Beach Bum

Posted on June 27, 2019 by Lola Down

“Was I bad, Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Am I a slut?”
“Yes.”

“Then fuck me like one.”

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.”

“I love that you know me so well, Daddy.”

Tent Talk

Posted on April 26, 2019 by Lola Down

“No! No way! Uh-uh. I’m not going.”

“Please, Daddio.”

“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 Gap

Posted on March 23, 2019 by Lola Down

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.

Frankie 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.

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.”

“I’m full of ideas.”

“And I’m full of cum. Get me a towel.”

The Masturbation Gap

Posted on March 17, 2019 by Lola Down

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 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.

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.

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.”

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.

It’s Complicated

Posted on May 25, 2018 by Lola Down

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:

Am I out of my head?
Am I out of my mind?
If you only knew the bad things I like
Don’t think that I can explain it
What can I say, it’s complicated
Don’t matter what you say
Don’t matter what you do
I only wanna do bad things to you
So good, that you can’t explain it
What can I say, it’s complicated

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.

“Naked Brunch”

Posted on April 22, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wonderful idea! Shall I pour two now?”

“It is brunch time,” he said.

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

“Oh, who is it?” asked Jim.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Daddy.”

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

“Hi Jim,” she said, flirtatiously.

“Hi Lola!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, how’s that going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” I said. “And?”

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

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

“Yeah.”

“What happened? Did she?”

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

“How are you doing with that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you spanking me, Daddy?”

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

“You noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“I think you know.”

“Your cameltoe?”

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

WHACK!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Daddy, hurry up and get in me!”

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

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

Original art by Jo Koss

Cake & Bar – Interview with a Kinky Amateur Porn Couple

Posted on November 25, 2017 by Lola Down

In the past we have periodically featured some letters and guest posts from some of our readers. Because we’ve received so much mail in the past year, we are now including a regular feature of kinky letters and write-in questions. To start us off, we begin with a lovely couple that go by the names of Cake & Bar (you’ll find out why below.) They have a Tumblr and they post short films of their sexy passion for each other:

Q: Let’s begin with the name. What’s Cake and Bar all about?

A: Well, Bar loves cheesecake (the actual food) and also loves Cake’s ass, so her name came easy. Bar has a very veiny dick and looks like a big Snickers when it’s fully erect, so that was the inspiration. The name is are also a play on us being an interracial couple.

Q: It looks like you started your Tumblr in July 2017. Is this exhibitionism something new for you two? How’d you get into it?

A: We started our Tumblr after being suspended from Twitter permanently for some odd reason. Tumblr was another way for us to share our sexuality and advertise for our porn movies on Manyvids. We’ve been on Manyvids for a year now, so yes we guess you could say we’re new to exhibitionism and porn making in general. Bar has always loved taking pictures of Cake, so one day he asked if we could start posting pictures anonymously to see the feedback we would get it from other people and the rest is history. For the most part it has been nothing but positive experiences.

Q: How long have you been a couple?

A: We’ve been together 15 years and been married 5 years and we have 2 children.

Q: Are you currently monogamous? If not, what’s the relationship like?

A: Yes, we’re monogamous.

Q: How has been the response to your posting pics and films of yourselves? A lot of Tumblr folks complain of people being rude or having derogatory things to say. That hasn’t been our experience. What about you?

A: For the most part we’ve had positive responses to the things we’ve shared. There’s always going to be some negative, but we take it in stride because it’s expected with the internet.

Q: You don’t show your faces in the pics/vids. Do you worry that you’ll be found out?

A: We don’t worry per se about being found out, but we like anonymity and the masks give us something else to set the scene with.

Q: Do any of your friends/family know about your kinky side?

A: Only 2 of our friends know we make porn and they’re totally supportive of us.

Q: What do you each like (in terms of sex/porn)?

A, Bar: Straight amatuer porn, mostly Interracial and Black. Some professional porn like the Greg Lanskys stuff.

A, Cake: Doesn’t enjoy watching porn as much as she likes shooting it.

HH & Lo: Thanks so much!!!!

Cake & Bar: You’re welcome and thanks for your patience with our response.

Some photos from Cake & Bar getting off to Lola (more can be found at their Tumblr and at loladown.tumblr.com):

Game Time

Posted on September 10, 2017 by Lola Down

It was Thursday. The Thursday before Super Bowl Sunday to be exact. It was just your average Thursday until, unable to shake a persistent cold, I went to the doctor. After a check-up, X-rays and bloodwork, I was diagnosed with pneumonia and ordered to get bedrest. Lo, of course, was as caring and fussing as the most attentive nurse and she took pity on my pain and suffering.

“Daddio?” she said Thursday night.

“What?” I replied in a raspy whisper.

“You know, it’s been so long since. . .”

“Lo, don’t tell me you want to fuck.”

“OK, I won’t tell you,” she said, reaching her hand to my groin, “but I’ll show you.”

She pulled out her double-ended dildo and, before she could go to town with it, I interrupted. “Lo, I just need to get some sleep. If you want to fuck your brains out with that thing, can you do it in the living room?”

“Daddio, it’s been days!”

