When I
left, Lo and I were in a big fight. It’s
never good to leave for a week-long business trip halfway across the country on
bad terms. Especially with Lo. There wasn’t one thing that was the catalyst
of this rift, but rather lots of little things.
Both she and I had been dealing with pressures at work, I had been
recovering from the flu, she had an unexpected major expense that had to be
paid. We both were stressed, exhausted,
and short-tempered. Each of us had been
prickly with the other, like two porcupines in close quarters.
“Come here,
Daddio,” she said the night before I left as I was getting ready for bed. It was her way of trying to rekindle the
relationship. “I’m so cold. Come and warm me up.” Though she really was cold, she also was
naked on the bed, spreading her legs for me, rubbing her puss.
“Cold? Looks to me like you have a very warm
fleece,” I said of her au naturel triangle, “and all that friction you’re
making might light that bush on fire.”
The words came out more sarcastic and biting than I intended. My loving little banter was not warmly
received.
Watering the Bush
“If you
don’t like it, you can’t have it,” she shot back, covering herself with the
blankets.
“I never
said I didn’t like it.”
“Well, too
late. This bush is only for someone who
truly appreciates me.”
“And who
might that be?”
“ME!” she
said, pulling out her Hitachi, her dildo, and her phone.
No sooner
had she gotten the giant white ice cream cone revved up and the dildo delved in
deep and the phone queued to one of her favorite porn videos than, to her great
surprise, the phone rang! She nearly
jumped out of the bed. She dropped the
Hitachi and it was still buzzing. Her
dildo was left dangling, and she had to fumble with her phone as she said hello
because all the moaning and groaning sounds of the porno film were still
playing.
“Hi Lo,”
the person on the other end said, “Is this an ok time?”
“Yeah. Yes.
Sure. Just one sec.,” said Lo as
she tried to compose herself and shut off all her stimulation devices. Finally she was focused on the call and I
climbed into bed next to her, stroking my cock.
Seeing her pleasure herself still gets me off after all this time. But seeing her interrupted and frustrated is
a rare delight.
It was
Robert. He needed someone to talk
to. He was feeling despondent. And he had been scrolling through the
blog.
I curled up
next to Lo and whispered, “Don’t tell him I’m here,” as I guided my cock into
her cupped hand. She mindlessly gave me
a hand-job as she talked to Robert. Or
rather, I should say, I eased my way in-and-out of her palm. She was unaware of or unconcerned with my
movements.
She talked
to him in a consoling and kind tone, listening to his lament of
loneliness. He hadn’t been with someone
in so long. The night at the museum was
such a powerful moment for him. Since
then he had done more study of Koons and his Made in Heaven installation.
Jeff Koons and his wife Ilona Staller, “Made in Heaven”
When I
heard that, I was both amused and angered.
I’m the one who turned Lo onto Koons! I deserve the credit for that. Whatever.
I continued
to slide my cock in-and-out of her cupped hand.
I kept quiet.
“What did
you like about it?” asked Lo to Robert in her seductive tone of voice.
“I, um, I
liked, I like that you suggested it to me.”
“Really?”
asked Lo, intrigued. “Why?”
“Lo, I, uh,
I never met a woman like you.”
“Go on,”
she said, captivated by the story of herself.
“You’re so
brazen. Is that the right word? So, daring.
So. . .”
“Slutty?”
“That’s not
the word I was going to use.”
“Use it,”
she commanded.
“What?” he
said, as if he hadn’t heard her properly.
“Call me a
slut. I like it. Say it.
I’m touching myself now.”
She
wasn’t. She was holding the phone with
one hand and my member with the other.
“OK,” said
Robert. “You’re a slut.”
“Yesss,”
said Lo.
That was
too much for me. I pulled back and
grabbed my cock and came all over myself as Lo looked on, desirously.
Now she was
touching herself.
“Are you
jackin’ it?” she asked Robert.
“Am I. . .
?”
“Are you
jacking off? Stroking yourself?”
“No,” he
said, as if offended.
“Why not?”
“Lo, I
didn’t call you like someone would call a phone sex service.”
“You
didn’t?”
“No. I. . .”
“But you
can. What do you want to hear?”
There was a
long silence on the other end interrupted only by Lo’s occasional moans of
pleasure. Self-pleasure.
“Do you
want to hear that I loved sucking you off?” she asked.
“You did?”
“Yessss,”
she said.
“Why?”
