Category Archives: open relationship
Lola’s Warm Welcome
Reply
Pachu M. Torres illustration
11/11
What does Single’s Day mean to you?
“Today is Single’s Day,” she said, looking up from her computer screen. She was on the couch, naked under the throw.
“What’s that?” I asked, sitting at the table, drinking a coffee.
“Single’s Day!”
“You can repeat that as many times as you want, I don’t understand.”
“Eleven eleven.”
I made a confused face.
“One-one, one-one. Get it. Singles. A bunch of singles.”
“What a stripper picks up after her third dance.”
“It’s not a riddle. Today is Single’s Day because the date spells out four ones.”
“So is it for people looking to have a four-some?”
“It’s for anyone who is single.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, I’m wondering if I’m single or not?”
“How do you identify?”
“Hotwife.”
“There you go.”
“But people are always confused because they think that implied in ‘hotwife’ is wife. So they think I’m married. But I’m not. I’m single.”
“Single, but attached.”
“Single, but dating.”
“Dating, but not faithful.”
“Faithful, but not monogamous.”
“Non-monogamous, but. . .”
“OK, that is too much! Do you think I should celebrate today?”
“Celebrate being single?”
“Yeah.”
“How would you celebrate?”
“I don’t know. It’s Single’s Day, so maybe I should have solo-sex.”
“You do that every day.”
“But today I could do it intentionally.”
“So other days it’s accidental?”
“Well, today it would be as part of an international event.”
“Only you could make masturbation an international event!”
“I didn’t do it, Daddy, it’s on the calendar. It’s just math.”
“Mathematical masturbation, now I’ve heard it all.”
“If you’re into the math, I’ll invite you to observe my figure.”
“Whatever the problem is, that is the correct answer!”
It may be a holiday, but Lola is open for business
Tits Out
“Lo, are you watching porn again?” I asked as I noticed her lying on the couch, legs spread, hand cupped in her thigh-gap, her mind keenly absorbed in the screen of her phone.
“No,” she said defiantly.
“Then what are you doing in that provocative position?”
“I happen to be reading an article.”
“Oh yeah? What article?”
“It’s about the pandemic and relationships.”
“I’m curious. Tell me more.”
“Oh, it’s just about how some couples realized that their relationship was in shambles once they were deprived of all the other distractions in life.”
“Hmmm, sounds interesting. What’s it called?”
“I forget the title.”
“But you’re reading it right now. I’d like to read it too. What’s it called?”
“Fine,” she said, as if caught fibbing. “It’s called, ‘First Comes the Pandemic Divorce, Then the Tits Out Summer.’”
“Tits Out Summer, eh?”
Lola’s Tits Out
“It’s educational.”
“I bet it is.”
“Do you plan on having a ‘Tits Out Summer’ this year?”
“This year, every year: summer, winter, spring, fall – never a bad time for tits out.”
“Take ʼem out now.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
She reached into her shirt and pulled her breasts out over the top.
“You’ll stretch it out that way,” I said.
“Stretch what?”
“Your shirt.”
“Oh, I thought you were talking about something else,” she said as she pulled at her nipples, elongating them.
“Mind if I snap a photo or two? You look divine.”
I pulled out my camera.
“You know,” she said as she posed, “I’ve been called an attention whore for just this sort of exhibitionism.”
“You don’t say. Preposterous.”
“The way I see it, nudes have always been considered fine art. That’s just how I consider myself – a priceless museum quality piece that should be on display in a venue open to the public.”
“You’re a piece alright! Very open to the public.”
“What are you implying?”
“I mean, in our day and age, the internet is the democratization of culture, the dissemination of information, the museum for the masses.”
“Quite,” she said as she pressed her tits together. “And the masses have spoken and I am the embodiment of their collective unconscious vision.”
“Humble too.”
She slid out of her panties and spread her legs.
“I know a photographer who takes photos of naked women,” she remarked.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You should introduce us. We have a lot in common.”
“Not really. That’s just my point.”
“How so?”
“Well, each of her models is ‘perfect’ in a traditional sort of way and therefore eminently forgettable.”
“I see.”
“I, by contrast, am unique in a memorable sort of way.”
“That you are.”
“Do you want to fuck me, Daddy?”
I put down the camera and picked up my notepad and a pen.
“Daddy? What are you writing? I asked, do you want to fuck me?”
“You’ve inspired me,” I said as I scratched away at my note before it vanished from my mind.
“Read it to me,” she said when I put the pad down. She simultaneously picked up her two plungers — pink and blue (“pink for pussy, blue for bum”) and attached them to the bed’s headboard.
Pink Plunger
“Are you going to engage in double penetration?”
“That’s the objective,” she said, sliding back on the ribbed handles.
“Adventurous.”
“I like to think that I’m open to adventure. Will you read to me?”
I read from the notebook: “The most beautiful thing in the world cannot be seen, touched, or apprehended by the senses. It can only be approached by the mind, felt by the soul, and embraced deep within the heart. It nourishes the imagination and quickens thought. It is the noumenal trace behind the phenomenal appearance of the nymphomaniac, the sexually confident woman, the eternal feminine open to receive, willing to give, abundantly generous, her glory simultaneously concealing and revealing, her naked resplendence overwhelming thought through her appearance, yet shrouding her in mystery that tantalizes because always unattainable.”