“According to my calculations,” I replied, “I think it’s been since Tuesday.”

“Yes! You see – two days!”

“Living room.”

She moped away, dildo in hand, her intentions of seducing me shattered.

I didn’t hear much more from her that night because I quickly fell off to sleep, the Nyquil silencing any extraneous noise she may have made during her solo session.

The next day when she came home from work I was recuperating on the couch, watching mind-numbing TV. I turned to Lo and asked, “Why is everything on TV so stupid?”

“Because smart doesn’t sell,” she said without missing a beat.

“Where are you going?” I asked her as I saw her put down her work bag and pick up her clutch.

“Out,” she said simply. She pulled a piece of paper out of her clutch and looked it over.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s my ‘to do’ list.”

“Oh yeah? Whose names are on it?”

“Funny. Do you need anything?”

“Some more orange juice and throat lozenges.”

“What you need is sex,” she said, bending over to put on her pumps.

“I still have a 102 temperature.”

“I’m just saying, sex, it does a body good,” she smirked, looking at me upside-down between her legs.

“It sure does your body good, but mine is beyond repair.”

“Oh, Daddio,” she said as she blew an air-kiss my way, “I’ll get you your OJ and lozenges. Kiss kiss.”

Later, as I lay on the couch wallowing in my misery, Lola sent me a pic on my phone. It was of her topless in panties. “Like?” she asked in the text.

“Where are you and what are you doing?”

“Shopping. I thought you could use a little lingerie photo shoot.”

She was in the changing room of Victoria’s Secret or something, taking seflies for me. I can’t deny that, even in my state of dysphoria, I found her antics alluring.

I texted her which panties I liked. There were not many that I didn’t like.

“Maybe I can sell them on-line?” she texted back.

“People can buy them themselves from the store, you know.”

“I meant my used panties,” she responded.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Yeah. Go for it.”

“I’m coming,” she texted.

“Lo, this is no time for you to be masturbating in public!”

“I mean, I’m coming home now.”

“Oh.” Phew.

Soon she was walking in the door and she asked me how I was feeling.

“The same. Still watching mind-numbing cable TV.” A cooking show was on instructing how to make a baked pastry filled with fruit.

“I love those,” said Lo, sitting next to me. “Do you?”

“I hate tarts. . . . Present company excluded, of course.”

“Mmmm, this is making me hungry,” said Lo. “Did you eat anything today?”

“Yes. I made myself lunch.”

“What did you have?”

“I had a grilled cheese and a chocolate milk.”

“You realize,” said Lo, “that that is the lunch of an average fifth-grader.”

“Are you implying that I’m average?”

“Ugh. Are you hungry?”

“No dear.”

“You should eat.”

“No thank you.”

Lola went into the kitchen and, before long I heard her cussing at something. I got up and saw her having a devil of a time trying to flip her omelet. “Stand back,” I said, “it needs a man’s touch.”

“Well, I know something does,” she said to me. After I flipped it she asked, “Do you want me to blow you?” and she dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor.

“No, I don’t want you to blow me. I’m sick.”

“And I’m horny. Each of us can cure the other,” she said looking up at me, fumbling in my pajama bottoms for my cock.

“Lola, your omelet is ready.”

She sat down and I served her. As she ate she asked me, “How do you reconcile my silly and sexy sides?”

Sitting across from her, nursing a drink of water, I said, “You’re a complete cable package with porno channels and Comedy Central.”

“I like that,” she said. “I can’t wait to show you my new panties.”

“You already did – virtually.”

When we went to bed, I was still feeling miserable. I rejected Lola once more and she made a little tent of the sheets and opened up her phone and went to town on herself to who-knows-what naughtiness of pornographic material. We had gone to bed early, around nine, and when I woke up around eleven, she was still at it. Ignoring her, I used the bathroom and returned. She didn’t even notice my brief absence, or at least she didn’t indicate any notice.

The next morning, Saturday, she sauntered naked into the living room where I was sitting, sipping my tea and honey. “Morning dear,” she said.

“Oh, what a long fucking night,” I responded, having slept very poorly.

“Back in the day we’d have a long night fucking,” she quipped, followed by, “Those days can happen again, Sugar.”

“Not today they won’t!” I insisted, exhausted by her libido without having enjoyed any of its fringe benefits in days.

“Awww,” she said, cuddling up to me, “still not feeling well?”

“A little better,” I said. “At least I’m hungry. That’s a good sign.”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” she offered enthusiastically. “How about pancakes?”

“OK.”

She went to the kitchen and I followed her when I could smell the delicious aroma.

“Uh oh,” she said.

“What?”

“Too high, too long.”

“What?”

“My pancake. The heat was on too high and I left it on too long. It burned.”

“Oh no it didn’t. That’s just how I like it!”

I ate and was feeling better. We needed to do food shopping and I offered to go with Lola to the store. She drove and when we got there, she said, “You stay here. I’ll go in.”

“No, I can go,” I protested.

“You rest. I’ll go in.”

“Why can’t we both go in?”

“I’ll give you three good reasons: I’ll make it quicker, cheaper, and easier. Now that I think about it – that’s exactly what people said about me in college.”