“I love
sucking cock. Any cock. Lots of cock.
I love helping guys out. I love
giving relief. Let me help you. Are you by your computer?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Pull up a pic of me if you haven’t already.”
“I, I, I,”
Robert stammered.
“You
already had it up, didn’t you?” accused Lo.
“I did,” he
admitted.
“Good. Which pic is it?”
“It’s of you
in your neon blue panties stroking your pussy lips.”
“You like
that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s
beautiful.”
“Well
that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.
I’m stroking my wet, pink, pussy lips with my beautifully manicured
fingers, slowly sliding them up and down and in and out. Does that turn you on?”
“Yes.”
“Are you
stroking your cock?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, I want you to hang up the phone and take
pics of you stroking it to my pics. Make
sure my photo is in the frame so I know that I’m the one who is making you hard
and makes you cum. You will cum, won’t
you?”
“If you
want me to.”
“I do.”
“OK.”
“Do it and
send me the pics.”
“OK.”
“And
Robert.”
“Yes?”
“What am
I?”
“A dirty,
filthy slut.”
“That’s
right. Don’t forget it,” she said and
she hung up on him.
I was
cleaning myself off when she got the notification that a text was sent to
her. She opened it. There were three photos. One of Robert jackin’ it to her pics. One of him cumming. And one of the mess he made. Lo looked at them again and again and she
eventually came herself.
“Thanks,” I
said.
“For what?”
she said.
“For making
me cum,” I said.
“Oh, did I
do that?” she asked, sincerely unaware of her passive powers.
The next
morning, before Lo woke up, I was off to the airport, sad that we hadn’t
properly reconciled.
The
next time we saw him, at a fundraiser reception in an art museum, Lo affixed
herself to him. Arm-in-arm they strolled
the corridors, pausing in dimly lit corners.
It was a nighttime event and the university spared no expense and was
eager to show off its faculty to the wealthy alumni and other donors. Because of the book I published long ago on
art, I was one of the featured speakers.
After a brief hello exchanged with Robert, I was left to review my notes
and consult with the university president about the order of the program. However, every once in a while, I’d catch a
glimpse of Lo leading Robert about, taking delight in the whispers and scandal
that she was causing among our petty and gossipy colleagues. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t irk me a
little bit. It would have been a totally
different story if I could have been with them, observing, commenting, and
teased by Lola’s cuckolding up close.
As
it was, they disappeared out of my sight.
I only heard later, while horizontal with Lo in the darkness of our
bedroom, impaling her with my rock-hard rod, between her gasps and groans, what
happened.
“I
walked with him as he politely escorted me through the various galleries:
Impressionists, Expressionists, Cubists, and so on. At each one he attempted to explain to me
what I already knew, but I flattered him with my oos and ahs and reallys? – as
if he were telling me something new.”
“You’re
bad,” I said. “I bet you do that with me
too.”
“No,
Daddy, never.”
Her
lies are transparent.
She
continued, “I knew the museum very well, of course, and I eventually led him to
the contemporary art gallery. I asked
him if he liked contemporary art and he admitted he didn’t really understand
it.”
This
was a rather intellectual conversation for pillow talk. But I was willing to follow her lead.
She
said in her sultry, seduction voice:
When we got
to the contemporary, I brought him to see Richard Prince and his ‘Girlfriend’
series. He looked very confused and
asked, ‘How can this possibly be art?’
Richard Prince, “Girlfriend” closeup
I asked,
‘Don’t you find it beautiful? The artist
was so in love with his girlfriend that he chose to photograph her nude and put
her up in an art gallery for all to see.’
‘That’s
exploitation,’ he said.
‘Not if she
likes it,’ I said.
‘A good
feminist like you? – How could you like
it?’
‘How could
I like being photographed naked and put on display for all to see?’ I asked to
clarify his meaning.
‘I mean,
how could you think that she likes it or that a woman likes it or. . .’ he
stammered uncomfortably, ‘how could you like this,’ he said, indicating the large photograph.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘HH does the
same for me.’
‘What are
you talking about?’
‘He likes
to photograph me nude and then share it with the world.’
‘What?!’ he
asked, shocked.
I looked down at his crotch to see
if he was getting hard. I think he was.
‘It’s
called candaulism. It’s a kink. I’m surprised you don’t know of it – an
educated man like you,’ I said, gripping his bicep. ‘It comes from an ancient Greek story about
Candaules, the king of Lydia, who was so proud of his beautiful wife, he
arranged to allow his minister, Gyges, to see her naked.’
