Lo
came home from work late that night. I
had already eaten dinner and was lying on the couch engaging in my favorite
illicit pastime while Lo’s away, watching “SMILF.” She walked in just as Frankie Shaw was
engaging in a self-pleasure solo session, which isn’t all that coincidental,
given how often she does that in the show.
(Since Frankie Shaw writes and directs the series, I think that she
secretly wishes to be a porn star.)
Lo Likes Little Penis Porn
Lo
stood next to the couch looking down at me, judging hard.
“What?”
“You
know what,” she said, accusatorily.
“I
was just. . .”
“I
don’t care what you were just. Turn it
off. If you want to see a sexy woman
engaged in sex-for-one, then get in the bedroom. I’ll be there filling my snatch full of fun.”
I
shut off the episode and met Lo in the bedroom where she was on the bed, legs spread,
dildos laid out next to her like a surgeon’s tray of scalpels, forceps, and clamps. She had her phone in her left hand.
“What’s
that?” I asked.
“I call it my ‘in box.’ It likes to be filled.”
I
didn’t know if she meant what she was looking at on her phone or her beautiful
mons pubis, which at the moment she was about to penetrate with her long, red, double-ended
dildo.
Self-Care
I
removed my clothes and sat in the bed next to her, vying for her
attention. She was busy reading something. I inquired.
“I’m reading about my friend and blogger, Nero Black. His wife caught him about to masturbate.”
“Oh
really?”
“Yeah,”
she said, easing the dildo into her tight taco.
“His wife loves to read erotica and masturbate, but she never lets him
get in on the goods.”
“How
does he know her reading habits?”
“He
has access to her Kindle subscription and sees what she downloads.”
“Oh.”
“And
he’s hard-up as a result.”
“I
bet you find that an open invitation to flirt.”
“Who wouldn’t? Anyhow, the other night he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his pants and boxers around his ankles, his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, when she unexpectedly walked into the bedroom.”
“Uh-oh. And?”
“And
she ignored him! She acted like she didn’t
even see it.”
“And
that gets you off?”
“No,
what gets me off is imagining that the porn she reads is our blog and that the
porn he was about to wank to was my photos.”
She
dropped the phone and lay on her back to continue the fantasy.
“Did you ever get
caught?” I asked her.
“Caught? Doing what?”
“You know, jillin’
it.”
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Not by any of
your previous boyfriends?”
“Look, it’s not
something I hide. If they found me
jillin’ off, then I kept on going. So
it’s not like ‘getting caught.’ It’s
more like putting on a show.”
And put on a show
she did, without ever offering to provide me with any sweet relief. Punishment for my “infidelity” watching
Frankie Shaw.
“You are beautiful.
Your eyes are beautiful. Your
mouth is beautiful. Your breasts are
beautiful. Your cunt is beautiful.”
Lola Down, spread wide
I was reading a message Lo received on her phone from
an admirer of the blog.
“A regular Shakespeare, that one,” I said.
“I think it’s sweet,” she responded, as her left hand
began to fondle her pussy lips under the covers.
“Sweet?! He
left out your hair, your nose, your neck, your shoulders, your tum, your ass,
your legs, your feet, and your toes!”
“I’m sure he was going to get there,” she said
matter-of-factly.
“Can I get there?” I asked, sounding a bit desperate
for affection, or her attention.
“Get where?” she asked, playing with me.
“Anywhere.
Between your legs, ideally.”
“Let’s see where this goes,” she said about her
internet friend, unfortunately, and not about my bid for her caress.
“I know where this
goes,” I said, putting her hand on my hard rod.
I was hard because her internet friend had sent a slew of photos of
himself jacking off to her pics and cumming all over them. She looked good in the sexy photos.
“Daddy,” she said, protesting, “I’m busy trying to
please my loyal fans.”
“I don’t mind, as long as you do it while spreading
your legs.”
“I’m spreading the love.”
“Can you spread the love wide enough for me to get in
on it?”
“Your pussy looks pretty and gorgeous,” wrote another
fan.
“It is pretty, gorgeous, wet and waiting to be
filled,” she wrote back.
“Me, me!” I said, “Pick me.”
“Calm down, Daddio,” she said, full of vanity fed by
her fans’ flattery.
“Tell me more about you,” wrote another internet
correspondent.
“Read the books,” typed Lo, “There’s
too much to tell and too many people to tell it to.”
“You’re hard, girl,” responded the inquirer.
“Funny, everyone tells me I’m easy,” quipped Lo, “and
that makes them hard.”
“I love your stories,” wrote one female fan.
“H.H. writes. I
inspire,” wrote Lo to her.
“Do you inspire with your body?”
“And my wit.”
“I’m inspired right now!” I said to Lo as I grabbed my
cock firmly. “They all are cumming to
you. Can I cum to you?”
“Cum to, on, in, with, over, under, around, beside – I
provide the pussy. You pick the
preposition,” she said, dismissively.
I got up on my knees and stood over her, jacking my
cock.
“Just don’t cum on my phone,” she said as she
continued to scroll through her contacts.
She continued to fondle herself beneath me for a while
before she said, “Daddio, lie down next to me.
I’ll help you.”
I lay down and she grabbed me by my shaft. “I’m your righthand man,” I said as she jacked
me off with her right and scrolled with her left.
“My wife is nothing like you,” wrote one desperate,
sad husband.
“You two should
read our blog together. It would open up
her mind. . . and pussy.”
“I could never
suggest it,” he wrote, “she’d freak!”
“But you like it?”
asked Lo.
“God yes,” he
sighed through the medium of type.
“Tell me what a young, sexy, slutty person such as
myself does for you.”
“I’d love to eat your yummy, sloppy, used, cum-filled
holes,” he wrote.
“Another bard!” I opined sarcastically.
“Shut up and cum,” commanded Lo as she tugged more
aggressively.
“Are you in a rush?” I asked.
“Both hands are full,” she said, “leaving nothing for
my snatch.”
“I’ll happily fill that gap.”
“You stay right where you are,” she ordered.
“Has she ever caught you jacking off?” wrote Lo to her
married man.
“No. It would
be a big deal if she did. It would be an
even bigger deal if she caught me jacking off to you and not to porn.”
“I am porn,” protested Lo.
“I mean, it’s one thing to get off to anonymous,
vacuous, impersonal, professionally produced porn and it’s quite another thing
to get off to you.”
“That’s more like it,” responded Lo.
“That’s it, I’m getting up and out of bed,” I said.
“But nooooo.”
“Yes. You’re
just treating my cock like it a joystick to your favorite video game.”
“A game I always win.”
She continued stroking.
“Are you into length or girth?” asked her internet
interloper.
“I’m into cock.
And cock gets into me.”
“Once again, I must protest!” I said. “You’ve got a very capable, compatible, and
coveted cock right here, but you’re not letting it into you!”
“What, ole man, my right hand isn’t enough for you?”
“Not when you’re teasing those guys about how fast and
loose you like to play.”
A new fan chimed in, “I
have to stop sinning. I’m religious,
that’s why I can’t go on doing this.”