“You are incorrigible.”

When we got back home, having missed work on Friday, I tried to do a little work from home that afternoon since I was feeling slightly better (at least I had no fever). Lo came in the room, naked again but for her new thong, trying to seduce me. I tried telling her that I had a lot of work to do. “I’m really quite behind.”

As if on que, she bent over and showed me her ass, the thong hardly visible.

“That’s quite a behind too,” I said.

“And it’s all yours, Daddio.”

“Let’s not exaggerate. All?”

“Well, you can have it all right now, if you want. And then later someone else can have it all.”

“At least you’re more accurate now.”

“Well?”

“Not now darling.”

“Fine!” she said, pouting. “I’m going out tonight.”

“Fine.”

Later she appeared, all dolled up, wearing her favorite earrings designed like little anchors and a sweater with a nautical theme designed into it.

“Well, don’t you look cute,” I said, trying to be nice.

“I look like a little sailor!”

“Trying to find semen.”

She threw a pillow at me. “You’re crude and rude!”

“It’s true.”

“Even if it is true, you have a vulgar mouth.”

“As Jesus said, it’s not what comes out of the mouth that makes it vulgar, it’s what you put in.”

“Well, darling, when I come back home tonight and tell you what I’ve put in it, I guarantee that Jesus never imagined such a string of words coming out of anyone’s mouth, especially not from such a little angelic beauty as I.”

“I can’t wait. Pack your condoms! A sailor doesn’t want to get caught without a rain jacket!”

“Don’t you worry,” she said as she kissed me goodbye.

I heard nothing from her the rest of the night.

When she got home, long after I had turned in for some much needed sleep, I heard her undress and slither under the sheets, pressing her chilly skin up against my nice, warm, almost feverish body.

“Did you have a good time, darling?”

“Frustrating,” she whispered.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“We went to a gay bar.”

“Where’d you go and who’d you go with?”

She gave me the details and then told me that they went to see a burlesque show. It got her all riled up without any release.

“And, let me guess – now you are crawling back from your fishing expedition looking for my rod.”

“Let me have it.”

“No,” I said.

“Let me suck it.”

“No.”

“Please. Let me just hold it.”

“Lo, I’m still sick.”

“Me too. I want you to catch what I have.”

“Lo.”

She knew I wasn’t joking around. For a third night in a row she was reduced to playing with her toys rather than me (or someone else).

The next day was Super Bowl Sunday and we had been invited over to Mark and Stephanie’s for the game. I still wasn’t sure if I was up for it. I was feeling light-headed and dizzy, occasionally perspiring and having the chills. I didn’t think it was a good idea. Lo pleaded with me, however. She did her level best to nurse me all morning and afternoon, and when 4:00 came around and a game-time decision had to be made, I conceded and said I’d go.

It was a big crowd and Mark and Stephanie had gone all out to make it a super Super Bowl party. There were dips and sandwiches, a fully stocked bar and coolers of beer, and Mark was even manning the grill outside on the deck next to the Jacuzzi. And apparently it was a no-kids party, since I saw neither hide nor hair of the little rug-rats.

We got there and Lo took as little interest in the game as I did in the food. Unfortunately, due to my infirmity, I had no appetite. Lo, got me comfortably seated close to the TV and then she flitted around in her short skirt and sexy blouse. She looked good and I enjoyed watching her go from circle to circle smiling and seducing with her charms. At one point she came over to check on me and she grabbed my bicep and said, “Mmmm, I want you.”

“You don’t fool me, Lo,” I responded back.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know perfectly well what it is you want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want Mark’s meat – and I don’t mean all the burgers and sausages he’s cooking on the grill.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Her apology was an admission of guilt. “But he’s wearing that short sleeve shirt and, rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” her tongue made a purring sound, “he’s so hot. But I really do want you.”

“You want to hop on my cock and use me while you think about him.”

“Just the same, I still want you.”

“I’m flattered,” I said flatly.

“Come on, I’ve been denied for almost a week now!”

Cock substitutes are no substitute for cock according to Lo.

The party and the game went on close to midnight and when it was over someone – the safe money is on Lo – suggested getting into the hot tub.

By this time, I was long ready to go, but I stuck it out on Lo’s account. She, of course, had no bathing suit, but that wasn’t going to stop her. Mark descended the staircase in his Speedo and carrying a few robes and towels for people. There was room for six or eight in the tub, but I abstained, not wishing to catch double pneumonia. Mark, a couple of other neighbors, and Lo all were game, however. The neighbors and Lo took turns getting out of their clothes and into their birthday suits under their robes in the downstairs bathroom. Then it was out into the cold dark night, on the deck, beer and wine in hand, and, down fell the robes, in went the naked bodies to the tub. I could see the crew from the kitchen window where I stood, next to Stephanie who also chose to forego the midnight hot tub excursion. Whether it was due to disgust at Mark’s behavior, jealousy of Lola, compassion (or some other feeling) for me, or her stated reason, “to clean up,” I don’t know. All I know is that as she collected and cleared off the dirty dishes, I helped by arranging them in the dishwasher.

