gets married, and no sooner than the last piece of wedding cake is put in
the freezer, she chops off her loose long locks, gets a little bob-cut, and
then it begins.”
“What begins?”
“Well, with
different women the timing may vary, but give the domestic bliss a year or so
before she pops out one or two screaming poop-makers and then it’s all
sweatpants and sweatshirts all the time.
A few years of that and then she complains to her husband, ‘You wouldn’t
even notice if I died my hair purple!
You don’t even see me!’”
“You’re being
sexist.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, and I don’t
like it.”
When we got home
it was chilly out. “I’m going to get
into sweatpants and a sweatshirt,” said Lo, “Is that ok with you or won’t you
notice me anymore?”
“Lo, with you it’s
different.”
“How?”
“Cause I know that
you’re always naked under those clothes.”
“Naked and wet.”
“Go take a hot
shower, hop on the bed, put your beach bum up in the air and await your
punishment for your bad behavior today.”
“Really?!” she
said with great anticipation.
“Yes, really.”
“Punishment or
reward?”
“In my mind it’s a
reward. But I know you prefer to think
of it as punishment.”
“Stop
it. You won’t get me to go by doing
that,” I said as Lo batted her lashes at me, reached for my cock, and rubbed
her hips up against my leg.
“It
will be fun.”
“Fun? Your idea of fun and mine are very
different.”
“I
don’t think so.”
“You
think another wedding will be fun?”
“The
last one was, remember?”
“I
remember – the food was beyond blasé, the music was mediocre, and the people
were piss-poor conversationalists.”
“Oh,
Daddy. Don’t you remember what we did in
the bathroom?”
“That
was its only redeeming feature.”
“I
have a lot of redeeming features,” she said, pulling her breast out of her
blouse.
“You
need a lot of redeeming, darling.”
“Suck
it,” she commanded.
I
bent my head down to her nipple and did as she asked.
“Bite
down.”
I
followed her instruction.
“Harder.”
I
did as she wished.
“Mmmmmm,
that’s it. Make it hurt. Pull it with your teeth.”
I
pulled.
“Let’s
go fuck,” she said, removing her blouse and lifting up her skirt, running down
the hallway. I followed her, but she
stopped me at the door to the bedroom.
“No, wait,” she said, “I have a better idea.”
“A
better idea than fucking?”
“Well,
it involves fucking.”
“I
see. What’s your idea?”
“I’ll
change into the different outfits I might wear to this wedding and you can fuck
me in each of them. At the end, you can
tell me which is the one you want me to wear.”
She
shut the door and when she opened it again she was wearing a little white
blouse and a short skirt and heels. No
panties. She lifted up the skirt and
bent over the bed. “How’s this?” she
asked.
I
entered her from behind and said, “This will do.”
After
she came, she pushed me out. “I have to
try on another outfit. Give a girl some
privacy to change.”
She
shut the door again. When she opened it,
she was wearing a tight blue dress and strappy heels. “Thoughts?” she asked as she lifted up the
dress from behind and bent over the bed.
I
repeated the process again. “I like
this, but not as much as the other. Too
fancy.”
Now
she pushed me away again and she shut the door in my face. When it opened, she was wearing a short red
dress. “This?”
“This
is by far the best!” She looked like a
little harlot and she lifted up the back to show me how ready she was for a
third go-round.
“So
you’ll come?” she asked.
“Yes,”
I said, meaning that I’d cum.
“No,
you’d better not fucking cum on this dress,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m not paying to have this dry-cleaned. I mean, you’ll come to the wedding.”
“Yes
dear,” I said reluctantly, “You know you always get your way.”
“Don’t
you like my way?” she asked as she slammed her ass into my hips again and again
and reached back with her right hand to massage her perineum.
“Your
way is the best,” I said, pulling out and telling her to get on her knees as I
came into her mouth and she hungrily devoured me.
My
reluctance to go was twofold. First, I
simply detest weddings. Call me a
curmudgeon, call me jaded, call me a stick-in-the-mud, but if you’re getting
married, don’t call me. Second, I found
it particularly challenging to be happy for the “happy” couple, knowing full
well that they really weren’t happy together but rather, felt this to be the
next logical step in their relationship.
Relationships based on logic are not relationships based on love. Logic has its own sort of force, but not the
mystical force exerted by love.