“Sex is
spiritual. And I’m a sex goddess. Worship at my alter,” replied Lo.
“Now you’re
offering theology lessons?” I chided.
“No. Just encouraging them to be good
semenarians.”
“That was
terrible. Low hanging fruit,” I replied.
She cupped
my testicles and said, “Very low hanging.”
“Oh, does your wit never cease?!”
Now
she squeezed my balls to show me that I had better be careful about mocking
her.
Another
woman asked Lo if she liked taboo tales.
To which Lo responded, “How
taboo are we talking here?”
The woman said she was into watersports and bestiality.
Lo wrote back, “Let’s knot.”
“Don’t you mean. . . oooooh, I get it,” I said.
“Woof!” she said to me.
The woman, whose name was Mila Beijne., went on to tell a little story.
I was a model a
few years back and after doing a shoot I was talking a bit with the
photographer, the lighting guy and his assistant. They invited me to their home. I trusted them and liked them. We were all horny and I was willing, I admit. At the photographer’s home we had some drinks
and then they slowly undressed me. They
got naked too. They were all good looking men and one was really hung. They
kissed me everywhere and started fucking me in my mouth, pussy, and ass. I was very horny. After quite a long time,
they changed positions, each taking a different hole. Then they rotated again and fucked me a long
time again till I was exhausted. They
filled me up in every place they could. But
the fun was not over yet. One put me on
the floor and the other started urinating over me. Then the other two joined in.
It was a lot and all over my body and in
my long hair. There was no shower, so it
was a special experience driving home.
It was my first time doing that and I liked how the act showed their dominance
over me.
Mila asked to be included.Mila B. through the years
I could see Lo getting increasingly more excited as she read the short little story from Mila. She quickly wrote back, “Yeah, HH does that to me. I love it. Being below him, feeling his warm stream flow over my back and butt.”
“We haven’t done that in a while,” I
reminded her.
She ignored me because another fan
had written to her. This guy was
old. I mean, like twenty years older
than I and I’m in my 50’s! His name was
Bob and he wrote:
Hi Lola, and thank you!
You are an inspiration to me. I
hope you can give me some advice.
I’m in my 70’s and I’ve been in a relationship for over 25 years. No passion or sex for the last 20 years. I’m at a loss as it has become impossible to
talk about it with her. I’ve made the
mistake of combining our lives and living situations this whole time. It has become all about her for the last
several years. I feel I’m too old to
begin another relationship with a woman, yet I still admire all women and all
that I see on your blog. I’ve even
become curious about men as I feel that may be the only way to explore my
unresolved sexual fantasies. Yet I’m
still conflicted as I long for an intimate relationship that I’ve missed in my
life.
Do you have any suggestions??
Lola wrote back, “To tell you the truth, Bob, I’m just good wanking material, but I’m not a sex coach or a sex therapist. You might want to check out one of these trained professionals to get some expert advice on having more sex with spirit.” She provided a link. Then she added, “But if you’re looking for a real hotwife, cum to me.”
“What?!” I said to her, shocked that
she’d even offer that to him.
She ignored me and
typed, “I have a very soft spot for old married men whose wives no longer have
sex with them. Would you like to see
it?”
Of course he said
yes. Lo sent him a naughty pic of the
place between her legs that she was denying to me.
“Lo, that’s just
cruel!” I said.
“What? Soon you’re going to be that old and you’d
want the same from me. Wouldn’t you?”
“What’s cruel is
that I’m that old man who is being denied right now!”
“If what I’m
giving you isn’t good enough, then take matters into your own hands,” she
said.
As
she said it, another married man was singing her praises in a message that
read, “I’ve come to worship your holy holes.”
“See,”
she said, “I’ve got fans who know how to woo me.”
“Woo
you? They worship you!”
“What’s
the difference?”
After
some flirtatious back-and-forth, Lo asked to see a pic of the man’s wife.
He
asked why she wanted to see that and Lo responded, “I like to see who I’m
beating out when guys are beating off to me.”
The
guy sent a photo. His wife was
beautiful. But apparently she lacked the
‘personality’ of Lo. He wanted to know
more about Lo and he asked her questions.
“I’m
like an open book, there for anyone to read,” she responded, “You just have to
know where to find me. Are you familiar
with the Dewey Decimal system?”
“Like, in the library?”
“Yeah.”
“So, I can find you in my local
library?”
“If only,” wrote Lo, “I’m indexed
under XXX.”
“As in 30?” he wrote with a winkface
emoji. “Still pretty young.”
“Pretty, young, and slutty. I’ll tell you what, you can virtually finger
my folios at: mysexlifewithlola.com,” she said, “and you can also buy the books
there. I suggest you get a few copies of
each and donate the extras to your local library so everyone can spread my
centerfold for free.”
As Lo was typing, she guided my cock
to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip. She looked up at me as her hand continued to glide
back and forth from the base to her mouth.
I began to cum and she hungrily held me in place so as not to spill a
drop. I was so worked up that I couldn’t
control my convulsions. I began
breathing deep, heavy breaths. Lo looked
up at me and said, “What?! Are you having
a stroke?”
When I finally managed to catch my breath, I looked
down at her and said, “Yeah, I’m having a stroke. A really good stroke.”
Lo
wrote a final line to her fans: “Good night all you kinky sexy rogues. Dream of me in your debauched nocturnal
thoughts.”
She put her phone down, grabbed her Hitachi, lay back,
shut her eyes, and began vibrating until she was the one violently convulsing,
squirting, and gasping for air.
When she was done and had removed the Magic Wand from
between her legs, she grabbed my hand and placed it on her bare pussy for me to
feel how wet she was. She’s proud that
she can turn on the tap almost at will.
“Pull my pussy lips, Daddy,” she said. I stretched them. “Harder.”
I pulled more. “Harder Daddy,”
she complained.
“Lo, if I pull them any further they’ll be down to
your knees.”
“Try it,” she said.
She likes the pain or pleasure.
As I pulled I asked her, “What were you thinking about when you came?”
“I think about you.”
This line from her was as false as Marlow telling Kurtz’s
betrothed that Kurtz’s last words were her name.
“OK, that’s enough of that,” I said, calling
bullshit. “What did you really think about?”
“I think about you,” she said. “And I think about cock. I think about a lot of cock.”
“That’s it?”
“And pussy.”
I gave up there knowing that the
litany of licentious thoughts could go on endlessly. I sat silently and she mistook my silence for
judgment.
“You don’t know
what it’s like to be me!” she blurted out defensively.
“Oh yeah, you’ve
got it so hard,” I said sarcastically.
“I wish,” she said
even more sarcastically as she lifted up my flaccid member in her hand.
“You know,” I said, “your porn persona and your
personality are not consistent.”
“What are you talking about?”
“All those people out there thinking you’re a
nymphomaniac, thinking that I am so inundated with your pussy that I barely can
find a moment’s peace, yet the reality is that you denied me just now.”
“There’s no inconsistency.”
“How not?”
“Because I know you’re going to write about this and
so it will be part of my porn persona.”