“How Platonic,” she remarked, “and therefore, disappointingly sterile. Don’t you want to have me? Don’t you want to approach my body, feel my tits, and embrace me deep within my cunt? Though I adore your words and ideas, right now I just want you to fuck me.”
Her withering criticism of my inspired panegyric to her dissuaded me from continuing. If I wanted to praise her, I had to do it apart from words and phrases. I had to express my love, preferably through my second most penetrating and pleasing organ.
She pulled forward from the headboard, surprising both herself and me as the plungers remained in her holes and became dislodged from the surface where they had been affixed with a sudden pop! noise. She looked like an animal that had been shot twice with large darts in the aft. She reached back, pulled the plungers out and lay flat on her back on the bed, playing dead, but for both her hands fidgeting with her pussy as her legs were spread. She resembled human Mercedes sign.
“I think I’m comprehending your needs,” I said as I removed my clothes.
“Sometimes you’re a genius.”
“My dear, I’m always a genius. Sometimes I do stupid things.”
“I think it’s the other way around.”
I got between her legs and berated her as she bore the full brunt of my blunt instrument.
“The two brothers aren’t enough, slut? The three brothers and their father couldn’t satisfy your hunger for humiliation? MILF Meri didn’t cure your craving for cunt?”
She just spread her legs further and took my meat and degradation with stoic equanimity.
For me, at that moment, she was the axis mundi. Not the world navel, but the hole at the center of the world through which all things emerge in their creation and return in their destruction.
Her hole was wide, taking and giving, full of fluid and overflowing. There was a sloshing and splashing as she climaxed, after which she simply said, “And now in my ass, Daddy.”
Ass Please Daddy
I pulled out, flipped her over, and slid into her second axis mundi; antipode to the first, the demonic inversion of the fecund orifice.
In one fell swoop I securely conjoined with her and I felt as she gripped my member with intensity.
She cried out in pain, “Now you’ve gone too far!”
“You can’t know where too far is until you get there.”
“You’re hurting me,” she pleaded.
I pulled back, relenting.
“I didn’t say stop,” she called over her shoulder.
I rammed her repeatedly from the rear until her rhythmic response of “oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,” transformed into a repeating release of “ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.”
She could tell I was rapidly approaching the point of no return and so she lunged forward, and with a catlike quickness, pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees, opening her mouth and taking my instrument of impalement deep into the back of her throat.
Instinctively, I pulled back, grabbed my manhood with my right hand, and let spew forth all of my liquid love for Lola.
She looked up at me as I painted her face the color of pearl and she said, “I only feel right on my knees, Daddy.”
I spread my legs wide and she got between them, snuggling into my thighs, and licked from balls to tip. She looked up at me and asked, “Did you like fucking my ass?”
Unable to respond, I put my hands through her thick mane and pressed her face close to my throbbing thermometer.
She opened her mouth and took it in, performing her practice of “cockwarming” as I slowly drifted off to sleep.
Did you like fucking my ass, Daddy?
Happy Families
The next morning, over coffee, while I was cooking up some eggs, Lo asked me completely out of nowhere, “You know what Meri told me when I asked her why the hell she is still with Scott, who has no penis to speak of?”
“No, Darling,” I said, “what?”
“Meri told me that she’s with him because, ‘He calls me: Daddy’s fat little babygirl.’ Can you believe that?”
“What’s not to believe?”
“What’s not to believe?!”
I flipped the eggs, looked at her, and raised my eyebrows in curiosity.
“I mean, well, she’s not fat.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“He’s fat if anyone’s fat.”
“Again, maybe he just likes to think of her that way.”
“She may have put on a few pounds after pumping out three boys, but she’s not fat. She’s a sexy MILF. Sexy… MILF… Meri,” she said, gazing off, looking over the brim of her coffee mug.
“You still here or have you gone back down your rabbit hole?”
“And you know what else?”
“No, Darling, what?”
“When I told her about how none of the boys shut the bedroom door while they each had at me –”
“Toast?”
She nodded her head ‘yes,’ as if yesterday’s full day of fucking had famished her.
“She told me that Scott never shuts the bedroom door.”
I carefully put the two eggs and toast in front of her. I did the same for myself before getting up to grab two glasses and the O.J.
She licked her lips and dug right in, tasting it briefly before continuing.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said, sitting across from her, taking a bite of my breakfast. “He never shuts the bedroom door.”
“Never, since the kids were small. They just fuck there. Doesn’t matter who sees, who’s there, who knows. She says that he believes it shows their love for each other, so why hide it.”
“I take it you disagree.”
“Yes, I disagree.”
“So fucking doesn’t demonstrate love?”
“You know what I mean. Certain things are not meant for children to see. Aren’t you shocked at all?”
She was nearly done with her food already.
“Lo, honestly, nothing about Meri really shocks me.”
“What does that mean?”
I finished up my toast, took the last sip of my juice, and got up to collect the plates and glasses.
“You can’t just say something like that and leave it there,” she insisted. “What do you mean by that?”
“Different families have different internal cultures and norms,” I said, philosophically.
“This is not a study in cross-cultural family units,” she objected. “This is your typical suburban middle-class all-American family.”