‘Is that
so?’ he said, as if he were only academically interested.
‘Yes. It turned out that the queen, Nyssia, was
aware of the spying eyes and, according to legend, in order to teach her
husband a lesson, summoned her husband to come to the bed and pleasure
her. Of course she knew that the figure
in the shadows was not her husband, but, unable to escape, Gyges obeyed the
command of the queen and, in the dim light, approached the bed. All the while Candaules was secretly watching
with a curious mixture of arousal and jealously. Gyges entered the bed and then entered the
queen. She said all sorts of salacious
things as they made love in order to drive the point of her lesson home, and
that she did, wounding the suffering king with her cries of passion. Finally, at the climactic moment, the king
could hold back no longer and he made himself known to both Nyssia and
Gyges. Drawing his royal sword, the king
made to slay the dutiful minister, but Gyges narrowly avoided the steel blade
and, removing it from the king’s hands, impaled the king with his own
sword. A tragic tale, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, yes
indeed. And it should serve as a
cautionary tale for HH.’
‘Oh, but
that is all ancient history,’ I said, waving my hand. ‘What HH and I do together is very fun. Its proper term is ‘compersion.’ That is, the delight of seeing one you love
pleasured by another. Would you like to
see?’ I asked, pulling out my phone.
‘Perhaps
later,’ he said just as we approached the Koons’ sculpture. ‘Dear Lord!’ he exclaimed as he saw the
porcelain rendering of Woman in Tub, ‘What
is this gallery?! The Museum of
Pornography?!’
Not Koons’ “Woman in a Tub,” but Lola in a Tub – the inspiration
‘Oh, don’t
be so rigid, and hardened in your ideas of beauty,’ I said to him as I patted
him on the chest. ‘This is a classic.’
Jeff Koons “Lady in a Tub”
‘Oh yeah,
right up there with the Mona Lisa,’ he said sarcastically.
Having my
phone out, I snapped a shot. ‘It should
be,’ I said. ‘You’re just priggish in
your stodgy ole professor way. Don’t be
such a prude.’
Art Appreciation
“I bet you
weren’t a prude, were you,” I said to Lo as I continued my steady rhythmic
forays in and out of her puss with my cock.
“I got 99 problems, but being a slut ain’t
one.” she said.
They
returned to the courtyard of the museum where I was to give my talk and I
watched them sitting in the audience next to each other. Lo’s legs were crossed and she was proudly
displaying her beautifully shod foot. At
one point I saw them passing notes.
“What did
you write to him?” I asked her.
“I just
wrote that I found it incredibly sexy to see you up there at the podium in the
museum giving your talk.”
“Really?”
“True,
Daddy,” she said. “Do you like that?”
“I do.”
“And then I
wrote that I was getting too wet to sit still.”
“You
didn’t!”
“I did,
Daddy. That’s when I got up.”
I
remembered seeing her walk out on my speech.
The thought of the reason why was too much for the erogenous zone of my
brain to handle and I unleashed a torrent of my pent-up desire inside her.
“Oh Daddy,”
she said, surprised, “Stay in me while I tell you the next little part.”
“OK,” was
all I could mutter as I caught my breath.
I went to the Ladies Room and
quickly took care of my craving. When I
returned, I sat next to Robert and asked if I missed anything.
He said, ‘No, but I feel like I
missed something.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘What’s that?’
‘You,’ he said.
‘Me?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I missed you when you were gone and I’m
supremely curious as to where you went and what you went to do.’
‘Come with me,’ I said, ‘and I’ll
show you.’
We got up and I took him to the
Medieval room of the museum, and there, in the dim light, surrounded by the
muted reds and blues of the stained glass windows, I sat with him at a pew and
took out my phone to show him all the photos of me from the blog, most of them
of me masturbating.
‘Robert,’ I said, ‘Here we are in a
place of devotional art and you see all these beautiful images and the
illuminated manuscripts over there?’
Lola Down – 21st Century Devotional
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Well, this,’ I said, indicating the
images on my phone, ‘is HH’s devotional literature for me. This is the illuminated manuscript of the 21st
century. Sex is no longer sinful. Sex is spiritual. And I am a sex goddess.’
“How
extraordinarily pompous of you!” I said.
“You would have said the same,” she
retorted.