Occasionally, I peeked out the window that looked out from the kitchen over the deck, but, not intending to gawk, I made conversation with Stephanie, who, I spied, also was monitoring the situation in the tub from her perch behind the kitchen sink.

“It was so nice of you and Mark to have us all over for the game. You two throw a great party.”

“Oh, we’re just so glad you could make it. I was really worried when I heard about your pneumonia.”

“I’ve been taking my antibiotics and I’m no longer contagious, I promise. I’ve been taking my antibiotics for four days now. I’m just feeling lousy at this point.”

“Well, you really rallied for tonight.”

“It’s always nice to see you. . . and Mark and it was sweet of you to invite us.”

“To be honest, we think you two are a great couple!”

“Thanks. I wish I could live up to my part of the bargain tonight.”

“You are. See, we’re getting to talk now.”

The truth was, I was feeling weak-kneed, but was rallying for both Stephanie’s sake and to keep a close eye on Lo.

“I wish I could be more fun. It looks like they’re having a good time out there in the hot tub surrounded by the snow.” I gestured out the window in an attempt to get a sense of Stephanie’s thoughts on it.

“I’m sure Mark is having the time of his life,” Stephanie said, almost to herself.

“What? What’s that?” I asked as she passed me a plate.

“Oh, nothing.” She dismissed her comment.

“I hope that Lo isn’t making. . .” I didn’t know what to say, but luckily Stephanie rescued my faltering ellipses.

“Me jealous? That’s not it. Can I be honest with you?”

“Yes, please do,” I said.

“After our second kid, I just lost all of my sex-drive. I feel terribly guilty about it. I love Mark. I love him so much and I know he loves me.” She grabbed a paper towel to wipe her eyes that were watering up. “But, I just don’t feel it anymore. I don’t know what happened. I want him to be happy and I know that he. . . never mind.”

“He what?” I was desperate for her to continue. “You can tell me. It’s ok.”

“I know he finds Lola attractive. Who wouldn’t? So, let him have his fun. But I shouldn’t say that. Doesn’t it bother you to hear me say that?”

I took ahold of Stephanie’s elbow and I said to her very quietly, “You both deserve to be happy.” I had no idea what I meant by that and I think that Stephanie didn’t know what to make of it either. Those were just the words that came out of my mouth in a moment of connection and compassion.

I was keen on giving her a hug, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure exactly how non-contagious I was and I didn’t know if it would be welcomed at that moment. As I held Stephanie’s arm, she and I both gazed out the window and we saw Lo emerge, naked as Venus from the churning sea, grab towel, wrap it around herself and then she popped into the kitchen.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Lo said.

“Are you ready, so soon?” I asked, half mocking.

“Thanks for being a dear. Yes. I’ll just get dressed and. . .” She closed the bathroom door and a moment later she popped out. We waved a friendly good-bye and thank you to our hosts and their guests, still outside, and then Lo drove home.

“How was the hot tub, darling?” I asked.

“It was good,” she said. She was speeding.

“Take it easy, the cops are just looking for a reason to pull anyone over tonight.”

“I want to get home and do you!”

“What happened out there?”

“Nothing. I just want you. It’s been a long time.”

“Nothing? Really? Now why don’t I believe that?”

“OK, ok. Fine,” she said, reaching over to grab my crotch.

“You’re driving, you know. And this ain’t a stick-shift.”

“I was sitting across from Mark, naked, looking at his big broad shoulders.”

“Dreamy,” I said sarcastically.

“Dreamy,” she repeated, “especially as the steam wafted off the surface of the water. I would keep on ‘accidentally’ popping my nipples just above the water line so he could see.”

“And everyone else.”

“And everyone else,” she repeated, again groping at my crotch. “Are you getting hard?”

“Never you mind and continue with your story.”

“Well, I had one hand down between my legs.”

“You’re bad.”

“I couldn’t help it, Daddy.”

“Did anyone notice?”

“I don’t think so. But, as I stroked it, I kept playing footsie with Mark. He didn’t say anything, but I know he liked it. At one point, he got up out of the tub to grab another beer and. . .” She pulled her hand from my crotch and placed it in hers.

“And what?”

“And he was so hard, he was practically exploding out of that tiny bathing suit he wore!” Her hand was up her short dress.

“You came.”

“I’m cumming.”

“I mean then.”

“Yes. And now.”

“That’s why you wanted to go. You couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Right.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

“You’re going to take me to bed and fuck me senseless!”

That was the last thing I remember of the ride home. I suppose I passed out from exhaustion. The next thing I felt was Lo trying to wake me gently from the driver’s seat as we sat in the garage at home. Like a somnambulist, I found my way to bed. I was the one senseless, not Lo.

The next day, Monday, was a blizzard. Both Lo and I could have slept in. But I had missed work since Thursday of the previous week. I had to go in, at least for a little while. So, early in the morning, before the flakes had fully accumulated, I snuck out while Lo was still soundly asleep, naked in the warm bed. I got to work, feeling much improved, took care of some urgent matters, and then drove home carefully through the poorly plowed streets.

When I got back, I found Lo still in bed. I took one look at her and said, “You masturbated, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

“Well, I’m going to shovel.”

“What should I do?”