“Typical families are all alike – each has its own hidden little secret,” I said, poorly paraphrasing Tolstoy.
“Don’t you mean, ‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way’?” she asked. I love Lo because she’s one of the only humans on the planet with whom I can allude to literary lines and not only be understood, but be corrected.
“Show me a happy family and I will show you a family with a secret.”
“But that’s just it,” she retorted emotionally, “it’s like this family doesn’t have any secrets. They leave it all out there.”
“Is that so?” I asked snidely. “Then why have you and Meri been afraid that the cops or social services might rap on the door at any moment since you got back from your camping trip? If Meri leaves it all out there, then why is she living in fear?”
“That’s different. I mean, within the family, they all just live and let live.”
“More like fuck and let fuck.”
“Either way.”
“So?”
“I just find it interesting. Well, strange.”
“You said you don’t think it should be like that.”
“Maybe I don’t.”
“And clearly Meri doesn’t either.”
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
“Because she asked to use the brothers (or let the brothers use her) so that she could get her kicks outside of the family.”
“Or maybe she just needed bigger kicks,” remarked Lo, alluding to the genetic trait that Meri’s husband shared with his three sons – the trait that left Lo so unfulfilled.
Lo looked into her empty coffee mug and back up at me sadly.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“What’s warm, wet, and makes you horny?”
Warm, Wet, and Stimulating
“Is this a riddle?”
She showed me her empty cup.
“Oh,” I said, comprehending. “You need me to fill you up.”
I poured more coffee in and she looked up at me seductively and said, “Just add cream.”
“Well,” I said to her, “I need something warm, wet, and stimulating to get up.”
“Here I am, Daddy,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“I was speaking about coffee, but really?” I asked because I thought she had been too well-worn to fuck.
“Well, I’m functional enough to give you a handjob.”
We finished our coffee and then walked to the bedroom where she reached down between my legs to assess the situation. She felt me and then reached down between her legs. I heard her smack her pussy a few times and then rub it. A little factoid about Lola – she never uses lube and certainly never spits in order to lubricate me or herself. She is almost always so naturally irrigated that she can always use her own secretions to get things slipping and sliding. She began stroking me. Despite the fact that she had showered and changed the bedding, I could still detect a whiff of the cum from eight people on her and in the room.
As she was distractedly stimulating me, she got a text. I heard her chuckle.
“What?” I asked.
She showed me a photo of her, naked, looking disheveled on the bed.
I want my family to see how I fucked you, slut
“After Meri had licked me clean, and was getting dressed, she said to me, ‘Did you like how I fucked you, Lola? Let me get a photo of you for my husband and my sons. They’ll want to see just how wrecked I left you, slut.’ She can be cruel sometimes.”
I looked at the photo and pictured all that happening as Lo coaxed me, “Cum. Please cum. That’s it, in my hand. Feel better, Daddy?”
Sweet Service
I had deposited a warm load in her palm. She licked it like a kitten cleaning her paws. I began to nod off as the waves of well-being washed over my weak body.
“Oh no,” said Lo, “No sleep for you! You promised you’d clean up all your books today!”
“I need a mancave to hibernate in,” I said groggily. “I’m just going rest for a little bit.”
“And I need a womancave!”
“Luckily, you have one.”
“And you’re not welcome in it until you clean up the books.”
I fell asleep.
When I woke up, Lo was going at both her womancaves with the plungers – blue in bum, pink in pussy.
Blue for Bum, Pink for Pussy
She was looking at her phone.
“DP? Really?” I asked.
“Oh, Daddy. You know I love double-penetration. And if you’re not going to give it to me, well, I have to get it somehow.”
“What brought this on? I thought you were too sore even for me.”
“It’s call desire.”
I was confused.
Once she noticed that I was watching her, she came and came hard, yelling out to me (and all the neighbors within earshot) that she was cumming in her ass and her cunt.
“I call it, ‘Desire'”
When she was done, I asked, “Desire?”
“Yeah,” she said matter-of-factly, “Scott and Meri each texted me separately that they want me.”
“And that’s what made you horny enough to ride dueling dildos?”
“Being desired is my aphrodisiac.”
May is Masturbation Month – Mrs. Tastykakes
Mrs. Tastykakes
She’s married. She’s a mom. She’s bi. She’s sexy. She’s a MILF and a hotwife. And she has an OnlyFans page that allows her to share all her kinky allure with the world.
Her name is Tastykakes and she recently reached out to us to be part of the “May is Masturbation Month” promotion.
She got her copy of Match, Cinder & Spark – Volume V: Shorter Shorts.
Mrs. Tastykakes
As she tells the story:
My hubby and I were at home the night it arrived. I had torn into the packaging eagerly and pulled out the book. I began reading on the bed and he was behind me, fucking me, trying to read over my shoulder, but really he could only see the sexy photos. I was reading the story, ‘Spring Showers,’ about how Lo went for a walk in April and suddenly had to stop in her tracks due to ‘accidental squirting.’ It gave me an idea. It was April. It was warm out. I was feeling slutty and sexy like Lo. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I suggested to him, mid-coitus.
‘Can I cum first?’ he asked, or rather, pleaded.
‘Only if you cum in me,’ I said.