“You know me too well. But I think I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Rub off on me, Daddy! Rub off on me!” she pleaded as I was still
firmly sheathed in her dripping cunt.
“What happened next?” I asked as I
leaned into her, pressing my now tumescent cock deeper. She came and she came in massive orgasmic
waves. Clearly the memory of being the
object of worship was pleasing to her.
“Then he
took the phone and looked at it as he leaned toward me. Our lips touched and he held me tightly in
his arms as our tongues entwined. I saw
that, as he was kissing me, he was looking over my shoulder at the phone he
held in his hand, staring at my sexy photos.
I reached down and grabbed his cock and it was rock hard. His other hand reached down and felt my soft
leg all the way up to my panties. I
wanted so much more, but the event had just let out and we had to look
presentable.”
“That’s
when I found you with him walking over to me with that devilish grin on your
face.”
“Look,
Robert,” I said, “You’re my friend. I
like you. Lola likes you. I think you like Lola.”
“I do,” he
said.
“So, I’m
going to tell you something. If you play
your cards right, you might not get all you want, but you can get what you
need, as the song goes.”
“I’m not
following,” he said.
“Look, you
told us you need companionship, someone to wake up with in the morning, someone
to go to bed with at night. What you
need, if I may be blunt, is to get laid, get your rocks off, get your ya-yas
out.”
“You
certainly are blunt.”
“Am I
wrong?”
“No. But what are you getting at?”
“Lo and I,
we have a special relationship. An open
relationship. Or, as we like to say, a
half-open relationship.”
“What does
that mean?” he asked, with all the naiveté of a middle-aged divorcé.
“That means,
my friend, that she’s allowed to play with whomever she wants. I am not.”
“You mean?”
“Yes, fuck,
fornicate, copulate, however you wish to put it.”
“And?”
“And, you
big dope, she’d probably do you if you just got out of your own head for a while.”
“Me?”
“Yeah,
buddy, you.”
“And you
wouldn’t mind?”
“Mind? I’d be happy for you! I’d be happy for you both. She’s a fucking fantastic fuck. She’d set you right. And I know, on good authority, that she lusts
for you.”
“She
has one boyfriend in Naples, another in Amsterdam, and then she toys with me.”
“Toys
with you?” Lo’s ears perked up.
Robert
had made an excellent meal for Lo and me even though we had dropped in on him
unexpectedly. He is a very generous and
hospitable man and he opened a bottle of wine for Lo as he and I enjoyed an
excellent bottle of Scotch. It was so good
and so smooth that, before we knew it, he and I were on our fourth already. It hit me all at once and I suddenly realized
that I was having difficulty seeing straight.
“We
Skype with each other once a week.”
“Ooooh,”
squealed Lo, “Skype sex.” Her tongue
slid over her front teeth.
Robert
blushed, “It’s not like that,” he protested.
“I’m
sure,” responded Lo.
“No,
really. Well, maybe once in a long
while.”
“I
knew it!”
“But
I meant no double entendre. I simply
meant that. . .”
“Do
you like to watch?” interrupted Lo.
“What?”
“Do
you like to watch, to watch her, Linda, when she toys with you?”
Robert
squirmed a little in his seat, uncomfortable.
He’s tremendously uptight and prudish, but he also thinks of himself as
enlightened and courageous, so he answered the question, “Well, yes.”
“Do
you reciprocate?”
“That’s
usually why she calls me on Skype. To. .
.”
“To
see you jack it?”
“If you wish to put it that
way, yes.”
“I
do like this gal. When can I meet her?”
“That’s
just the thing. She shuttles between
Italy, Holland, and London and I don’t think we’ll be together in person again
anytime soon.”
“She
can’t just puddle jump the pond and come over for a quicky?”
Robert
laughed at the suggestion.
“Boy,
you must be so hard-up,” said Lo seductively.
Robert
poured himself another whiskey and gestured to pour another for me. I covered the top of my glass to decline the
offer.
“I’m
sorry,” I said, “I’m going to lie down for a bit.” I got up, unsteadily, and found my way to the
guest bedroom. It was right off the hall
that went to the living room and so I heard snippets of their conversation from
bed.