However,
countering these two weighty reasons for declining our invitation were two
weightier reasons to concede to the social obligation: an open bar and the
prospect of seeing Lo on the dance floor in that red dress. If two people are fool enough to get engaged
and ultimately get married, if those same two people are fool enough to invite
me to their party and supply free food and adult beverages all night, really,
who am I to stand in the way of my happiness?
So
I went. This was no conventional wedding
and thank God for that! It was not at
some swanky hotel or a low-budget VFW hall.
It was being held at a mountaintop private residence. As such, the bride and groom were welcome to
use the grounds, but not the dwelling. A
big-top tent was rented and set up and, as accommodations for the guests, we
were welcome to pitch our own tents in order to avoid the treacherous hair-pin
curves of the dirt road back down into the valley at night.
Lo
and I arrived around noon and, though we thought we were early, to our surprise
we found that the pre-nuptial festivities were already in full swing. Beer kegs were strategically placed around
the expansive lawn, games of Frisbee, croquet, and bocce were being
played. We mingled, took some pics of
the vista overlooking the river basin below, and we drank and had lunch before
setting up camp.
By
two o’clock a sprawling tent city was emerging and we were lucky enough to find
a level spot on some soft grass right at the corner of this temporary
village. As we unpacked the tent and the
air mattress, a young couple pulled up in their Subaru Outback and began
setting up their tent next door to ours.
Everyone was in a jubilant mood and the fella turned to me and said,
“Not a lot of space here for all of us.”
“No,”
I replied, neighborly.
“We’re
practically right on top of one another,” he remarked. It was true, there was so little room between
tents that we couldn’t even spread the lines to tether down the tent with the
stakes.
“I
wouldn’t mind being right on top of him,” Lo said under her breath to me. I saw her lick her lips as she watched him
nimbly unpack the suitcases from the car into their tent.
“I
hope you two don’t mind,” he practically called out to us, “but we’re planning
on trying to make a baby tonight.”
I
had no idea what the neighborly thing to respond was, so I just looked
dumbfounded until his wife yelled at him, “What did you just say?”
“I
said, we are hoping to make a baby tonight.”
“Oh
my God,” she said, “You have to excuse him, he’s a redneck country boy,” she
said apologetically. “You keep your
mouth shut and just set up the tent,” she called to her husband.
“What?”
he asked, “I’m just giving them fair warning.”
She
was an attractive brunette, in her mid-thirties I’d guess, and clearly in love
with the somewhat dim-witted, yet well-intentioned beau of hers.
The
two of them made some small talk with us as we put the finishing touches on our
new homes – asking how we knew the bride or the groom, where we were from,
etc. At one point he turned to me and
said, in confidence, “How old are you?”
“How
old do you think I am?” I asked back.
“I’d
say at least forty-five,” he said, being honest, though not necessarily polite.
“Well,
you’re in the ballpark, if you add about five or so years.”
“And
what about her?” he asked, nodding over to Lo.
“What
do you think?” I said, turning it back to him.
“Twenty,
twenty-two maybe.”
“Again,
you’re close,” I said.
“You
lucky dawg!” he said, slapping my back with a big smile.
Soon they and we
went our separate ways. There must have
been at least two hundred guests attending this affair and so we didn’t
actually see them again that evening. I
told Lo about his untoward questions and remarks and she smiled, contentedly,
while her words denounced his lack of couth.
The
rest of the day and night went much as you’d expect – cocktails were served
along with hors d’oeuvres. As the sun
was getting low making for the perfect romantic lighting, the bride and groom
were escorted down the grassy out-door isle to the perfect spot with a backdrop
of mountains descending toward the horizon in the distance. The speeches were made, the vows were
exchanged, the public display of affection put on for the guests. I, for my part, held back my applause,
reserving judgment for later years.
The
band came out and dancing under the stars and in the tent commenced along with
copious amounts of alcohol being consumed.
Perhaps as a result of the fresh air or all the dancing, the effects of
the alcohol upon me were negligible in comparison with what I ingested.
The
stars were bright, the air was warm with a slight breeze, and music was wafting
over the grounds. Lo was happy to be
dancing in my arms and before too long she pulled me aside and said, “Daddy,
let’s go to the tent.” It wasn’t so
early; already some couples had made their exits. But the party was still at critical
mass.