He thrust two or three more times before cumming deep in my cunt.
I threw on a sheer, oversized top and nothing else. We walked out into the sultry evening air and I could feel his cum oozing down my inner thigh.
Instead of sexy photos with the book taken inside, we found a few places for a little exhibitionist show. The entire time, my leg was wet and sticky as his load kept coming, mixed with my juices as I was so excited to be taking a dangerous photo shoot in the courtyard of our building. I wonder if our neighbors saw. I sure hope so.
Mrs. Tastykakes
Mrs. Tastykakes
Mrs. Tastykakes
Mrs. Tastykakes
See more of Mrs. Tastykakes here:
https://www.flowcode.com/page/mrstastykakes
Mrs. Tastykakes and Lover
Friends, Fans, and Fucks
Harder
His name is Al and he is a sex-addict.
“Hi Al.”
He writes to Lo on the sly. “You are my favorite slut.”
“I’m everyone’s favorite slut,” she quips back.
“I have a sex addiction. My wife keeps me under lock and key.”
“If I were married to you, I would not only allow your sex addiction, I’d be your #1 drug.”
“I have no doubt,” says Al. “But why are you such a slut? What explains it?”
Al and Lo
“My man, HH, he is a great guy, but we’re about 30 years apart and I’m a little slutty nympho who drains him of all he’s got.”
“Now you’re begging the question.”
“I never beg, except for cum.”
“So you’re a sex-addict too.”
“Addicts go to meetings. I prefer to say I’m sex-positive.”
“What is it you want?” he asks.
“I want my pussy pounded,” she replies.
“Besides that.”
Al and Lo
“There’s only one thing a woman wants from a man as he pounds her pussy. She wants it harder.”
“I guess I was asking a different question. I was asking about something deeper.”
“Yes – harder and deeper.”
“Let me ask the question this way: Isn’t there a down-side to too much sex.”
“Yes!” says Lo excited. “I was just saying this to HH last night. I let him have my ass and he said, ‘You’re so loose.’ I told him, ‘You’re the fifth guy I’ve had up in there today and not the largest by a long shot! I can’t even feel you.’ There you have it. That definitely is a down-side. The Lola Down side of Lola’s backside, if you will.”
“The fifth cock?! What are you, a prostitute?”
“I’m just your local neighborhood nympho. Word gets around.”
“Do you date these guys or just fuck them?”
“Dating is a journey, usually with a destination. I just enjoy the ride.”
“You are one exceptional woman!”
“I prefer sexceptional.”
“How would you characterize your relationship with HH?”
“He is my rock, I am his Circe. Or maybe his Pasiphae.”
“What does that mean?”
“Look it up.”
“You two have a good sex-life?”
“I Fuck HH when he’s up for it, flirt with others when he’s not.”
“Is that what you’re up to now? – flirting with me?”
“No, I’m fucking you.”
“What?”
“With my mind. You know I can orgasm without even touching myself?”
“Are you cumming now?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
[Long silent pause.]
“There,” says Lo, proudly.
“You just came?”
“Yep.”
“It seemed, well, a little anticlimactic.”
“Not for me. Want to see?”
“Yeah.”
Lo spreads her legs to reveal the wet spot soaked through the crotch of her jeans.
Wet Spot
“Wow! Now what are you going to do about that?”
“About what?”
“Your jeans being all wet?”
“Enjoy it.”
“Can I ask you one more question?”
“You mean, in addition to that?”
“Yeah.”
“OK, shoot.”
“Why are you with HH?”
“Nothing better than a nymphomaniac and a dirty old man.”
“You call yourself a hotwife, but you’re not married. Why don’t you get married?”
“Have you ever read the letters of Eloise and Abelard?”
“I haven’t. Who are they?”
“Look it up. Anyhow, she was ahead of her time when she said to him, ‘I’d rather be your whore than your wife.’”
“And that’s how you feel?”
“That’s how we both feel.”
“Wow!”
“What?”
“That’s a radical take on marriage.”
“Well, I have met enough guys like you who entered into a marriage, but is it a marriage or a mirage?”
“Point taken.”
“Can I see a photo of your wife?”
“Why?”
“I like to know what my competition looks like.”
[He sends a nude photo of his wife.]
“There. What do you think?”
“I understand why you’re a sex-addict. She’s super sexy!!!”
“I wish she had your open mind to match her body.”
“More than my mind is open to her body.”
“Has COVID impacted you at all?”
“Yeah, a lot. That’s why I’m here chatting with you now. Most of my flirting and fucking has to be virtual these days.”
“What about the five guys from yesterday? Are they in your bubble?”
“They sure were yesterday! Far in. You could say that I am the original super-spreader – in a good way, of course!”
“In only the best way!”
Lo Super Spreader
As She Likes It
“Glass of water please Daddy” – read the text I had received from Lo.
I got up off the couch where I was distractedly trying to read a tome on Arthur Schopenhauer’s theory on Beauty and the Sublime. I had just arrived at his discussion of “the stimulating” and “the charming.” Of course I began thinking about my little Lo dressed for a night out. I recalled how one night at a bar, responding to an admirer who said she was dressed to kill, she said, “I’m just a sexy brunette in a little black dress and nothing else but my killer personality.” She then proceeded to lift the hem of her little black dress to demonstrate the truth of that statement and thereby disarmed the patron completely.