Lo
got me up from my slumber. Well, part of
me was already up since she wouldn’t let me climax earlier in the night. She had been switching off watching episodes
of “Gilmore Girls” and MILF porn since I had nodded off. Now she was ready for a second helping and
she had been coaxing my cock to an upright and locked position prior to my
regaining consciousness.
“Daddy,”
she whispered sweetly, leaning over so take my meat in her mouth.
“Yes
Lo?”
“Can
I tell you what I was thinking about?”
“What’s
that, Lo?”
She
took a few more licks and then she lay down next to me, her fingers stroking
between her legs. That’s when she told
me what she had been viewing.
“I
imagine,” she began, “Jess and Dean arrive at Lorelai’s house at the same time,
each thinking that he’s going on a date with Rory. When they meet on the porch, each carrying a
bouquet of flowers, they stare each other down and then exchange some snide
words. Rory hears the voices and comes
to the door.” At this point, Lo began
acting out the scene. A little known
talent of Lo’s is that she’s a great actor, just not in front of an
audience.
Rory
– What is going on?!
Jess
– Why don’t you tell us? I thought we had a date.
Rory
– You and Dean?
Dean
– This is no time for jokes, Rory. You
and I had a date tonight.
Rory
– Wait here.
Rory
runs upstairs to Lorelai.
Rory
– I’ve got a problem that makes Elizabeth Bennet look positively quaint.
Lorelai
– Really Rory? I can’t find my coffee
maker. And you think you got troubles.
Rory
– You’re looking in your bedroom. Did
you try the kitchen?
Lorelai
– Of course I tried the kitchen. That’s
why I’m in the bedroom.
Rory
– Did you bring coffee to bed?
Lorelai
– Maaaaaybeeee.
Rory
– Why don’t you just go to Luke’s and get his coffee?
Lorelai
– And bring him to bed?
Rory – No! Anyway, can you help me or not?
Lorelai
– Not until I have my coffee.
Rory
– (Sitting down on a pile of laundry.
She picks up dirty panties and a bra and discovers a coffee maker.) Here!
Lorelai
– You are destined for Harvard!
They
walk downstairs.
Rori
– . . . and so I guess I told both of them I’d go out with them tonight.
Lorelai
– Nothing wrong with a ménage à
trois.
Rori
– Mom!
Lorelai
– What? I’m just saying, if it’s good
enough for Lou Salomé, it’s good enough
for you.
Rori
– Her name was Lou Salomé, but you know
everyone called her Loose.
Lorelai – Rory! You know I’ve taught you not to slut-shame!
Rori – Can we get back to the. . .
Suddenly they hear thuds from the porch. They run to the front door. Jess and Dean are throwing punches and
wrestling. Lorelai separates them by
getting between them.
Lorelai – Hey! Hey!
Hey! Calm down!
Both of the boys are roughed up and Jess is bleeding
from the nose and Dean has a black eye.
Rori runs to get a towel and ice.
She returns and gives the ice to Dean and applies to the towel to Jess’
nose.
Dean – Oh, so you take care of him and just give me
a cold sack of ice?!
Rori – He’s bleeding!
Dean – And I have a black eye!
Jess – And I’ll give you another.
Dean – Oh yeah?
Lorelai holds down Dean while Rory holds down
Jess.
Rory – I’ve had enough of both of you!
Rory runs off into the night.
Lorelai and the boys go inside the house and they
sit in the kitchen while Lorelai brews coffee.
Lorelai – I can’t believe you two. You act like cavemen. Don’t you know how to treat a woman?
Jess – [Ashamed.]
No. My mom was never around.
Lorelai – Oh yeah.
I forgot sweetheart. [She puts
her hands through his hair.]
Dean – I was just. . . well, I guess I just am so
damn jealous.
Lorelai – It’s not jealousy, Dean, it’s
hormones. You’re all backed up with
testosterone. When’s the last time you
jacked it?
Dean – Wwwwwwhat?
Lorelai – You know: chocked the chicken, spanked the
monkey, beat the meat.
Dean – I, I, I. . .
Lorelai – You see, you’re just too uptight. You have to learn to relax a little bit. [She runs her hand down his chest to his
crotch.] Look, I think I know how we can
find a way for the two of you to work together.
Follow me.
The three of them go up to the bedroom. Lorelai strips naked and pulls down their
jeans. She positions Jess in front of
her and Dean behind her and bends over.
The two of them are going at it with her and she’s about to cum when in
walks Luke.
Luke – What the hell is going on here?!
Lorelai – [With a mouth full of Jess’ cock.] I can explain.
Luke – Explain?!
Rory said you’d probably need me to break up a fight and make some
coffee.
At that point Lorelai positions Jess below her so
his cock is in her puss with Dean’s.
Lorelai – Come here, Luke. If you’re hung anything like Jess, then – I
never thought I’d say this – the coffee can wait.
When Lo was done acting all this
out, she pulled out her two dildos, putting both in her puss and taking me in
her mouth, going at me like never before.
I finally came deep in her throat and she came in convulsions that shot
out the two dildos followed by a cascade of girly juice.
“Holy shit!” she said.
“Holy shit is right,” I said. “You deserve an Academy Award for best
writing, direction, acting, and best picture.”
My
good friend John from Seattle and his three sons (ages twelve through eighteen)
came over to visit while they had winter break.
They were in our town looking at colleges for the oldest and enjoying a
bit of vacation – skiing, museums, historical sites. I hadn’t seen John for a couple of years and
I was glad that, instead of booking a hotel, he asked to stay with us for the
four days they were here. I suppose I
should have known, however, that having all that testosterone under one roof
would drive Lo wild.
It’s
hard to keep Lo’s libido under wraps in the best of circumstances, but fill the
house with four male guests, three of whom need to sleep in the living room,
and, well, keep on reading.
One of the days that John and the boys were visiting, Lola came home from teaching her night class at the local community college where she has been guest lecturing on sex and sexuality in the Woman’s Studies department. She walked in the door in her knee-high black leather boots with the tall heels and her hip-hugging tight red dress. She looked. . . voluptuous. She said a quick hello and then grabbed a glass of Cabernet and joined us in the living room where the boys were sitting, playing games or texting on their smart phones or iPads, and John and I were quietly talking.
“I’m
so disgusted!” Lo began.
“What? What happened? Did class not go well?” I inquired.
“I
know it sounds ridiculous for a woman in her twenties to say it, but honestly,
kids these days!”
“What
happened?” asked John.
The boys turned their attention to Lo. Or, rather, they had looked up from their blue-glowing technology the moment Lo walked in the door and now Lo had their rapt attention. She sat on the couch and said, “Not that many years ago, when I was an undergrad, I wouldn’t have even thought of texting during class. I mean, yes, I would be on my laptop and not always taking notes, but isn’t it a sign of disrespect to openly text during a class?”
“Don’t
you have a policy against it or something?” I asked.