Nevertheless,
Lo and I led each other through the ever darkening expanse of land to the tent
city where, after taking a moment for our eyes to adjust, we figured out which
tent was ours. In through the zipper
door we climbed, out of our party attire we slipped, and into each other’s arms
we sprung.
Tents
are never ideal places for frolics in bed – firstly, because there is no bed
per se. Secondly, because open sleeping
bags slip and slide and bunch up and disappear in the darkness. Be that as it may, we found a way to make it
work.
We
were lying on top of one of the sleeping bags and under the other one. We were spooning. My arms were wrapped around her naked body
and her round bum was pressed up against my pelvis. She could feel my manhood growing hard. My hands groped her breasts. Her tush pushed harder on my hardness. She reached behind her and began stroking
it. She pointed it at her target and it
slid right in.
“Do
I feel tight or loose?”
“Tight.”
“Wet?”
“Very.”
“Do
you like?” she asked as I protruded deeper into her.
When
we were done, we turned on the flashlight to remake the “bed” (air mattress)
and cuddle up next to each other – big and little spoon – for warmth, though
the air had only cooled a little and we hoped that no one heard our kinky taboo
sweet nothings.
Only
a few minutes had passed before we heard our neighbors unzip their tent and
clumsily get into bed. They must have
set up their interior so that their heads were right by ours, because we could
hear every word they whispered.
“Shhh,
Sam, you’ll wake everyone up,” she said.
“No
one’s around,” said Sam.
“Yes
they are,” she whispered back. “I just
saw the light go out in their tent when we were walking here.”
“Then
they’re not asleep.”
“Shhhh,”
she said back.
There
was some rustling and movement and then we heard some giggles on her part
followed by a zipping sound (the sleeping bag) and some more rustling. Lo was kissing me when we heard her moan. It didn’t take long before they had worked
themselves into a rhythmic slip-sliding sound and we could hear the heavy
breathing. Lo reached down and grabbed
my hardening cock. We heard the wife
moan and it sounded like she was in bed with us.
Lo
got on all fours, her head facing the neighbors’ tent, and she nudged me to get
behind her. As I entered her, she also
moaned. We heard the rhythm of the
neighbors stop cold for a second and then, when Lo moaned again, it picked
up.
I
was very self-conscious and I could hear my hips slapping up against Lo’s ass
as Lo began to breath more heavily. Soon
she was whispering, “Yes, yes.” We heard
the neighbor wife call, “Fuck, that feels good.
Harder, Sam.”
That
just spurred Lo on to be louder with her, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” in
time with my thrusts.
Now
it was feeling like a competition – who could go longer, who would be louder. It was odd, there in the darkness, as if we
were in the same room, yet not. The
simultaneous orgy and privacy was getting us very worked up and I think Lo
wasn’t able to control it any longer – she started crying out, “Fuck, I’m
cumming. Fuck! Deeper!
Hold it. Hold. It.
Stay. Right. There.”
As
she did so, our female neighbor began growling through her grit teeth. She was cumming too and it was an angry,
intense orgasm.
When
we were all done and lying down, I’m not sure who started it but there was
giggling and soon we were all giggling before Lo said, “Good night,” to our
neighbors and they responded with a very warm, “Sleep tight!”
Fap. Jill.
Vibe. Flick the bean. Solo time.
T.C.B.
However
you call it, Lo does it. And she does it
more than any woman I’ve ever met and more than most women whose rumored
self-pleasure sessions have reached my ears.
That
said, it came as no surprise to me when I heard. . . well, just sit down, get
comfortable, and I’ll tell you.
Lo had gone on her date. I was home, alone. At least she had had the courtesy to jack me off before leaving. But what to do with my time? You see, dear compassionate reader, when Lo goes off like that, it puts me in the greatest state of tension and anticipation. If only I could be there on all of her dates, sitting at the bar, watching from afar.
But
Lo needs, deserves, and wants her space.
I get that. And, to be fair, the
eager expectation is more than half the fun.
The other half is hearing her tell the tale to me in bed.
Still,
that gap between her departure and arrival must be filled. A hard, very hard task.
I
can’t just go out with friends. My mind
would be preoccupied. And what if I
missed Lo’s return?
Reading
is futile. My every wandering thought is
of Lo, and the thoughts wonder frequently, just like Lo.
Writing? Well, sometimes that is a good pastime.
But
on this occasion I got up to some mischief.