“I
remember when I was between boyfriends,” Lo was saying, “not literally. I mean, after I graduated college and before
HH, I used to spend two or three nights a week at my friend Alyssa’s
apartment. She and I were the best of
friends back then. I had no romantic
designs on her, but we’d share a bed, both of us naked, holding each
other. She and I were both single and on
nights that we didn’t want to go home with a stranger, we’d take comfort in the
love we shared. After she fell asleep,
I’d lie there, wide awake, horny, and I’d touch myself silently, careful not to
wake her up with my strokes or my inevitably powerful orgasm. Now that’s what I do next to HH
sometimes. Like tonight, I’ll probably
have to do that since he drank too much.”
Hearing
her say that brought a smile to my lips as my mind drifted off on
whiskey-saturated clouds. I dozed for I
don’t know how long before I was roused from my slumbers by the sound of Lo’s
voice saying, “Are you sure you don’t want some company?” She was just entering my room and, as I
opened my eyes, I saw Robert’s shadow in the hallway.
“I’ve
had too much to drink. I’m going to feel
like shit in the morning. Thank you,
Lo,” he said politely.
“Well,
won’t you at least tuck me in?” she asked.
I saw her silhouetted against the hall light filling the doorway. She slowly removed her blouse, dropped her
jeans, undid her bra and took it off, and then slid out of her panties. I felt her naked body sit on the edge of the
bed and then lift up her legs on top of the covers under which I was
lying. Her legs spread and her hand
stroked between them.
Robert
entered the room timidly. He bent down
to offer Lo a kiss goodnight. She pulled
his arm and gently guided him into the bed.
“There’s room enough for all three of us,” she said.
He
got into the queen-size bed. I heard Lo
kiss him and before very long I heard him sleeping. I was about to drift off again myself when I
felt and saw Lo caressing herself, there, naked, between the two of us.
After
a restless night of beautiful dreams, I awoke to find Lo next to me, naked, and
Robert next to her, fully clothed. She
was nestled up to his body with her right hand on his crotch. I was holding her – a big spoon to her little
spoon – caressing her breasts.
I
carefully extricated myself from the scene and snuck into the kitchen to make
coffee. I found my phone in my pocket
and on it was a text from Lo. It was
sent only a few hours earlier: “Can I fuck Robert? Please!”
I texted her back: “Good morning, my love.
I was hard-up all night – from the moment you got into the bed next to
me to the moment I woke up next to you, caressing your breasts and your sweet
ass. Your warm, soft, luscious, naked
body looks lovely in the morning light.
In my dreams a word came to mind for you – NILF: Nymph I’d Like to
Fuck. Yes, that’s you.
By all means, feel free to get
Robert up! You have my permission to
rouse him. Show him what a NILF you
are.”
I
was sitting, enjoying a warm cup of coffee when Lo sauntered into the living
room wearing one of Robert’s dress shirts, covering her sexy body down to the
middle of her thighs. She said
nothing. She just cozied up to me on the
couch.
“How
are you, sweetheart?”
“I
missed you, Daddy.”
“What
about Robert?”
“Out
like a light.”
“And
you?”
She
nestled her face into my chest and said something inaudible.
“What?”
She
looked up at me and repeated it in a whisper, “I need to get fucked.”
“By
me or him?” I asked, adding after, “Or
both?”
“Preferably
both, but I’ll take what I can get.”
I
stood up and dropped my trousers. She
bent over the side of the couch and I entered her from behind. She held herself in place with her left hand
and rubbed herself between her legs with her right. It took all of 90 seconds before she came the
first time, audibly. It was about
another minute and a half before she came a second time, even louder. The third time took about five minutes and it
was deafening.
I
pulled out and said, “You’re just trying to wake him up, aren’t you?”
“Am
I a good NILF or bad?”
“It
doesn’t matter, dear.”
“Why
not?” she asked, puzzled.
“Because
you’re my NIFL and I love you.”
She
got on her knees and sucked me off until I came in her mouth and then she got
up and we made breakfast together. The
aroma of the eggs and toast must have woken Robert, because he finally emerged
from the bedroom holding his head.
“Owe!”
he lamented, “Aspirin!”
“Here,”
said Lo, helping him to sit down at the table.
“Have some of this,” she said as she poured him some orange juice and
went into the bathroom to get the aspirin.
She came back and nursed him.
“That’s
my shirt,” said Robert after a moment.
Daddy’s shirt
“Oh,
sorry,” said Lo. “Do you want it back?”
she asked and made as if to unbutton it.
“No,”
said Robert, “I just realized – it looks much better on you.”