“Yes,
of course I do! But these two guys in
the front row – they are on their phones the whole time. They’re texting and even passing their phones
back-and-forth between them. I’ve said
something to them privately. I’ve called
them out before the whole class. Now I’m
done. I’ll just fail them.”
“It
would suck to fail at sex,” John quipped.
“You
teach about sex?” asked his middle boy.
“It’s
more than just sex – it’s about consent, the media, law, intersectionality,” Lo
began, but she lost his attention after the word sex.
We
talked a bit more and then the boys asked if they could watch some TV. To my great surprise, they wanted to watch
“Gilmore Girls” on Netflix.
“Really?”
I asked. “That show was popular like
twenty years ago.”
“Let’s
be real, it never was popular,” said Lo.
“You
used to watch it?” I asked.
“On
occasion.”
“So
why do you boys want to see it? Isn’t it
like a chick-lit show?”
“HH,
you’re so gender-conforming. Not
everything breaks down easily along gender-roles,” said Lo sarcastically, with
a hint of irony in her eyes as she spoke to me.
“Why
don’t you let the boys answer?” I shot back.
“Haven’t
you heard,” asked one of them, “they’re bringing ‘Gilmore Girls’ back.”
“What?”
I asked.
“Yeah,
like ‘Arrested Development’ and ‘The X-Files,’ it’s making a comeback on
Netflix.”
“Oh.”
I said, learning something new, “but that doesn’t explain the appeal to you,” I
said to the boys.
“It’s
a good show,” they said as they clicked it on.
“Watch and you’ll see.”
We
watched a couple of episodes together as we ate some Chinese food we had had
delivered.
Around
midnight we went to bed and, in the bedroom, Lo removed her tight red dress
revealing that all she had on under it was her bra.
“No
panties?” I asked.
“I
can’t take the chance of panty-lines in this dress – not with a room full of
students watching my every move.”
“Don’t
you think that that can be a bit distracting?”
“What
do you mean?” she asked as she slipped out of her bra and stood naked, looking
at herself in the mirror.
“You
know what I mean. You’re just fishing
for a compliment.”
She
batted her eyelashes at me and asked, “Aren’t I just the sort of bait that
would lure compliments?”
“That
you are.”
“Well,
what are you waiting for?”
“Don’t
you think that the class will be studying your every curve if you wear dresses
like that?”
“Like
what?”
“Let’s
just say that a dress like that on a body like yours should be enough to
distract anyone from their phones.”
“I
have no idea what you mean,” she said disingenuously.
“Haven’t
you ever read ‘The Scarlet Letter’?”
“Yes.”
“Well,
that’s The Scarlet Letter of dresses my dear.”
“So,
you give my dress an ‘A’?”
“Ugh.”
“What
do you think of me without my dress?”
“Can’t
you tell?” I asked, displaying for her my member standing at attention.
“Though
your sign language is easy enough to interpret, tell me. I like your words.”
“I
think your breasts look pretty and perky.”
“Go
on,” she said as she pulled and twisted her nipples, running her fingers over
them to make them even more erect.
“And
your shoulders are incredibly strong and sexy.”
“More.”
This
went on for some time with me complimenting the small of her back, her smooth
legs, her elegant feet. Then she said,
“You haven’t even mentioned my butt. I
mean, even I want my butt. If I could be with me, I would fuck my
butt.”
Finally
she got into bed and said, “Don’t you want to fuck my butt?”
“That
I do!”
I
got behind her as she was on all fours and she licked her finger and ran it
round her special spot as if pointing out the target. “Go ahead, Daddio, but be slow and gentle.”
As
I began to penetrate her, she moaned aloud.
“Lo,
shhhh. We have guests.”
I
ran it in deeper. She moaned louder and
said, “Gentle!”
“Right. Now Shhhh.”
I
lodged myself deep inside her extremely tight spot and she said, “Stay right
there. Does it feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now let me do the work.”
I
remained still as she lunged forward and back, slowly at first, but increasing
in speed like a locomotive beginning to pull away from the station.
“You
know, Lo,” I whispered, “I have a distinct image in my mind.”
“And
what’s that?” she said as she was slowly churning away.
“Those
two boys sitting in the front row of your class, showing each other the texts
on their phones that you told us about. . .”
“Yeah?”
“I
like to think that they found your photos on the internet and now they’re
looking at them as you teach.”
“RED!”
she said, referring to our fantasy rule of The Raunchy Game. Red means, nope, you just crossed a
line. “That’s my worst nightmare,” she
said, “stop right there.”
Despite
her words, I could feel her orgasm beginning to surface. Not wanting to lose the moment, I said,
“Well, I can also imagine them sitting in the front row surreptitiously taking
your picture with their phones or their computers or something and then saving
the pics for later and jacking off to them in their dorm room.”
Lo
was coaxing the orgasm and sliding on-and-off my cock, forward-and-back. “Yessss,” she moaned. “Do you think they jack off to the pics
together?”
“I
wouldn’t doubt it,” I said. “I bet they
do it every night after class.”
“My picture’s
worth a thousand orgasms,” she said as she came, quite loudly.
When she was done,
the two of us were lying on our backs looking up into the darkness of the
room. “Can I ask you a weird question?”
I asked.
“I love your weird
questions.”
“When we were
watching ‘Gilmore Girls’ tonight, did you sense something odd about it?”
“Besides the fact
that it’s always Friday, the town has
five people that live in it, Emily and Richard Gilmore are cliché cutouts of
‘rich people’ and that every problem on the show is a privileged white-person
problem?”
“Yeah, besides all
that.”
“Like what?”
“Well, Rory has
these two boyfriends, Jess and Dean, and what are they? – sixteen, seventeen?”
“I guess,” she
answered, lying on her back, her eyes closed.
“And each of them
keeps ending up in scenes alone with her mother, Lorelai, who’s all of
thirty-two.”
“What are you
saying?” Lo asked, her fingers clearly moving up and down under the covers
between her legs.
“I’m saying that I
think there’s some subtext going on.”
“Fuck me and tell
me,” she insisted, spreading her legs as she lay on her back.
I got between her
wet thighs and entered her. I held her
tightly and whispered, “Lorelai was a MILF before that term was invented.”
Never one to miss
an opportunity to correct me, she said, “Darling, I think MILF was invented
then. You just hadn’t heard about it until much later.”
“Whatever,” I
said, “the point is, that’s exactly what she’s supposed to be and then these
strapping young men have all these one-on-one scenes with her in the house,
alone. Don’t you think they’re
suggesting something?”
“I’d like to see
that play out,” she said as her breath quickened. “When I reach my thirties, I hope I’m a
MILF.”
“Darling, you
don’t have kids and you’re already a NILF.
A nymphomaniac that I’d. . .”
“Do you think
that’s how they see me?” she asked, ambiguous as to whom she meant, but it
didn’t matter, she was already cumming.
Successful in my
duty, I gave myself permission to climax with her, but, sensing my imminent
orgasm, she said, “No! Don’t cum!” She insisted that I save it just as I was
about to reach the pinnacle of my performance.
I
kept on keeping on in her.
“I
said no!” she yelled, pulling her body away.