You,
my faithful reader, are well aware from long ago that Lo is insanely
jealous. Not just of my attention, not
just of other women, but of literally anyone who might remotely rival her in my
eyes. Hence, she was frequently frowning
upon my watching Weeds, and
especially Mary-Louise Parker, whose character, Nancy Botwin, not only
intrigued me, but reminded me of Lo in a number of ways.
Mary Louise ParkerFrankie Shaw fapping to MySexLifeWithLola – Can you believe it?!
Somehow,
during Lo’s late night adventures most likely, I managed to get through all the
episodes of that series. And for a good
long time, nothing replaced it. . .
.
. . until SMILF came along with its
very Lo-like star, Frankie Shaw.
Frankie Shaw of SMILF – Lola’s Fantasy
Lo
and I had watched the first episode together, but when Frankie got down and
dirty, Lo hit the power button and said, “Nope.
No more for you.”
“But.
. .” I tried to protest.
“But
nothing. If you’re getting hard
watching, then I’m shutting it off and you and I can go to the bedroom and get
fucking.” And that’s just what we did.
Now
that Lo was out, and most likely getting fucking with someone else, the image
of Frankie Shaw on the “recently watched” option of the T.V. menu was calling
to me and I thought, “This is ridiculous.
This is more than a double-standard.
This is cruel and unusual punishment.”
So I hit “Play.”
My
suspicions were borne out; Frankie Shaw is just like Lo. When she frantically scrolls through the
photos on her computer with one hand down her panties, it was a replay of a
vignette I had seen so many times with Lo in the starring role. In my mind, though, Frankie Shaw was fapping
it to mysexlifewithlola.com, scrolling through all the desultory images of Lo
fapping it to who-knows-what – probably to Frankie Shaw, if I’m being honest,
since Lo loves to condemn with me that which she condones privately.
I
only got through another two and a half episodes before I saw the headlights of
a car out front stop and let out a passenger.
It was Lo. I could tell by the
swivel of her hips as she walked. The
T.V. was off before she was in the house.
“Hello,”
she called from the door.
“Hello,”
I called back.
She
peered in the unlit living room.
“Sitting in the dark?”
“It’s
my best light and greatest comfort.”
“Well,
it can be dark in the bedroom too,” she said, walking down the hall, her
leather boots on the wood floor sounding like seductive music to my ears.
I
got up and followed her and said, “You bring the light,” as I turned on the
nightstand lamp to see her. Upon
reflection I added, “You know, that’s where Lucifer gets his name.”
“What?”
she asked, looking at me quizzically.
“Lucifer,
it literally means, ‘carrier of light.’
It is said that he, like Prometheus before him, had stolen the holy
light of God and ferried it to humans.
Artists for millennia have understood that light to be metaphoric for
creative inspiration, not literal light.
That’s what you are, my Lucifer.”
“Well,
get in bed if you want to fuck like the devil.”
I
waisted no time. I hopped under the
sheets as she stood next to the bed looking at herself across the room in the
full-length mirror.
“Good
date?” I inquired.
She
took off her black leather jacket and removed her shirt. No bra.
She was wearing a bra when she left.
It must have been a good date.
She
bent over, took off her boots, and then slid out of her skirt. Still no panties.
Her
naked body eased up next to me and she whispered in my ear. “Did you miss me, Daddy?”
“I
always miss you when you’re gone.”
“Did
you wonder what I was doing?’
“Of
course.”
“What
did you do while I was out?”
“I’m
more interested in what you did,” I
said. (See what I did there?)
“Slide
in me and I’ll tell you,” she said.
As
I complied, she moaned and said, “I missed you, Daddy.”
I
guess I have a type.
I
entered her and, truth be told, all I could feel was how very wet she was. It made me think of the scene from SMILF where Frankie Shaw is having sex
with the tall, big, basketball player, surrounded by all the other guys from
the team, and he says, “Am I in you?”
Just
as I thought that, Lo said, “Can you feel me, Daddy? Am I loose?”
“So
loose,” I said, “Like the opening of a tent flapping in the wind.”
“Well,”
she said, “you don’t have to be so explicit about it.”
“I
wasn’t explicit,” I said, “it was a simile.”
“Here’s
a simile: Get in my ass, it’s just like my pussy, only tighter.”
I
laughed and followed her instruction.
She moaned.