“You could help me shovel, if you’re not too wet.”

“I don’t want to catch a cold.”

“Alright. See you later,” I said, and, bundling up I went outside to clear the driveway.

I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t mad. I was actually glad. Yes, I was still recovering from pneumonia. Yes, I had gone into work on a horrible winter’s day when most of the city stayed home. Yes, Lo had been inside all morning, sleeping late, sexing herself up, and probably jillin’ it once more even as I shoveled away. But the thought of her, nestled up under the covers pleasuring herself filled me with joy. I’m a lucky guy. I can lose sight of that sometimes. Not this time. I shoveled with a smile on my face. When I was done, to my surprise and delight, Lo was not in bed, fucking herself silly to her favorite Tumblr pages. She was in a silky black negligee, helping me out of my bundled jackets and scarves, and then bringing me a hot cocoa as she tucked me under a throw on the couch.

“What’s all this for?” I asked.

“I just love you and I want you to know that I’m the luckiest gal in the world to have you, Daddio.”

“What do you want, Lo?” I asked in my Ricky Ricardo tone.

“Nothing, Daddio. Honest. I just was lying in bed and I realized all you do for me. I just wanted to do something nice in return.”

I sipped my hot cocoa and read a little of the Sunday paper that was still lying out on the coffee table from yesterday.

Lola sat on the couch next to me, her left hand slowly made its way under my covers to my crotch. She grabbed my cock and then began pumping it as I read.

“Lo?”

“Yes, Daddio?”

“What are you doing?”

“Do you like?”

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a hand-job.”

She continued for a little while. Then she pulled her hand away and, like a groundhog or ferret, she nosed her way under the blankets, getting her face buried between my legs and went to work on me with her mouth. At a certain point, I put down the paper and began guiding her head gently up and down.

She abruptly stopped before I was ready to spout. “Let’s go to the bedroom, Daddio. I want to tell you something special.”

She led me down the hall, hopped on the edge of the bed in her little black nighty, revealing her naked ass and puss to me. “Mount me,” she commanded. I did as she said.

“What did you want to tell me?”

When she had caught her breath, she whispered over her shoulder, “I was so bad last night.”

“Yes, Lo, you were. That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
“No, there’s more but. . .” She was enjoying herself at this point, too much to talk. She came in about fifteen seconds. As she came she was yelling, “I love your cock! I love your cock!” When she was done she said, “Flip me over and fuck me.”

I did as she asked. I put her on her back on the side of the bed, held her heels up by my shoulders, and went at her.

“Do you think he liked seeing my pussy, Daddy?” she asked.

“Yes, Lo. Who wouldn’t?”
“I had got it all smooth for him.”

“So, you had that all planned out?”

“No. But a woman should be prepared for the unexpected display of her pussy at all times.”

“A woman, or a slut like you?”

“That’s right, Daddy. Tell me what I am.”

“A slut. A trollop. A dirty, cheap, exhibitionist.” I went on and she came to the cadence of my nasty names. She came so hard she sqeezed me right out and squirted on the floor. I grabbed my throbbing rod and watched.

“Can you hold it in for just one more?” she asked. “I’ve got one more BIG orgasm to go. Pleeeease, Daddio. I know you haven’t cum in a long time. Just hold it in a little longer and then you can cum all over my face. Promise.”

“How do you want it?”

“Here,” she said, positioning me on the bed. “Lie back. I want to taste myself on you.” She lay me down on the bed and got on her knees and went to town between my legs. If she wanted me to withhold my orgasm until she had one more, this was not the way to do it. I felt like her face was in imminent danger of being in the direct line of my fire.

She stopped just in time. She knows me (or cock) well. She went to climb up on top of me, straddling my body with her legs, her knees on the bed. Before she lowered herself down on my very stiff and erect phallus, I said, “No. Wait a minute.” I closed my eyes. Just looking at her may have put me over the edge. I took deep breaths, but all I could think about was seeing her getting in and out of the hot tub the previous night. Just the thought was enough to coax a slow orgasm out of me. I tried to change the channel of my imaginings, but it was as if that special was playing on every station!

“Put a condom on me,” I said.

“What?” she asked in disbelief. We never use condoms. We only keep them around for her special guests.

“Put a condom on me. It’s the only way.”

She hopped off, rummaged through the nightstand drawer, pulled out a string of condoms and hastily slid it over my ramrod. The interval was a good distraction for me. When she was done, she resumed her position and began bouncing up and down, pulling her tits. The barrier between her dripping pussy and my hard, throbbing cock was just enough to keep me going without my going too far.

I reached up to her breasts. “Pull and twist,” she said. “Harder.” I was stretching out her nipples by about an inch and then turning them clockwise a full 180 degrees. She wanted more. I pulled further, twisted further. She was moaning and bouncing and dripping – I could feel it on my lap.

“When you cum, call his name,” I said. I wasn’t sure if she heard me. She was in a frenzy with her eyes closed tight, biting her lip, bouncing her tits up and down. “Call out Mark’s name when you cum.”