“What
the fuck?!” I said in an angry whisper, very frustrated, very aggrieved. Whereas I am frequently all for edging,
keeping my Chi to myself, sometimes I need a release and releasing in Lo is the
best release.
I
turned over, lay flat on my back on the bed, tried to catch my breath as Lo,
who had already cum twice, grabbed my member, licked it clean, and then kissed
her way up to my mouth.
“Why
can’t I cum?” I asked.
“Don’t
you know by now?”
“No.”
“I
like you to stay hard because you never know when I’m going to need your dick
again.”
“Oh,
I know all right.”
“You
do?”
“Yes. You always need it.”
“That’s
true. So, keep it cocked and ready so
that it is fully loaded at a moment’s notice.”
Sure
enough, she needed it again later that night.
She woke me from a sound sleep as she was watching some MILF porn on her
phone.
“Why
don’t you just jack it like a real man?” she complained.
“Because
I prefer fucking your flapper to fucking my fist,” I responded.
“But
Daddy,” she said, in a nicer tone now, “don’t you know that I find it hot to see a man masturbating?”
“Any
man, masturbating to anything, or certain men, masturbating to you?”
“I
prefer men to masturbate to me, but seeing any man masturbating to anything
still turns me on,” she said as she was rubbing her puss under the covers. “Please, Daddy, just stoke it for me, over
me, to me.”
“Maybe
I’ll just get my Stoya Fleshlight,” I said, trying to arouse her jealousy so
she’d give herself over to me completely.
“No! If you do, I’ll get out my horse cock dildo
and my Hitachi!”
“That
sounds fair. . . and fun!”
“No,”
she said, “I want you to use your hand and I’ll finger-fuck my holes.”
“Fine,”
I said, more willing to concede due to the prospect of watching her. I pulled down the covers, got between her
legs, grabbed my hard member, and pulled at it for her to see.
“That’s
it Daddio,” she said as she spread her legs wide, began inserting the fingers
of her right hand into her puss and slid her left hand around from underneath
her ass to penetrate her posterior place.
“Did
you make every man you were with masturbate for you?”
“I
didn’t have to make them,” she said.
“They volunteered.”
“Tell
me about it.”
“There
are so many. Which one?”
“Tell
me about Teddy.”
Teddy
was her fuck-buddy in college. A tall, lean,
basketball player with an enormous cock.
“I’d
lie in his dorm room bed and he’d stand over me with his huge black cock right
over my face. It was as long as my
entire head. He’d drop his balls in into
my mouth and grab his rod with both hands.
Both hands!” she said with emphasis.
“He’d stoke it over me as I lay naked on the bed and then, when he came,
he shot all the way down to my knees and covered me with his hot jizz up to my
chin.”
I
could tell that as she told me this story, she was on the verge of climaxing
herself. But she held back.
“Tell
me about Gerald.”
Gerald
was also a college fuck friend. The
opposite of Teddy in every way, except Gerald was also an athlete – a
bodybuilder whose bulging biceps attracted Lo until she found that he had a
micropenis.
“He
was so self-conscious about his size that, no matter how much I wanted to take
him in my mouth, he was resistant. My
natural attraction for women made the prospect of licking that little clit so
appealing, especially since he shaved it and his balls clean. He wore a teensy-tiny speedo when he worked
out. It was like he was wearing panties. I wanted to pleasure him with my lips and
tongue all the time, since I obviously didn’t feel him in either of my holes,”
she said as she fingered both of her holes more deeply.
“Did
he jack it for you?”
“It
was the only way he could cum. He’d pull
that little pimple with his thumb and index finger as he stood over me, just
like Teddy did, and then he’d ejaculate all over my face. It was the only way he could feel dominant.”
“How
often did he do that?”
“Countless
times. It always left me unsatisfied,
but I liked it nonetheless.”
“You
never met a cock you didn’t like.”
“Don’t
stop,” she said, looking at my cock as my stroking slowed. I pulled harder, longer, faster. “That’s it,” she said. Her whole hand was almost fully submerged in
her pussy and two fingers were going at her perineum.
“Tell
me about Tim,” I said. Tim was her beau
before college and, since he was older and Lo significantly younger, sex with
Lo was off-limits for him. That didn’t
mean that Lo didn’t try. Lo always finds
a way.
“He’s
probably the one responsible for my male masturbation mania. The only way he got off was by
masturbating. I would be fully clothed
and saying sexy, naughty, dirty things to him like I’m doing for you right now,
and he would jack it until he came.”
“Where’d
he cum? On your face?”
“No. He’d cum into my hands. I’d hold them out like I was receiving an
offering and then I’d lick them clean like a kitten licking a bowl of
milk. He loved that.”
That
was too much for her. She came and came
hard. Her pussy and sphincter clutching
and contracting on her deeply driven digits before eventually dilating
again. When she recovered, she looked at
me and said, “You didn’t cum.”
“No.”
“That’s
not fair, Daddy.”
“I
don’t think so either,” I said. “Why don’t
you give me a hand-job?”
“Because
I’m going to fall asleep now,” she said.
“That’s
fine, just position your left hand like you’re giving the ‘OK’ sign, and I’ll
do the rest.”
She
complied. I lay next to her and inserted
my cock. She said, “You’re just using me
as a sex object.”
I
didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily she followed up the comment with,
“And I like it. It’s so soothing.”
Reviewing
in my mind’s eye the stories she told, looking at her naked body next to me, I
came and came hard all over her. She had
drifted off to sleep. I grabbed a
washcloth, wet it with warm water, and gently cleaned her off. I kissed her mouth good night and lay next to
her thinking about what a good bad girl she is.
The
next morning I awoke to find her face bobbing up and down on my erect shaft.
“Lo?”
I asked.
She
popped off of my knob and said, “I’m sorry you didn’t cum last night,
Daddy. Let me make it up to you.”
I
didn’t disabuse her of that belief until after she accomplished her mission. When I did, she just said, “You dirty dog!”
“What?”
I asked, innocently. “You told me last
night you wanted me to cum. Was that
just lip service?”
It was one of
those strange April nights when the temperature drops twenty degrees from the daytime
high of 68, the wind rustles up the new buds on the trees outside, and from out
of the darkness, lighting, thunder, and downpours fill the sky. Lola couldn’t sleep. When I got to bed she said, “I’ve tried
everything. I’ve tried meditation,
masturbation, guided meditation, guided masturbation. . .”
“Wait. What is ‘guided masturbation’?”
“Oh,
well, I called up a friend and asked him to tell me how he wants me to
masturbate,” she said as if it were no big deal.
“You
did?”
She
nodded her head in affirmation and pouted saying, “But it didn’t help.”
“I
bet it helped him. Why didn’t you call
me?”
“You
were working hard, Daddy.”
“So?”
I asked, frustrated by the thought that she’d rather hear inappropriate
instructions from one of her suitors than from me.
“Are
you still hard at work?” she asked seductively, rubbing my crotch to gauge my
state of arousal.
“Work
hard, play hard,” I said, as I pulled out my manhood for her to see.