“Your
ass is a vice,” I said. “That’s a
metaphor.”
“I
thought you meant that my ass is a vice, like gambling or liquor,” she said
over her shoulder.
“It’s
that too, and so many other things.”
“Oh
yeah, what else?”
“It’s
the seat of my love for you.”
“Look,
Daddio, I want to get fucked good, hard, long, and hard. I want cock, right now, not poetry, so get up
there and give it to me.”
“You
said hard twice.”
“I
want it twice as hard.”
I
gave her what she wanted and said, “And I want to hear about your date.”
Once
she was good and pumped, she began talking in between gasps for air.
“I
showed up, looking slutty, smelling sweeter than cotton candy, and wetter than
a flower in the rainforest.”
“Who’s
the poet now?” I asked.
“Shut
up and keep pounding.”
“Keep
cumming and carry on,” I said, feeling her gushing.
“He
was a perfect gentleman. He stood when I
approached him.”
“I’m
sure he stood at attention.”
“And
he had saved me a seat at the bar. I sat
down and after he got me my drink, I swiveled toward him and spread my legs so
he could see, very clearly, what I was wearing under my skirt.”
“As
I recall, you weren’t wearing anything.”
“That’s
right, not even a merkin, as you had suggested.”
“I
still think the merkin was the way to go.”
“Maybe
next time, dear, but this time I was quite exposed.”
“Quite
the exposé.”
“But
not quite the big reveal. Not yet
anyway.”
“I’m
listening.”
“Yeah,”
she said, “but not fucking. Deeper
Daddio.”
I
grabbed on to her ass with both hands and spread her as far as she would go for
maximum insertion. She moaned
deeply.
“Don’t
get lost in your orgasm,” I warned, “I’m just as deeply invested in your
story.”
“I
asked him if he felt like eating.”
“The
ambiguity of your question is delicious.”
“He
paid the tab and we walked out of the hotel bar. I thought we were going to go to his car, but
as we were in the lobby, we saw the guests of a wedding filtering into the
ballroom. He stopped me and said, ‘I
have an idea. You look too good not to
show off. Let’s go.’ And then he took me by the hand and we
crashed the wedding party.”
“Very
impulsive.”
“We
danced for a good hour before the food was served. He twirled me and dipped me, sweeping me off
my feet.”
“Giving
great views of your gams, I’m sure.”
“My
what?”
“Never
mind.”
“From
there we went to the hotel room he had ready.”
“Just
for a nightcap.”
“In
the elevator up to the room, he kissed me passionately and his right hand began
going up my skirt.”
“I
bet the elevator wasn’t the only thing going up.”
“In
the hotel room he sat me down in the chair and asked if he could make a
request.”
“What
was that?”
“He
wanted to watch.”
“What?”
“He
wanted to watch me finger myself, with my clothes on. He said that his wife has a fear of fapping. She never does it. And it’s one of his favorite fantasies –
women masturbating.”
“Well,
he found the right woman, alright.”
“That
was no coincidence. He had been reading
the blog for a long time. He tried to
get his wife to read it, to open her up to new ideas.”
“And,
did it?”
“He
said it didn’t. I told him, ‘Well, I’m
wide open.’ That’s when he could resist
no more and he fucked me good, hard, long, and hard.”
“There
you go again,” I said.
“What?”
“You
said hard twice.”
“Well,
he was hard. I was easy.”
I
couldn’t take it any longer and I ejaculated deep inside her.
“Lo,
you are the poet here,” I said as I slowly pulled out. “You pain such vivid images in my mind.”
“And
now that you’ve dipped your pen in my inkwell, I’m sure you’ll write all about
it.”
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.
Time passed and the doppelganger couple, Lily and Jim, got engaged. Prior to their engagement, but after Jim’s big reveal, Lily had invited me, just me, out for drinks a couple of times. My suspicion was that Jim had told her about our conversation. Now she knew that we knew of their open relationship. But did they know of our half-open relationship? Had Lo told her, him, them? Or did Lily just suspect?
In any case, one thing was very clear to me – Lily was trying to seduce me. She opened up to me, very casually and very explicitly, about the nature of the “intimacy” issues between her and Jim.
“As you know,” she began nonchalantly, “before I moved here, before I met Jim, I had a very active and interesting sex life.” Everything about her was always “very interesting,” or at least she tried to make it seem so.
I just nodded my head as if to say, “Go on.”