No sooner had I repeated the instruction than she started yelling, “Oh FUCK! Mark! Fuck! I fucking love your cock! Mark! Mark! Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark!” She was saying his name every time her hips descended down to bounce off of mine. She was riding fast, at a gallop until she stopped, frozen, held it, and gushed a waterfall downward. At that, I finally gave myself permission to cum and I did, filling the condom with all the pent-up desire that I had unspent over the past week. It was amazing.

When we were done, after catching our breath like runners at the end of a marathon, we lay looking at each other. “He really riles you up, doesn’t he?”

“Not like you, Daddio.”

“Lo, after all of that, don’t you think you can tell me the truth?”

“It’s true. You’re the one for me.”

“But he turns you on.”

“A lot of things turn me on. Does that make you jealous?”

“It would, except you’re right. A lot of things do turn you on and if you weren’t turned on by Mel Brooks, Abbi Jacobson, and certain specimens of other species I actually might be jealous. But due to your pansexual nature, I try to take it all in stride.”

“That’s why I love you, Daddo. You really get me.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you rile him up as well.”

“Really?! She said, her eyes lighting up, her body jumping to all fours like a puppy ready to play fetch.

“Yes. Stephanie told me as much last night.”

“What?! Tell me. Tell me.” Her imaginary tail was wagging with anticipation.

“When you were in the hot tub, playing footsie and showing off your tits. . .”

She interrupted with a long moan of pleasure at the memory.

“Stephanie and I were talking in the kitchen and she told me that she and Mark haven’t had sex since there second kid was born.”

“I knew that already.”

“And she went on to say that she thinks we’re a great couple and that Mark deserves to get his rocks off to the likes of you.”

“She said that?!”

“Well, not in so many words, but the message came through.”

Lola was running her tongue over her teeth in excitement now.

“Maybe you should clue him into the blog?”

I saw her wheels turning and the exciting prospect of having Mark getting to see Lola up close in all those sexy pics of her and hearing all about her nymphomaniacal exploits, jackin’ it to her every untoward adventure. But then she said, “No. Impossible. We can’t reveal our secret selves to anyone we know. It’s too incriminating! You didn’t tell Stephanie, did you?”

“Of course not, dear. That’s your story to tell.”

“Well, I did leave a calling card of sorts.”

“You left one of your Lola Down cards there?! But you just said. . .”

“No no no. I may have, accidentally, totally not on purpose left my panties at their house.”

“You what?!”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. It was an accident. I think they must have fell when I was picking up my clothes.”

“I’ve heard of Freudian slips before, but this takes the cake! How could you not know you didn’t have your panties on?!”

“I knew I didn’t have them, I just couldn’t find them. They must have fallen out somewhere when I bunched up my clothes after getting into the robe. I don’t know. Should I text Mark to look for them?”

“No! Of course not.”

She gave me a quizzical look.

“Oh no, Lo. Don’t tell me you already did.”

“I just didn’t want Stephanie to find them.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he found them and could return them to me.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said, ‘That’s OK. You can throw them out. . .or do whatever with them.”

“Lola!” Now it was really Ricky and Lucy.

Masturbation Monday: Creative Writing and Performance Art

Posted on July 3, 2017 by Lola Down

Creative Writing and Performance Art

I heard her typing as she sat across the couch from me, but I also heard her moaning.

“Lo,” I asked, looking over the brim of my book, “what are you up to?”

“Oh nothing, Daddy,” she said, but the biting of her lip that followed her response belied her words.

Now I looked more carefully. Her hand was shifting from her computer keyboard to her crotch. (She reclined on the couch in just her oversized nightshirt.)

“Care to share?” I asked.

“In just a moment,” she said, typing and masturbating in turn.

When she finally came – pressing her legs together tightly so as not to ejaculate – she slammed the laptop closed and then looked at me, blushing and panting.

“Yes?” I inquired. “Can I help you?”

“You sure can,” she said, getting up and commanding me from her standing position to march into the bedroom. She lifted the shirt that draped over her butt, revealing her sweet ass to me as she wiggled it enticingly.

I placed my bookmark between the pages and got up, knowing I was expected to perform. Lo’s masturbatory exercises are more often than not just a warm-up for sex and her two or three orgasms that result from the sex are just a warm-up for her next masturbatory session. In logic we call it a ‘vaginal-circle.’

Once horizontal in the bed, I asked her what this was all about as I aligned my cock with the opening between her legs and began to slide in.

“Don’t you believe in foreplay anymore?” she asked as she squeezed her tits and pulled on her nipples, extending them as far as they would stretch.

“What was your solo session on the couch just now if not foreplay?”

“Look,” she said, very demandingly, “look at these.” She indicated her chest by taking her tits in her hands and squeezing them hard and pointing her nipples at me. “Many men – and women – would love this rack in their face.”

“I see,” I said, impressed by her impertinence. “And you too seem to enjoy them – enough for both of us!”

“Well, what are they for if not enjoying? Here,” she said, pulling my hands to her nipples, “pinch, twist, pull. Repeat.”

I humored her for a while as she moaned. My fondling her breasts freed up her hands to pinch, twist, pull and repeat on her pussy lips – something that gets her very aroused.

“You may pet my ass now,” she said, rolling onto her tum and raising her bum in the air.