She grabbed it while licking her
lips.
“You
know I’m not just a sex organ,” I said.
“I
think your brain is a sex organ,” she replied as she went down on me.
“In
that case, I have a very large sex organ.”
She
interrupted her activity to look up at me and say, “And growing larger.”
“I’m
not that big,” I said.
“I
meant your ego.”
“I’ll
have you know, I’m very humble.”
“Looks
to me, you have a lot to be humble about,” she said caustically.
“What
do you mean?”
She
pulled down the sheets to reveal her huge horse-cock dildo on the bed next to
her, still glistening.
“I’m
so big, wide, and wet that I wouldn’t feel any bit of you.”
“Care
to test that hypothesis?”
“I’m stretched to my
limit.”
“You have a limit? That’s news to me!”
“‘Limit’ is a flexible term. Like ‘full’ or ‘fucked.’”
“Oh, so it’s elastic?”
“Yeah, it can be used in many
different ways.”
“Depends on who’s using it.”
“Right. It takes a lot of abuse, but it is never
exhausted.”
“Never wears out.”
“Right.”
“Like this terrible pun.”
“What pun?”
“Are we still talking about ‘limit’?”
“I wasn’t, were you?”
“Darling, you certainly do push the
limits.”
“What limits?”
“All of them. But the real question is, why did you call on
some other guy for your ‘guided masturbation’ when you could have called upon
me?”
“So many married men turn to me for
sweet release. I’m a goddess of pussy. I answer to the call of depravity.”
“But you called him!”
“Well, I saw that he had posted a
pic of a cumtribution he had made for another girl and he wrote, ‘For my
beautiful cum slut.’ I called him to
remind him that I am his beautiful
cum slut.”
“You think you’re everyone’s
beautiful cum slut.”
“Well, aren’t I?”
“Everyone but mine, I guess.”
“Oh,
Daddy,” she said, still holding my cock firmly in her hand, “would you make a
cumtribution for me? Would you jack it
to my photos and cum all over them?”
“Lo,
why would I do that when I have you right here, in the flesh?”
“To
show me your unfailing love.”
“Lo,
I write thousands upon thousands of pages of poetry for you, but you’d rather I
grab my masculine member and stroke it until I ejaculate a hot mess over your
image?”
“I
call it giving tribute to my icon.”
“Because
you’re a goddess of pussy.”
“Now
you’re turning me on!”
“Those
are your words.”
“Well,
you feel that way, don’t you?”
“How
could I not, darling. It is the truth.”
“So
you’ll make an offering at my virtual alter?”
“If
you want me to, I will.”
“Now?”
“Whenever
you say.”
“No,
not now. I want you to do it when I’m
away. Now you can enter my holy temple.”
“But
I thought I wouldn’t even feel you.”
“You
won’t and I won’t feel you, but why should that stop us from fucking?”
I
got between her legs and entered her. She
was right – it was like a mere mortal entering the pearly gates. However, that only made it more alluring for
me. She could tell I was getting turned
on.
“Cum inside me,” she said.
“Put your fingers inside you, right where you want me
to cum.”
She inserted almost her whole fist along over my cock
and I could feel her fingering her G-spot.
“There,” she said, “right there.”
I came and came with force all over her fingers. She gripped my cock with her hand inside her
and milked it for every drop.
When I pulled out, she said she was going to clean up. I drifted off on the bed until I heard her
calling out for God from the shower. It
startled me. I navigated the thick cloud
of steam to find her squatting on the shapely bottle of Dove shampoo, rubbing
her clit, and cumming uncontrollably.
(Do they make the bottles that shape for that purpose or did she buy that
brand because of its ergonomic contours?
The questions Lo causes me to ask.)
I disappeared into the fogbank as stealthily as I had
entered it. I went back to the bed. When she climbed in naked next to me, I held
her warm body.
“Just in time,” I said.
“Just in time for what?” she asked.
“Tomorrow is the first of May.”
“Hooray!
Hooray! It’s the first of May!”
she sung, “Outdoor fucking starts today!”
“No, silly,” I said.
“April showers.”
“Oooooh,” she said, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you see
my pink flower.”
“Me and the rest of the world.”
“A beautiful flower should not be hidden away to be
seen only by one man.”
“Whatcha
doin’?” I asked when I saw Lo on the bed, a book in her left hand, her right
hand under the covers, between her legs.
Her
right hand quickly withdrew and her legs snapped together as she looked up,
blushing, and said, “Nothing!”
“Looks
like you’re reading a book and masturbating.”
“Yeah,
so?” she replied belligerently.
“So,
I like that.”
“Well,
it wasn’t meant for you.”
“Why
so defensive?” I inquired as I sat on the bed next to her and looked at what
she was reading. It was Game of Thrones.
“I’m
sorry, Daddy,” she said, her tone completely changed. “I was just reading this and. . . you
startled me. That’s all.”
“What
was it you were reading?”
“Pull
down your pants, get on your back, and I’ll tell you.”
I
followed her instructions immediately.
She climbed on me, lowered herself on my erect rod, and let out a soft
moan. She was very wet and I glided in
with ease. When she was comfortable, she
said, “I was just reading a passage in the book where one of the women learns
to ride a horse. She mounts it slowly
because she’s afraid,” she said as she slowly slid down on my cock, and then
back up again. “But she gradually gains
confidence in the saddle. The horse
moves faster and she finds it exciting.
Eventually the horse breaks into a trot as all the men watch her ride
it. She rides with her husband and then
the two of them are together and. . .”
She trailed off as she began to undulate on me.
Nipple Pull
“Is
that all?” I asked.
“Pull
my nipples and twist. Hard.”
I
did as she commanded.
“Harder!”
she said.
I
was practically pulling them down to her navel as I twisted.
“She and her
husband find a place to lie down and he pinches her nipples and pulls on them, just
like you’re doing.” She came.
She
lifted her gushing puss up off my soaked spear and lay on her back. “Have me again and I’ll tell you more.”
Lo
was in the tub. I was in my business
suit. I looked down at her and said, “Lo,
how long have you been in there?”
“Why
do you ask, Daddy?”
“Because
there’s so much steam in this room that the paint is peeling.”
“Just
a little while,” she said demurely.
Cheese & Crackers
“I
see you have all your bath toys,” I said, looking at her glass dildo in her
hand, her suction cup dildo stuck to the wall, and her hand-held showerhead
dangling.
“Everything
but my rubber ducky.”
“A
rubber and a dicky?”
“That
would be nice too, but without the rubber.
Why don’t you get out of that stodgy old suit and join me?” she asked.
I
began loosening my tie and unbuckling my belt.
“That’s
it, Daddio,” she encouraged.
Red Wine
“I’m
going to change, but I’m not getting in there with you. It looks like you have things well in hand
already,” I said, as she reinserted the glass dildo.
“Well,
I’ll be out in a just a bit and then we can play ‘Hop-on-Pop.”
“You
know,” I said as I was hanging up my suit jacket and pants, “the Twittersphere was
all agog this week with memes and a bruhaha about women in bathtubs.”