“I was with a lot of men.”
This was clearly a ploy to get me to want her. It was the fish hook that she thought she’d use to reel me in. Nothing sparks desire for a woman like knowing that that woman is desired. But what she didn’t take into consideration was my total contentment to Lo.
“They taught me things,” she said, alluding mysteriously to techniques and esoteric sex lore. “And they were good. Big and good.”
I didn’t need eyes that could see around corners to see where this was going.
“And Jim,” she continued, “I love him. But. . .”
She didn’t say it, so I did, “But he’s small.”
“Yes!” She felt relieved. “So small!”
“Small can be cute,” I suggested.
“Cute doesn’t cut it,” she retorted.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said, not knowing what she was after – empathy, sympathy, understanding, or my cock.
“Thanks,” she said flatly.
“So that’s why you’re in an open relationship?”
“Yeah, but it’s not working out as I had hoped. I was hoping that I’d be able to get some satisfaction in bed and he’d maybe learn a thing or two. You know he’s very inexperienced sexually.”
I nodded or grunted or some such thing.
“But he just hasn’t been able to seal the deal with anyone else and it’s making the whole situation untenable.”
I thought for a while about the obvious question and then, throwing caution to the wind, I blurted it out. “Why don’t you teach him? I mean, if he has a lot to learn in bed, who better to teach him what you like?”
She leaned in very close to me and said in a more hushed tone than the bravado voice she had been speaking in up to now, “Because I’m a sub. I don’t want to teach him. I want him to take me, teach me, tell me what to do, and make me do it. But he’s so nice,” she said it like it was a bad word, “he defers to me all the time.”
“Ah,” I said, leaning back and taking it all in.
She was still leaning towards me, which placed her eyes slightly below mine and so she was looking up at me with an expression that said, “I want you to take me, teach me, tell me what to do, and make me do very bad, dirty things.”
Just at that moment, I perceived ever-so-faintly the melodic voice of Camila Cabello waft through the restaurant singing:
Yes, she wanted to do bad things to me. Very bad things. Though the image of Sabina Spielrein being spanked over Carl Jung’s lap (as depicted in the movie A Dangerous Method) crossed my mind for an instant, I wasn’t going to have it. First, Lo. Second, I like Jim and if he’s already beside himself with jealously, then I’m not going to put our friendship at risk for a tryst.
But in that moment I struck on an idea. “What if Lo taught him?”
“Lo?” she repeated, sitting back in her chair, pondering the possibilities.
“Lo!” I called from the bedroom into the bathroom through the closed door. “LO! What are you doing in there?!” As if there were any question, really.
“Grrrrr, you’re not helping, you know!” came the response. “This water pressure sucks!”
“Jim will be here in fifteen – no, ten minutes.”
You see Jim, of the “doppelganger” couple, was to come over for brunch that Sunday morning. Lilly, his girlfriend, was out of town for a week and he had called me and asked if I would have time to talk. When I told him that Lo and I were free Sunday morning, he clumsily apologized and said, “Oh, I meant just you and me. I’m going through something and I. . .”
He was clearly uncomfortable and I felt bad for my assumption. I didn’t put him through having to explain it all on the phone, so I simply said, “No worries. Come on over at eleven and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
Well, now it was ten to eleven Sunday morning and Lo had been in the shower, no doubt sitting on the tub’s floor with the showerhead between her legs, for the better part of half an hour. She was supposed to be out of the house by now and I was getting irritated by the lack of consideration. When I presented the plans to her, in typical Lola fashion she took umbrage at not being the center of attention. “What could he possibly have to say to you that I can’t hear? Do you think he’s breaking up with Lilly? Do you think she left him?”
“Lo,” I said, “I don’t know. But I do know that he’s a friend in need and I will find out the whole story on Sunday.”
“Well,” she said, insulted, “I have two ears just like you do. I’m a good listener. I can dole out advice. I’m a comforting soul.”
“All of that is true, Lo,” I said, “but, hard as it is to believe, maybe he needs to talk man-to-man.”
“Harrumph!” she said, dramatically, “I could have a penis too, if I wanted one. I’ve got like four or five different strap-ons under the bed. Maybe if I had a penis he’d want to talk to me.”
“Lo, most men want to talk to you most of the time – penis or no penis. Can’t you accept that this one time a guy wants to talk to me. . . alone?”