I slapped her ass hard and said, “That’s so you’ll come to your senses.”

“I cum to a lot of things. Cumming to my senses is one, but cumming to your cock is more fun.”

“Then let me have you.”

“No. Not just yet, Daddio. Play with my ass,” she implored, grabbing her ass cheeks with both hands and showing me exactly the spot she wanted touched. I obliged. “Mmmm, yeah,” she cooed. “I wish you could take a picture of that so I could see it.”

“You need one of those extension poles people carry with them nowadays,” I said, not knowing the proper terminology.

“It’s called a selfie stick.”

“Selfie stick? Don’t you have a few of those under the bed?”

“Ha!” she chuckled, “Don’t make me laugh. Not now. I want to. . .” She came, squirting downward on the bed. The combination of the gentle caress of my finger rounding her target and laughing broke the dam. “Finger me, Daddio. Feel how wet I am.”

“Lo, I see how wet you are. Let me feel you with my cock. I’ll put in my dipstick and give you a more accurate reading of your fluids.”

“Oh, Daddy. Why do you use such horrid metaphors?”

“Because, my dear, you’re like a BMW – it’s not the price, it’s the maintenance that will get you.”

“OK,” she said, flipping over onto her back, spreading her legs wide, looking up at me. “How can I deny that raging rod? Get in me and I’ll tell you what I was up to on the couch.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. I was stem-to-stern in, our faces cheek-to-jowl. She whispered in my ear:

Another hotwife found our blog and reached out to me. She’s married to a fifty-year-old and she’s in her thirties. She’s ‘very bi,’ as she says, and eager to be with a woman again. And not just any woman, but a woman like me – dominant, sub, sexy, femme, who can give and take a giant cock. She wants us to get together and I was just telling her how I fantasize it would happen. After drinks in a hotel lobby, we’d go up to the hotel room. Since her man is older than you (twice my age, in fact) and you’re older than she and she’s older by ten years than I, the three of you would marvel at me – this young meat. You’d all be salivating, wondering who would get to have me first. But I would have it all planned out.

In the hotel room I’d stand still in my heels, blouse, and short skirt. I’d tell you that each of you gets to remove one article of clothing. Only one. We’d go in age order – youngest to oldest – and so she’d begin by slowly unbuttoning my blouse as I stood stone still. One-by-one she’d undo the buttons until my blouse was wide open and then she’d slowly undo the buttons of the cuffs and ever-so-gently guide my arms out of the sleeves until I was standing in nothing but my bra on top.

Then it would be your turn. You’d look me up and down and consider, ‘Shoes? Blouse? Bra?’ Generous guy that you are, you’d let them have the choice articles, so you’d go for unzipping my blouse and letting it fall to the floor around my feet. I’d continue to be unmoving, like a manikin.

Then the older gent would have to pick – bra or panties? Being a gentleman, he’d go for the bra and carefully unclasp it from the back. His trembling hands would slowly, reverently pull down my shoulder straps and, thinking the bra would fall, he’d step back to watch his handiwork. But I’d use my arms to keep it up so that he’d have to tug on it a bit to get it fully off of my torso.

Then it would be her turn again and she’d get on her knees and, using her long, delicate fingers, she’d pull down my thong little-by-little until it fell around my ankles.

I’d continue to stand still and say, in the same order, you may touch, pull, squeeze, grope, kiss – whatever you want. It would all be very Marina Abramovic. It would be your turn and so you’d come right up to me and kiss me on the lips, whispering, ‘I love you.’

Then it would be his turn and, thoroughly loving my young, perky tits, he’d cup them, caress them, hold them, squeeze them, pull on the nipples. He’d step back, letting his wife approach. She’d again get down on her knees and she’d ever-so-slightly kiss my pussy as her hands reached behind me and grabbed my ass.

This would go on for some time as each of you enjoy whichever part of me you wish. Then I’d say, ‘Put me on the bed.’ The three of you would lift me and smoothly place me on my back on the bed. I’d spread my legs and, since it would be her turn, I’d call her to me to place her face there and eat me out.

Next it would be your turn and you would go in, but only for a moment, before I’d say, ‘That’s all for you, HH.’

Then it would be his turn. He would be allowed to penetrate me, but he’d have to wear a condom that his wife would put on – her hands pulling the ring down the shaft of his cock and pointing him right into me. He’d have a good go at me for a while.

After each of you had a turn with me on my back, I’d turn over and get on all fours. By this time she would have her strap-on fully in place and she’d fuck me good and hard from behind. Then it would be your turn again, and finally his. I’m sure I’d cum multiple times through this exquisite torture. Finally, when I felt I couldn’t take it any longer, I’d flip over onto my back again and I’d have her get on her knees at the foot of the bed and eat me out while the two of you jacked it over my open mouth until you both came over me in unison.

The whole time she was telling me this story, I was barely moving inside her for fear of interrupting her lovely imaginings with my orgasm. But that didn’t stop her from cumming and cumming again, each time having to take deep breaths before continuing her story.

“Is that what you were writing?”

“Yes, Daddy. I know I’m bad.”

“And this admirer of yours?”