“Really?”
she said, preoccupied by her pussy.
Hearts
“Yeah,”
I said, “Apparently some company is marketing bath trays for women and the ads show
all the wonderful things that a woman can do in the tub with them. But it’s backfired because, I mean, really –
who eats a five course meal and watches a movie in the tub?”
To
my rhetorical question, I heard moans and then gasps of pleasure, followed by “Fuck,
Fuuuuuuck, Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
“I
know, right?” I said.
When
she finally emerged from the bath, like Venus from the froth of the sea, she
said, “I haven’t just been doing myself, Daddy.”
Lola
“Oh
really? You had company?”
“I
wish,” she said. “No, I also did the
laundry. It’s clean and dry now.”
It was the first of the month. Lo and I have a little tradition of saying
“Rabbit, rabbit,” to each other on the first of the month. I woke up next to her and I whispered it to
her.
“More like ‘grab it, grab it,’” she
replied.
“What? Why?”
“Because, you were clinging to me
all night, grabbing my tits, stroking my puss.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be,” she retorted, “I liked
it. But it gave me crazy dreams.”
“Like what?”
“I dreamed that we were on vacation
in Hawaii with our friends. We had
rented a minivan, but I just needed to get off.
The minivan was old, loud, and rumbly.
I pulled out my Hitachi from my suitcase and began using it. I was about to cum when someone noticed. So I put it away.”
“That’s not like you.”
“Yeah,” she said, “it was a
dream. Next thing I knew, we were on the
beach and my Hitachi was in my hand. I
put it down my bikini bottoms.”
“There are no electrical outlets on
the beach.”
“It was a dream.”
“Right.”
“And I was about to climax when I
opened my eyes and suddenly saw that there was a crowd of people surrounding
me, watching me. So I stopped again.”
“Again, not like you.”
“This starting and stopping, edging
and trying again went on a lot.”
“Do you want to get off now?”
“So badly.”
“Do you want your Hitachi or me?”
“Tough question.”
“Which do you like more?”
“My Hitachi.”
“Really?”
“Then you.”
“Oh.”
“Then my Hitachi again.”
“I see.”
“My Hitachi is like icing on the
cake. No matter how good the cake is,
you always want icing after it.”
“But you said your Hitachi first.”
“Well, you always want icing. But just icing isn’t as good as icing with
cake.”
“So, what do you want now? Do you want your Hitachi as I jack it over
you?”
“That sounds good.”
She pulled out her Hitachi from
under the bed. She turned it on. She spread her legs and placed it between
them. I was on my knees over her,
pulling at my long, hard shaft, watching her every move.
“You know,” I said, “I had a dream
too.”
She didn’t reply.
“I dreamt that you were out on a date
with a tall, think, dark Jamaican man with long dreadlocks. I found the two of you in the front row of a
movie theater making out.”
“The front row?” she asked. “That’s a bit conspicuous.”
“It was a dream.”
“I like it.”
“And then I came home and found the
two of you on the couch, still making out.”
“Were you jealous?”
“No, I was turned on.”
She came, squirting all over my
knees.
“Come here,” she said, as she rolled
over on her tum. “Get inside me.”
I slid right in with my tum pressed
on her back.
“Do I feel tight or loose?”
“You feel loose and wet. Very wet.”
“Fuck me harder.”
I thrust with more force.
“Daddy, please, fuck me. Fuck me harder.”
“I would, but I’m afraid I’ll push you
right into the headboard.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she
said, “Just fuck me with everything you got.”
I pushed into her repeatedly. As I predicted, her head was banging the
headboard of the bed with a rhythmic pounding.
She just called out, “Yeah, yeah, harder! Don’t stop.
Fuck. I’m going to squirt. Stay in there. Don’t. . .”
She began squirting and her cunt
convulsed on my cock, squeezing me right out.
It’s damn near impossible to stay in her when she has an intense orgasm
like that.
“Hurry up,” she said, “Get back in
me!”
“I can’t,” I complained, “You’re all
clenched up. Try to relax.”
She did, which unleashed a gush of
more juice, soaking the sheets.
“I want you to cum,” she said as she
backed her ass up and slid her puss over my pole again.
“You liked my dream?” I asked.
“Yes. Maybe you were holding me so tightly that our
dreams were interwoven.”
“Are you cumming again?” I
asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Good, don’t. Flip over,” I commanded.
She turned onto her back and spread
her legs. I pulled out my dripping rod
and stroked it back and forth.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Playing foosball. What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m stroking myself to your amazing
body.”
She grabbed her Hitachi again and
put it between her legs as she watched me.
“Just like the guys on the beach,” she said.
With that thought, I began to
cum. She saw what was happening, and
like an acrobat, she swiveled her body around so that her face was now under my
balls and she put out her tongue to catch might release.
When I was done and she had a grin
on her face, I said, “A nutritious breakfast.”
“Yeah, but now I’m in the mood for
cake with icing and pancakes.”
“Pancakes?”
Or, see me and cum.
“Or at least pancake batter, cause
that’s what your cum reminds me of.”
Fap. Jill.
Vibe. Flick the bean. Solo time.
T.C.B.
However
you call it, Lo does it. And she does it
more than any woman I’ve ever met and more than most women whose rumored
self-pleasure sessions have reached my ears.
That
said, it came as no surprise to me when I heard. . . well, just sit down, get
comfortable, and I’ll tell you.
Lo had gone on her date. I was home, alone. At least she had had the courtesy to jack me off before leaving. But what to do with my time? You see, dear compassionate reader, when Lo goes off like that, it puts me in the greatest state of tension and anticipation. If only I could be there on all of her dates, sitting at the bar, watching from afar.
But
Lo needs, deserves, and wants her space.
I get that. And, to be fair, the
eager expectation is more than half the fun.
The other half is hearing her tell the tale to me in bed.
Still,
that gap between her departure and arrival must be filled. A hard, very hard task.
I
can’t just go out with friends. My mind
would be preoccupied. And what if I
missed Lo’s return?
Reading
is futile. My every wandering thought is
of Lo, and the thoughts wonder frequently, just like Lo.
Writing? Well, sometimes that is a good pastime.
But
on this occasion I got up to some mischief.
You,
my faithful reader, are well aware from long ago that Lo is insanely
jealous. Not just of my attention, not
just of other women, but of literally anyone who might remotely rival her in my
eyes. Hence, she was frequently frowning
upon my watching Weeds, and
especially Mary-Louise Parker, whose character, Nancy Botwin, not only
intrigued me, but reminded me of Lo in a number of ways.
Mary Louise ParkerFrankie Shaw fapping to MySexLifeWithLola – Can you believe it?!
Somehow,
during Lo’s late night adventures most likely, I managed to get through all the
episodes of that series. And for a good
long time, nothing replaced it. . .
.
. . until SMILF came along with its
very Lo-like star, Frankie Shaw.
Frankie Shaw of SMILF – Lola’s Fantasy
Lo
and I had watched the first episode together, but when Frankie got down and
dirty, Lo hit the power button and said, “Nope.