Lo in and out of her little black dress
Schopenhauer was arguing how objects that stir the appetite are inappropriate subjects for art since their effect is counter to that of disinterested aesthetic contemplation. I was in the middle of making a note in the margin of the well-worn book, arguing with the German curmudgeon on just that point, when I received the text.
Lo was in the bedroom with the brothers. I was irritated because it was the third time that week that they had come over to use Lo as their personal pleasure provider and leave her after they had made her their cumdump.
I knocked lightly on the door before letting myself in. Lo was stretched out on the bed and I had entered just as the boys were in the process of switching places, tag-team style.
Contemplation of Beauty
Lo looked at the glass of ice water I had in my hand and said, “Can you put it in my water-bottle with a straw dear?”
I left the room without closing the door. I poured the contents of the glass into her hydro flask, closed it, and returned. It was then that I noticed how soaked the sheets were.
“Thanks,” she said, reaching up and taking the bottle from my hands, drinking large sips immediately while one of the brothers – the one deep inside her spread legs – didn’t even relent a little bit with his jackrabbit thrusting at her thighs while she imbibed. I’m not sure he noticed I was there. I’m not even sure he noticed that Lo existed above her hips.
I left the room.
After the boys were done, about a half-hour later, and had returned to their home across the street, Lo sauntered into the living room and, laying down a terrycloth towel on the couch first, sat on it naked next to me.
“Watcha reading?”
“Schopenhauer.”
“Who?”
“Arthur Schopenhauer.”
“Is it interesting?”
I put my bookmark between the pages and looked up at Lo.
“You know there’s a difference between spreadeagle and starfish, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, there’s a difference between being used in a good way and simply providing maintenance sex.”
“I thought maintenance sex was a phrase married people use,” she said.
“It doesn’t have to be limited to just hetero married monogamous couples going through the monotony of the same-old same-old.”
“Are you suggesting that I’m just going through the motions for the boys?”
“If I saw motions, I would say yes. But what I saw was you, starfish on the bed, as they popped in and out.”
“Well, I enjoyed it,” she protested stubbornly.
“OK,” I said, before opening my book again.
“And it’s more than I’ve been getting from you!”
“OK,” I repeated, removing the bookmark.
“And they like it.”
“OK,” I said a third time as I began reading.
She grabbed the book out of my hands. “Talk to me!”
“What do you want me to say?”
“You clearly have opinions.”
“And you clearly think my opinions are wrong.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear them.”
“If you like it, and they definitely like it, then who am I to stop you. You just looked. . . bored.”
“Well, they’re not legendary lovers.”
“So why do you do it?”
“I like to please.”
“They use you like a kinky fuckdoll.”
“I aspire to be a kinky fuckdoll.”
“Congrats!”
“Sometimes I like to be dominated. Sometimes I like to be worshiped. But sometimes I just like to be used.”
“Seems to me that they could dominate, worship, and use a Fleshlight just the same as they do you.”
“Are you jealous, Daddy? Is that what this is?”
She cuddled up to me closer. She reached down for my cock. I could smell the cum on her.
“Oh,” she said, “I see. You need to use me. Well, come on.”
“Looks like you’ve already been cum on.”
“That’s no reason to deprive yourself.”
She undid my pants and pulled them down around my ankles. She moved my book. She got on her knees between my legs and began licking my cock.
“You know, before they left, they both had their cocks out above my head,” she said as she took my hard cock in her hand and whacked its heft against her cheek.
“I bet you loved that.”
“A gal just likes to be appreciated.”
She stood up and bent over, showing me her ass.
I spanked her.
“Yes, Daddy! Yes. Again. I was bad. Can you see their cum dripping out? I can feel it. It feels so good. Spank the slut out of me.”
I smacked her bottom until her ass was glowing red.
At that moment I heard the doorbell ring and someone walk into the house.
“Lo, the door is open!”
“It’s ok, I’m waiting for a special delivery.”
In walked one of the brothers. Was it Roy or Gary? I never can tell them apart.
Lo looked up at him, “He never succeeds in spanking the slut out of me and we’re both ok with that.”
The kid laughed as he walked over to us to put the package he was carrying down on the coffee table. “My mom says thanks,” he said just as Lo lowered her bum onto my hard cock. The kid watched. He had never seen anyone but his brother fuck Lo before. Lo was bobbing up and down.
“You left the door open?” I asked Lo.
“My love is an open door,” she replied.
“You have the sexiest body,” the smitten scaramouche said.
“I bet you say that to all the sluts,” replied Lo as she reached down to rub her clit.
Lo gestured that she wanted the voyeur to come closer. He did. She unzipped his pants and took his cock in her mouth. I was going at her from behind.
A moment later, the other brother entered.
“Roy! What are you doing? Mom’s waiting for you,” he said, nonplussed by the sight of the three of us.
“She can wait a minute,” said Roy to Gary.
Lo used her right hand to indicate that she wanted Gary to approach. He did.
“Get behind me,” she said, turning in such a way as to allow Roy to enter her ass as Gary entered her puss and I, odd-man-out, was left standing over the six-legged, six-armed, three-headed beast.