“She told me it made her cum a lot.”

“So, she wants to get together?”

“Yes.”

“And him?”

“I assume so.”

“And you?”

“I can’t wait.”

“So, this is your way of asking permission?”

“No, this is my way of telling you what’s going to happen.”

“So you want me to cum on your face.”

“Yes. Badly.”

“Now.”

“Always.”

“That would prove difficult. How about we start with now?”

“Yes.”

I pulled out and got on my knees next to her and she reached up, grabbed my cock, stroked it and it only needed one or two caresses of her hand before, seeing her open mouth, I shot like a bottle rocket. The first spurt went clear across the bed. She readjusted the aim and pulled my cock down towards her face and managed to get covered with the second, third, and fourth rounds.

“Had your fill?” I asked as she began to clean up.

“Did I ever tell you my bukkake fantasies?”

“Lo, I’m not up for any more fantasies tonight,” I said.

She grabbed my limp dick and said, “I can see that. That’s why I have bukkake fantasies,” and she reached under the bed to pull out her toy box.

G.I. Confidential

Posted on May 29, 2017 by Lola Down

[This story was published today, in honor of Memorial Day and all those who serve, on MyErotica.com.]

G.I. Confidential

It started when he wrote an email that said simply, “Love your blog. Can I please have a password?” From that brief, shy, initial correspondence grew a virtual pen-pal connection with one of our men in uniform deployed abroad – somewhere in the deserts of the middle east. He couldn’t say where because it was confidential and who knows who was also reading those emails? But whoever was reading them was in for a tantalizing treat.

[Some images you get from a Google search of “mysexlifewithlola”]

Lo wrote back, in her flirtatious, friendly way, and soon found out much more about her G.I. fan. He was twenty-two, married, one kid. He had been deployed for two years. His wife wrote to him frequently and he loved and missed her dearly. But she sent sexy pics only on occasion, and even then, they were more suggestive than explicit. He loved her, but he dreamed about Lo. He read the blog and studied her pics. He had hotwife fantasies and wished that his own wife would send a nude pic now and then with a note saying, “Please share with your friends.” But that was beyond the realm of possibility.

Because he was so shy around women, it took him a long time to get up the courage to write to Lo requesting a password to the protected posts. Little did he know how flattered she would be. Little did he know how she secretly had a fetish for men in uniform. She encouraged frequent correspondence, but, due to his rigorous duties and the limited time he got on the internet, he could only write back very brief missives.

Even so, he complimented her, flattered her, and reported on his “down time” – his “Lola Down” time, that is. Excited to the point of bursting, Lo sent him many explicit photos with little notes like, “Please be sure to share with your bunk mates,” or “Tell all the guys with you that Lola wishes them all to be safe, strong, and hard.”

After gaining his trust, the G.I. sent Lo some pics of himself and his family. Lo thought it was sweet and that his wife was truly beautiful. He sent a pic of her on their honeymoon in Hawaii where she wore nothing but a lei. Then he sent her the address where Lo could send him actual letters and such. She sent him a signed calendar, saying, “I’ve always wanted to be a pin-up girl.” She told me after the fact.

When she received a warm thank you from him, in which he told her that he posted it by his bunk in the barracks and that all the soldiers were commenting on it, she was thrilled! When he wrote to her a week later, saying that someone had stolen it, she was even more elated. She took it upon herself not only to send her pen-pal a replacement copy, but one for every guy in his battalion.

You can imagine her delight when he wrote her the following email:

Hi Lola. All the guys say thank you for the calendars! They are envious of me because you have been like a hotwife to me. I ordered your book, Match, Cinder & Spark, (even though it’s really expensive in hardcopy!) and at night, before lights out, a bunch of us sit around on our bunks and we take turns reading HH’s stories about you. Last Sunday, we were given some R-n-R and we read the book in the morning. After reading it, five of us went to the showers. It’s one long tiled room with about fifty showerheads. The five of us were naked, under the hot showers, soaping up and very hard and horny from the story we had just read. I hope my wife never finds out about this, but as we were there, lathered and rinsing off, we all started casually grabbing at our cocks. Eventually we started jacking off. Someone grabbed the cock of the guy next to him and soon enough it was a full-fledged circle jerk. We came on each other and laughed and washed down, smacked one another’s ass, and got out of the shower much refreshed.

Pretty soon Lola was getting emails from other guys in the troop and some of them told her how they had Tumblr accounts with their wives or girlfriends on which each would post something that turned them on or pics of themselves so that it was like virtual sex. They told her that they were including Lo’s Tumblr pics so that their wives could see what they like. Lo was thrilled to be the object of the attention of those couples – her virtual three-way.

After a few months of this sort of thing, Lo encouraged her original soldier to tell his wife about mysexlifewithlola.com and loladown.tumblr.com in the hopes that she would become more adventurous in their marriage. With trepidation he did and, we’re happy to report, she opened up to him like never before, admitting to all her erotic longings, fantasies, and desires. The grateful soldier thanked Lo and eventually his correspondences with her became less and less frequent. Hopefully the hot couple is blissfully reunited by this time.

Many thanks to all our men and women in uniform serving our country!

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

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