I got her to promise that she’d let us alone for a few hours so that I could hear whatever it was that Jim had to say to me. But now she was dangerously close to intruding upon that precious one-on-one time.
The bathroom door opened, releasing a plume of steam into the bedroom. From within the cloud, the naked body of Lola appeared like the epiphany of a goddess out of heaven. Under normal circumstances, this would be the perfect opportunity to bend her over the edge of the bed and get on my knees to worship her posterior. But we had a guest – no, correction, I had a guest – scheduled to arrive in mere moments.
“You like, Daddy?” she asked, seeing me soak her visage in with my eyes.
“Lola,” I said in my Ricky Ricardo to Lucy voice.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a jiffy!”
I took her word for it and went into the kitchen to take out the ingredients for the brunch I was preparing. The doorbell rang and I welcomed Jim in, explaining that Lo is just getting a bit of a late start. He greeted me with a smile and a bottle of champagne, “For mimosas,” he said.
“Wonderful idea! Shall I pour two now?”
“It is brunch time,” he said.
I went into the kitchen and popped the cork and poured the bubbly in two long-stem glasses with OJ. The kitchen is half-way between the living room and the bedroom. From where I was in there, I could hear Lo beginning to moan. I hastily grabbed the two glasses and returned to the living room where I said, “Some music?” I turned on a Sunday blues station louder than was necessary, exclaiming, “I love this song!”
“Oh, who is it?” asked Jim.
Truth be told, I had no idea. I just wanted something to drown out the inevitable cries of pleasure that would reverberate down the hallway. “I forget, but I haven’t heard it in a long time,” I said as I felt beads of sweat on my brow.
We sat in the living room talking in raised voices over the music, just catching up with each other since it had been a while since we last spoke in person.
“Refill?” I asked when I saw his glass was empty.
He passed me his glass and I went to the kitchen. I went to refill his glass and quickly darted over to the bedroom where I peered in the door. Lo was naked on the bed, Hitachi between her legs. She looked over at me and whispered, “Sorry.”
“Are you done?” I whispered back, accusingly.
“Yes, Daddy.”
I closed the door and brought out the mimosas to the living room, turning down the music now. We chatted some more and then Lola walked into the room wearing her thin, tight, black yoga pants and a crop top, exposing her midriff.
“Hi Jim,” she said, flirtatiously.
“Hi Lola!”
“Don’t mind me. I’m just on my way to the gym for a yoga class. I know you boys want your time alone. I just have to get my gym bag.” Though her gym bag was in the hall leading to the living room and she could have simply picked it up, she made a production of turning around, bending over, protruding her tail in the air and then picking it up. It was a classic stripper move designed to provide the best view for Jim.
“Doesn’t that class start at eleven?” I asked facetiously. “You’d better get a move-on.”
“I’ll hightail it there, D—” She almost said “Daddio,” but stopped herself mid-consonant. “Don’t worry about me,” she stammered. She gave me a kiss goodbye and was finally out the door.
I observed with keen interest how Jim’s eyes followed Lo’s ass as she sauntered away.
When she was definitively gone, I got up and said, “Want to accompany me as I prepare the brunch?”
He followed me into the kitchen where I sliced and diced, fried and prepared the meal as he made some small talk. We sat down, ate, drank some more mimosas, and then, finally, he got to that which was on his mind.
“You know that Lilly is in Miami now,” he said.
“Yeah, how’s that going?”
“Well, she’s been away for four days and. . .”
I thought he was going to tell me that they had broken up and she wasn’t returning back, even though – or perhaps because – they had just moved in together. But that’s not where he was going with this.
“Well, you might not know this,” he continued, “but she and I are in an ‘open’ relationship.” He made air-quotes around “open.” No. No, I had not known that. Does he know about Lo and me? I hadn’t told him. Had Lo? Why bring this up with me? Had he found our blog? So many things ran through my mind at that moment.
“Until now,” he continued, “it really was an understanding between us, an operating principle, but it wasn’t put into practice.”
“Ah ha,” I nodded, indicating my understanding.
“But she called the other night – it was the first night she was down there – and she asked if she could sleep with a guy she met at the bar.”
“Oh,” I said. “And?”
“That’s just the thing – I was already asleep. I didn’t get the message until the next morning and by then it was too late.”
“Too late?” I didn’t know if he meant the opportunity had come and gone or if the opportunity had cum and stayed.