“Don’t just stand there,” she said to me. “I have enough holes to fulfill all the demand.”
I was welcomed into her warm mouth.
Keep in mind, this was all happening in the living room with the blinds open.
I was the first to cum, ejaculating deep in the back of Lo’s throat, as she likes it.
Then Gary pulled out and stood in front of Lo and came on her face, as she likes it.
Finally, Roy pulled out of her ass and stood in front of her as she kneeled on the hardwood floor. She took his cock in her mouth and sucked long and hard, fondling his balls from below with her hand and grabbing his ass from behind with her other hand to pull him in to fill her up orally.
He pulled back at the last crucial second and said, “Lie back!”
Lo did a spread eagle on the floor as Roy grabbed his cock with his right hand and rained down on her naked body, as she likes it.
The boys pulled up their pants and beat a hasty goodbye.
Lo, cum-covered and stretched wide, slowly got up.
“You know, Lo,” I said, scolding her, “anyone and everyone can see you from the outside.”
She replied with a curt, “Externalities.”
“What?”
“An unintended beneficial consequence bestowed on third-parties,” she said as if reciting from a dictionary.
“Where’d you learn that economic theory?”
“I do have a college education, Daddy,” she said bitingly.
“Oh, by that you mean you learned it in my class?”
“You’re not the only person who has something to teach me, you know.”
“Apparently not.”
“Now, did that look like maintenance sex to you?”
“Yes.”
“What?!”
“It was enough to help maintain your rapacious appetite.”
“Barely enough.”
“You know, darling, you are a walking, talking, fucking rebuttal to Schopenhauer’s aesthetic theory.”
“If that’s your way of saying I look beautiful, then, thanks!”
“I’m saying more than you look beautiful. I’m saying, you are a work of art.”
Lola as a work of art
Sore, but not Satisfied
We watched Boogie Nights up until the scene where the newbie pornstar, Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) is filmed by the seasoned director, Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds), making love to his wife, Maggie/“Amber Waves” (Julianne Moore). At that point, Lo was too turned on from watching the movie while cock-warming me to continue. We retired into the bedroom where she proceeded to ask me, “I bet you’d like to film me auditioning all those men who want to be pornstars, wouldn’t you Daddy?”
“I thought you were sore?” I asked her, referring to her masturbation marathon earlier in the day.
“Sore, but not satisfied. Fuck me. I like it when it hurts.”
I slid in her slippery snatch and she moaned with pleasure and pain.
“I think you’d like to be auditioning them,” I responded to her.
By the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head, I could tell that the image of her being the older seductress, seducing young, aspiring actors, getting them to break through the role and into the authentic enjoyment of her body, was turning her on.
While her fantasyland role was screening in the adult theater of her dark and dirty mind, my own thoughts were scrawling across my cerebrum. Since I had cum on my own earlier that day, my stamina was augmented. I had plenty of time, while Lo bounced up-and-down on my rod to the beat of her own drum, to explore the following musings.
I began with Boogie Nights and the thought of how, yes, Lo was right, I could easily see myself in the role of the director, Jack Horner, filming his own wife as she slept with various pornstars. Turning her lustful liaisons into works of art was already my forte. My mind then turned to the late, great Orson Welles and his love affair infatuation with Oja – his muse, mistress, and movie star of films such as F for Fake, and The Other Side of the Wind. A documentary about the making of the latter movie came out a couple years ago and in it, those who were on set with Welles recalled how he wanted to film, at great length, a pornographic sex scene starring Oja with Robert Random (actual actor’s name). Perhaps the aging Welles (he was between 55 and 61 while making it) took delight in seeing his young mistress (she was between 24 and 30 while making it) getting delight from a younger man who could give it to her. Sounds familiar.
“Deeper, Daddy, please,” she whined as she rode me, startling me out of my musings.
I opened my eyes and saw her pulling at her nipples over me. “Am I your pornstar?” she asked.
I tried to meet her descending hips with ascending thrusts of my own. She needed to feel the tip of my shaft on that magic spot deep inside her. If I were larger, longer, harder, I would press that button without even trying. But, alas, that was not the case.
Frankie Shaw
Frankie Shaw
Frankie Shaw using her Instagram to expose herself
Her question turned my thoughts from directors making their muses the material of art, to that wannabe pornstar who used her creative powers of writer, director, and actor to live out her clear fantasy of being fucked on camera. Frankie Shaw, in her series SMILF, used every opportunity to get naked, get laid, and get herself off in her show. I wondered how her husband, Zach Strauss, enjoyed watching her perform completely gratuitous sex scenes on the show. Let’s be clear, none of her sexpoloits were essential to the story – from her fantasy gangbang in the pilot where she is fucked by a basketball team of black men, to her seducing the boy she babysat, to the creepy scenes of her naked in a bathtub with her fictional child. None of that advanced the plot in a way that it couldn’t have done without those scenes. But, given the creative license she had, she used it to be as licentious as she could, making her the star – the pornstar.
Frankie Shaw from her Instagram being exhibitionist in her neighborhood during COVID
Lo wasn’t cumming. She got up, off of me and commanded, “Get behind me and fuck me, hard!” She was on all fours on the bed and needed me to stand up, perpendicular to her, as she looked in the full-length mirror before her, watching us fuck, as she might watch a porno.