No more for you.”
“But.
. .” I tried to protest.
“But
nothing. If you’re getting hard
watching, then I’m shutting it off and you and I can go to the bedroom and get
fucking.” And that’s just what we did.
Now
that Lo was out, and most likely getting fucking with someone else, the image
of Frankie Shaw on the “recently watched” option of the T.V. menu was calling
to me and I thought, “This is ridiculous.
This is more than a double-standard.
This is cruel and unusual punishment.”
So I hit “Play.”
My
suspicions were borne out; Frankie Shaw is just like Lo. When she frantically scrolls through the
photos on her computer with one hand down her panties, it was a replay of a
vignette I had seen so many times with Lo in the starring role. In my mind, though, Frankie Shaw was fapping
it to mysexlifewithlola.com, scrolling through all the desultory images of Lo
fapping it to who-knows-what – probably to Frankie Shaw, if I’m being honest,
since Lo loves to condemn with me that which she condones privately.
I
only got through another two and a half episodes before I saw the headlights of
a car out front stop and let out a passenger.
It was Lo. I could tell by the
swivel of her hips as she walked. The
T.V. was off before she was in the house.
“Hello,”
she called from the door.
“Hello,”
I called back.
She
peered in the unlit living room.
“Sitting in the dark?”
“It’s
my best light and greatest comfort.”
“Well,
it can be dark in the bedroom too,” she said, walking down the hall, her
leather boots on the wood floor sounding like seductive music to my ears.
I
got up and followed her and said, “You bring the light,” as I turned on the
nightstand lamp to see her. Upon
reflection I added, “You know, that’s where Lucifer gets his name.”
“What?”
she asked, looking at me quizzically.
“Lucifer,
it literally means, ‘carrier of light.’
It is said that he, like Prometheus before him, had stolen the holy
light of God and ferried it to humans.
Artists for millennia have understood that light to be metaphoric for
creative inspiration, not literal light.
That’s what you are, my Lucifer.”
“Well,
get in bed if you want to fuck like the devil.”
I
waisted no time. I hopped under the
sheets as she stood next to the bed looking at herself across the room in the
full-length mirror.
“Good
date?” I inquired.
She
took off her black leather jacket and removed her shirt. No bra.
She was wearing a bra when she left.
It must have been a good date.
She
bent over, took off her boots, and then slid out of her skirt. Still no panties.
Her
naked body eased up next to me and she whispered in my ear. “Did you miss me, Daddy?”
“I
always miss you when you’re gone.”
“Did
you wonder what I was doing?’
“Of
course.”
“What
did you do while I was out?”
“I’m
more interested in what you did,” I
said. (See what I did there?)
“Slide
in me and I’ll tell you,” she said.
As
I complied, she moaned and said, “I missed you, Daddy.”
I
guess I have a type.
I
entered her and, truth be told, all I could feel was how very wet she was. It made me think of the scene from SMILF where Frankie Shaw is having sex
with the tall, big, basketball player, surrounded by all the other guys from
the team, and he says, “Am I in you?”
Just
as I thought that, Lo said, “Can you feel me, Daddy? Am I loose?”
“So
loose,” I said, “Like the opening of a tent flapping in the wind.”
“Well,”
she said, “you don’t have to be so explicit about it.”
“I
wasn’t explicit,” I said, “it was a simile.”
“Here’s
a simile: Get in my ass, it’s just like my pussy, only tighter.”
I
laughed and followed her instruction.
She moaned.
“Your
ass is a vice,” I said. “That’s a
metaphor.”
“I
thought you meant that my ass is a vice, like gambling or liquor,” she said
over her shoulder.
“It’s
that too, and so many other things.”
“Oh
yeah, what else?”
“It’s
the seat of my love for you.”
“Look,
Daddio, I want to get fucked good, hard, long, and hard. I want cock, right now, not poetry, so get up
there and give it to me.”
“You
said hard twice.”
“I
want it twice as hard.”
I
gave her what she wanted and said, “And I want to hear about your date.”
Once
she was good and pumped, she began talking in between gasps for air.
“I
showed up, looking slutty, smelling sweeter than cotton candy, and wetter than
a flower in the rainforest.”
“Who’s
the poet now?” I asked.
“Shut
up and keep pounding.”
“Keep
cumming and carry on,” I said, feeling her gushing.
“He
was a perfect gentleman. He stood when I
approached him.”
“I’m
sure he stood at attention.”
“And
he had saved me a seat at the bar. I sat
down and after he got me my drink, I swiveled toward him and spread my legs so
he could see, very clearly, what I was wearing under my skirt.”
“As
I recall, you weren’t wearing anything.”
“That’s
right, not even a merkin, as you had suggested.”
“I
still think the merkin was the way to go.”
“Maybe
next time, dear, but this time I was quite exposed.”
“Quite
the exposé.”
“But
not quite the big reveal. Not yet
anyway.”
“I’m
listening.”
“Yeah,”
she said, “but not fucking. Deeper
Daddio.”
I
grabbed on to her ass with both hands and spread her as far as she would go for
maximum insertion. She moaned
deeply.
“Don’t
get lost in your orgasm,” I warned, “I’m just as deeply invested in your
story.”
“I
asked him if he felt like eating.”
“The
ambiguity of your question is delicious.”
“He
paid the tab and we walked out of the hotel bar. I thought we were going to go to his car, but
as we were in the lobby, we saw the guests of a wedding filtering into the
ballroom. He stopped me and said, ‘I
have an idea. You look too good not to
show off. Let’s go.’ And then he took me by the hand and we
crashed the wedding party.”
“Very
impulsive.”
“We
danced for a good hour before the food was served. He twirled me and dipped me, sweeping me off
my feet.”
“Giving
great views of your gams, I’m sure.”
“My
what?”
“Never
mind.”
“From
there we went to the hotel room he had ready.”
“Just
for a nightcap.”
“In
the elevator up to the room, he kissed me passionately and his right hand began
going up my skirt.”
“I
bet the elevator wasn’t the only thing going up.”
“In
the hotel room he sat me down in the chair and asked if he could make a
request.”
“What
was that?”
“He
wanted to watch.”
“What?”
“He
wanted to watch me finger myself, with my clothes on. He said that his wife has a fear of fapping. She never does it. And it’s one of his favorite fantasies –
women masturbating.”
“Well,
he found the right woman, alright.”
“That
was no coincidence. He had been reading
the blog for a long time. He tried to
get his wife to read it, to open her up to new ideas.”
“And,
did it?”
“He
said it didn’t. I told him, ‘Well, I’m
wide open.’ That’s when he could resist
no more and he fucked me good, hard, long, and hard.”
“There
you go again,” I said.
“What?”
“You
said hard twice.”
“Well,
he was hard. I was easy.”
I
couldn’t take it any longer and I ejaculated deep inside her.
“Lo,
you are the poet here,” I said as I slowly pulled out. “You pain such vivid images in my mind.”
“And
now that you’ve dipped your pen in my inkwell, I’m sure you’ll write all about
it.”