“Yeah.”
“What happened? Did she?”
He swallowed hard and admitted, “Yes. She didn’t hear back from me and, operating on our understanding, she slept with him. She did try to ask permission and she waited for a reply,” he said in defense of her before I even had a chance to react.
“How are you doing with that?”
“That’s just the thing, I’m doing horrible with it.” The distress was clear on his face.
I still hadn’t figured out why he had chosen to confide in me about this.
“What, exactly, is upsetting you about it?”
Let’s be clear here, in most situations if a fella came to his friend’s house and told him that he just found out that his girlfriend had slept with another man, there wouldn’t be any question as to what, exactly, was upsetting about it. But this wasn’t most situations. He got that and I did too.
“When I agreed to an open relationship, I did so because I knew that that was what she was used to and what she wanted. It was at the beginning of our relationship when you feel like nothing could derail the connection. But. . .” He took a deep drink of mimosa and I refilled his glass. “But since then we’ve had some issues. . .” Long pause again. “Intimacy. She says that we don’t connect sexually and spiritually. She says she loves me in every other way, but. . . and this is really hard to admit, she’s just not satisfied with my performance in bed. So, to hear about her with another man, it’s driving me nuts!”
I thought to myself, “You can either let it get to you or embrace your inner cuck and love your hotwife for who she is.” I didn’t say that to him, of course. I just lent a compassionate ear to his tale of woe. I gave some worldly advice, perhaps revealing more about myself and my relationship with Lola than I had intended, but not stating anything explicit about my relationship with her. I was eager to find out the root of their sexual disconnect, but careful not to pry. I knew that, had Lo been there – had she been the Lady Confessor – she would have been able to coax it out of him.
No sooner had I thought this than in the door appeared Lo. Jim put on his best smile and greeted her. “How was the yoga class?”
“So good,” said Lola. “How was your brunch?”
“We’re just finishing up,” said Jim as he cleared his plate and, as it seemed to me, hastily began to say goodbye.
As soon as he was out the door, Lo looked at me and said, “Did I scare him off?”
“I think you did,” I said, as surprised as she by the abrupt departure.
“Good,” she said, “now we’re alone. Tell me everything!”
“First, young lady,” I said in a scolding manner, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”
Hearing my rebuking tone, she turned tail and said, “I’m sorry, Daddy, spank me!” She bent over in her yoga pants and put her bum in the air. I gave her a good, hard, thrashing with my flat, open hand. It was clearly having an arousing effect upon her.
“Why are you spanking me, Daddy?”
“First,” I said, giving her bum a whack, “for jilling it in the shower. Second” and another whack, “for being late out the door. Third,” Whack! “for jilling it in bed. Fourth,” Whap! “for walking out in those yoga pants.”
“You noticed?”
“Noticed what?”
“I think you know.”
“Your cameltoe?”
“So you did notice? I didn’t wear any panties under the yoga pants. I pulled them up tight so that when I walked out my pussy, with all its clearly outlined folds, would be eye-level with Jim as he sat in the living room.”
WHACK!
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, licking her lips at the pain and pleasure. “I was bad. I purposely teased him. Did you like that?”
I pulled down her yoga pants and spanked her bare bottom now. “Fifth, for returning so early and teasing him again!”
“Take me in the bedroom and tell me what happened.”
I took her and told her the whole story. She masturbated to each detail and then said, “Do you think he came to you because he suspects I’m a hotwife?”
“Yes,” I said, “and not only that, but I think that what’s really going on is he’s feeling threatened that Lilly will get all the action and he’ll get none. I think his coming to me was his way of asking permission if it would be ok to fuck you, just so he can play too.”
“Really?!” asked Lo, very excited. “What makes you think that?”
“Just my gut. But I think he’s way too shy or uptight to actually come out and say it.”
“Do you think he has a small cock? Or trouble getting it up? Or. . .”
“Lo, I really don’t know. I haven’t put too much thought to it, but I’m sure you could be the cure to whatever ails him.”
“Oh, Daddy, hurry up and get in me!”
As soon as I had penetrated her puss to the hilt, she came in waves, gushing all over me. It took nothing more than that initial lance before she was convulsing upon my hard shaft. When she was done, she asked, “Did he like your brunch?”
“I think he would have preferred to have your naked peaches and cream.”