“Come on, Daddio! Really ram it home,” she called over her shoulder.
I thrust at her with all I had. I was panting, sweating, wondering if my back was going to be sore for a week.
Mercifully, she began to cum. I could feel her pussy clenching, preparing to eject me and ejaculate. Her voice was insistent. “Cum! Cum!” she demanded, knowing that there were mere seconds left before I wouldn’t be able to remain deep inside her.
Enjoy your erotic reading.
“Where do you want me to cum?”
“Inmeinmeinmeinme!”
I don’t do well with cumming on command. If she had said, “Whatever you do, don’t cum,” then there would have been no problem. Besides, I had, at her recommendation, already cum once that day. I was near my limit.
Frankie Shaw gets nailed by the boy she baby sat in SMILF
It was already too late. The torrent had been unleashed. The spillage had gushed down her legs and now the dam was about to break, flooding me right out of her.
Frankie Shaw stars in a porno
Her legs were quivering and she was pounding the bed with her fist as she screamed “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”
I backed up and watched the demonic possession take hold as she lost control of her faculties, senses, bodily movements, and sanity.
Her orgasms are simultaneously a full-body and out-of-body experience. They are sublime to watch, in the full sense of that word: terrifyingly beautiful.
The bed covers were drenched; her body lifeless on top of the mess she had made.
Frankie dreams of Lola
Scene from SMILF
Not necessary, Right?
How did this get approved?
Slowly, her breathing steadied and resumed regularity.
She rolled over as if she had been hit by a Mac truck.
“Wow!” was all she said. And then, a little while later, “I won’t be able to walk, sit, or cross my legs tomorrow!”
Frankie Shaw getting off to Lola Down
“I guess you’ll just have to lie in bed all day.”
“That’s ok, it’s my favorite place to be and my favorite position.”
She got off the bed and began cleaning up the sodden bedding, throwing all of it in the laundry basket.
“Feeling better?”
“You didn’t cum,” she had the gall to complain.
“I did, just not with you.” I knew that remark would piss her off.
She gritted her teeth and growled at me.
“You told me to fuck Stoya, remember?”
“But on these short days in January, I really needed an injection of vitamin D, if you know what I mean.”
“It would have just come out in the wash anyhow.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
She thought for a moment. “I like to have the power to make you ejaculate on command.”
“Talk about a control freak. I did ejaculate on command – your first command. You told me to jack off while you masturbated to oblivion.”
“But I thought you knew the Golden Rule: Love thy woman as thyself.”
“Oh, is that the rule? I thought you said it was: Love thyself and often.”
“That’s my rule. Not yours.”
“So, why did you tell me to go away instead of letting me watch?”
“Well, you made me jealous when looking at all those women.”
“You’re the one who wanted to look at them with me!”
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissively. “I wanted to make you jealous.”
“Oh, so it had nothing to do with being turned on by them?”
“There was that too. But now I feel so slutty.”
“You should.”
“No, Daddy. I mean, not only was I cheating on you. . .”
“It’s not really ‘cheating’ if I know about it and condone it.”
“I was corresponding with a guy online.”
“Today?”
“Yeah, well, like every day.”
“And?”
“His name is John. I call him my internet boyfriend.”
“I think you mentioned him to me.”
“And I was cheating on him with another guy. Or maybe I was cheating on the other guy with John. I don’t know. It all gets so confusing.”
“Let me see your other boyfriends.”
She showed me their cumtribute photos.
“Looks like I have stiff competition!”
Lola
Masturbation Marathon
Lo and I were in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. She was looking at her phone. I sat with my laptop open, reading emails, when suddenly, up popped an email in our shared account. Unlike most of our fan mail, it wasn’t directed to Lo, it was addressed to me. And it had a few photos attached. Sexy photos. Of my female fan.
“What are you looking at?” Lo asked, never one to be unobservant.
“Nothing,” I clumsily lied.
“What do you mean nothing?”
“Just an email,” I said, telling the truth, trying to pass it off as nothing.
“Let me see,” she said, scooting over, closer to me, suspicious.
How does she do that? How does she know when something is amiss?
My heart was racing. She gets so jealous.
There was nothing to do but give in to the inevitable.
I showed her the email and the photos.
“Nothing huh? Who is she?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Just a fan. A connoisseur of fine literature. A grateful reader. A woman of exquisite taste in art.”
“You really don’t know who she is?”
“I swear.”
“She just wrote to you for the first time?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t carried on a correspondence with her?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“You like her?”
“What do you mean, like her?”
“You find her attractive?”
That is a very dangerous question. The female author of the epistle in question was, in point of fact, appealing. As her missive made clear, she was a wife and mother whose sex life had fallen fallow in the past few years as the children occupied more of her time and energy. But reading about my sex life with Lola had rekindled something deep down inside her and she just wanted to show me exactly where it was rekindled.
“She’s not unattractive,” I said, attempting to be as neutral as possible.
“Let’s play a little game,” said Lo. I was quizzical. “I’ll go through photos of our fans and you tell me if you find them sexy. But let’s do it in the bedroom.”
“What?”
“Yeah, just be honest,” she said as she walked down the hall.
“Are you trying to get me deeper in the hole?” I asked, following behind her.
“Depends on which hole you mean.”
GULP.
“Let’s start,” she said as she took out her computer and went to her special stash of emails and photos. She unzipped my pants and grabbed onto my flaccid member as she pulled up photo after photo. Honestly, I was too scared to get hard.
After about five or ten, she paused and looked at me a moment.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Lo, you know perfectly well what’s wrong. For years now, you’ve made the nature of our relationship clear. Now you want me to look at other women? I think that I’m being set-up.”
“No no no,” she said with a smile. “I’m just feeling like changing things up a bit.”
“You know, I could get just as hard looking at photos of men who’ve sent you cumtributes.”
“Well, maybe I’ll throw in a few of those as well. But don’t be bashful. Let’s keep on playing.”
She scrolled through scores of sexy photos and, for each one she gave me a bit of backstory, telling me the names of each woman and a bit of bio.
“That’s Floss,” she said.
“Yes, I know Floss,” I responded as she went through photo after sexy photo of her.
Floss and Match, Cinder & Spark
“And this is Karla.”
“I know Karla too. In fact I wrote about her.”
Just Floss
“Yes, that’s right. Did you know her hubby, Chris, gets off to me when he has her at home?”
Karla and Chris
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“This is the author, Larry Archer’s wife.”
“Is she a fan?”
“I don’t know, but I’m a fan of hers. . . and his!”
“And this is. . .” The list went on-and-on. With each new set of photos that Lo opened from her password-protected fap file, she grew a little more excited. If she was a guy (and she sure acts like one), she would have had a raging hard-on at this point. I have no doubt that her clit was fully tumid. She was reaching for it.
Karla over the years
Karla’s husband Chris getting off to Lola
“Um, can you give me a minute?” she asked.
“What?”
“Here,” she said, passing me the Stoya Destroya vagina. “You can use this if you want to wank. But only use my photos.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna have me a wank too.”
“But you want me to leave.”
“Yeah, is that ok?”
“Um no. Not really.”
Larry Archer’s wife
“Just give me a little while.”
She got out of bed to escort me to the door as she got out of her clothes. She put her panties on the doorknob as if she had a paramour over, but it was just her and her fingers, toys, and binders full of women.
I went back to the living room, confused, carrying my vagina. Well, Stoya’s vagina. Carrying a vagina.
I returned to the bedroom and knocked on the door furtively.
“What?” she asked, not opening the door.
“Lube,” I said. “You didn’t give me the lube.”
The door opened a crack. I saw her standing naked. She looked good. Her arm extended, dropping the tube of lube in my hands.
“OK?” she asked, shutting the door.
Stoya front, Lola back
I walked away again.
Finding my way onto the couch, I began writing – this story.
Lo’s orgasmic arias were audible throughout the house. They rose and fell, crescendo, decrescendo. So many ups and downs I lost count. I looked at the vagina sitting next to me and said, “It’s bad enough she needs more from me. Don’t you just sit there and look despondent at me that she’s getting all the action. It’s not my fault you don’t have arms, hands, or fingers to help yourself out.”
Finally, I made use of Stoya, more for her sake than mine. She looked so sad there.
I came, one brief onanistic climax, looking at Lo’s photos on the internet while Lo, in the flesh, was having a grand old time fucking herself just down the hallway. I got up to do the proper aftercare cleaning of Stoya in the second bathroom and saw Lo’s panties still prominently displayed on the doorknob as Lo went at it.
I returned to the couch and took a long nap.
I was woken up by the feeling of Lo’s lips on my flaccid cock.
“What are you doing?”
“Cock-warming,” she said as she lay naked on the couch between my legs, looking up at me.
“You want something?”
“No, Daddy.”
“No?”
“I’m sore.”
“What the hell was going on in there?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I started off jilling to the women I was showing you, but then I was into the cumtributes I’ve been getting. I’m such a slut.”
“Agreed.”
“No, you don’t know why I’m saying that.”
“Do tell.”
“Well, I guess it’s bad enough that I am not faithful to you.”
“I don’t mind. . . usually.”
“But I have a sort of internet boyfriend.”
“What is that?”
“You know, like a work wife or a work husband.”
“You mean when people become overly chummy with people they work with?”
“Yeah, like that, but in my case, it’s with people I’ve met online.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I’ve been cheating on one of them with another guy.”
“I’m sure they don’t expect monogamy from you, dear.”
“Yeah, they’re both married themselves.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“That’s just it!”
“What?”
“Do you think I have a problem?”
“Other than being a nymphomaniacal, egomaniacal hotwife attention whore?”
“Yeah, other than that.”
“No, not at all.”
“Really?”
John Doe shrine to Lola
“If your biggest problem is that you’re sexting with someone behind the back of your long-distance lover while shutting me out of the bedroom so you can fist-fuck yourself because you’re turned on by your fandom, well, hey, we all should be that lucky!”
John Doe gets of to Lo
“I love you, Daddy,” she said, before returning to cock-warming me.
“Want to watch a movie?”
“Sure. What?”
Northerngentleman
“How about Boogie Nights? Have you ever seen it?”
Northerngentleman cums in his wife’s panties.
“No.”
“Oh, then you’re in for a treat.”
- Photos used with permission.