We
had breakfast together and then Lo removed the shirt and handed it back to
Robert. “I’m just going to change and
then we’ll be going,” she said, standing naked before him.
Robert
was speechless.
“Thanks
for the hospitality. But next time, try
not to drink so much,” she said before disappearing into the bedroom.
“Do
you remember what happened last night?” asked Robert of me.
“Yes,”
I said.
“Do
you mind sharing?”
“No,” I said, “but when I share, it is only good manners to stay sober enough to be up for it.”
[Editor’s note, this story involves Dr. Robert Smith. For previous stories that include him, click on the links to: Well Laid, Hey Good Lookin’, Pyro, Happy as a Clam, Good Night, My Whore, and Attention Slut. There’s no need to read those stories in that order for this story, but if you are interested in the long flirtation between Lo and Dr. Robert Smith, you can get the backstory in those posts.]
“What’s there to eat in the fridge?” I call to her
through the bathroom door. I had just
gotten home from work and I was famished.
“Nothing,” she calls back as I hear the squeak of her
opening the valves to take a shower.
“Nothing?! I
saw a cucumber in the bottom right drawer.”
“Oh, that’s not for eatin’,” she says. “Come to think of it, will you bring it to me
darling?”
Good grief. I
get the green gourd from the fridge for her and a cold beer for me. I pass her the vegetable when she extends her
hand through the narrow opening of the door.
“Can’t I see you?” I ask.
“No.”
“You do know that I’ve seen you naked before? Most of the internet has seen you naked
before. Probably most of our neighbors
have seen you naked before.”
“I have my shower cap on.”
“Oh, well then.”
The door shuts.
I sit down to read and sip my beer and await her exit from the
bathroom. And wait. And wait.
After her repeated cries to God and profanities that I imagine were
directed at her pleasure-bearing plant, I hear the waterspout squeak off.
Finally she emerges.
Lo is very wet
I whistle at her.
“You look half as good in your clothes as you do out of them.”
“That’s insulting!”
“Would you prefer the opposite: You look twice as good
in your clothes as you do out of them?”
“How about you just say I look fabulous.”
“You look fabulous, darling. And delicious. I had no dinner. Can I please eat you from bottom to top?”
“Oh, Daddy, I have to catch my breath,” she says,
lying naked on the bed next to me.
“You do that and I’ll caress your snatch with my
tongue.”
She puts her laptop over her shaved triangle and opens
it up.
“Darling,” I ask, “what are you doing now?”
“Just checking some email and sprucing up some social
media accounts.”
Dejected, I get up off the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m taking off my work clothes and. . .”
“Getting naked?” she asks, licking her lips.
“If that would please you.”
“Will you lie next to me?”
“As you wish,” I say, somewhat sarcastically.
I sit next to her, reading my book as she scrolls
through pages with her right hand. Her
left hand is resting on my cock. It
grows in her palm. I put down my book
and turn on my side, rhythmically fucking her fist. Unconsciously, she allows it, but doesn’t
enthusiastically respond to it. She’s
engrossed in whatever it is she’s reading.
After a couple of moments, I look at what is on her
screen. It’s a page of nearly naked
women.
Just as I was enjoying seeing her in the naked flesh
next to me, and also her pixilated portrait resting just above her pink vulva
on her laptop computer, she scrolls away from the page. And, to make matters worse, she removes her
hand from my hard rod.
“Now what are you doing?” I ask.
“It’s well known that lists create
web traffic and a fan asked me to list six facts about my body.”
“Clickbait,” I respond.
“You can call it that,” she says,
but I think I’m the real bait.
Clitbait, you might say.” She
strokes her bean under the computer as she says it.
She returns her hand to the keyboard
and writes:
Six Facts About My Body:
It is an instrument of pleasure.
It is a canvass for cum.
It inspires creativity.
It drives people crazy.
It drives me crazy.
I love it.
“Not bad,” I say.
She ignores my compliment because now she is engaged in
answering emails.
One guy asks, “Who are you?”
“Cum and find out,” writes Lo, followed by, “Wait, reverse
that.”
Another guy sends a dick
pic. Lola tells him that if he is going
to do that, he has to send one with her photo in the frame. He replies, “I don’t usually send dick pics.”
“I bet you say that to all the
sluts,” she replies snidely.
I can see that she is getting excited. Her right hand moves to her chest and she
pulls at her nipples, making them erect.
“Looks like you’re ready to give
some pointers,” I say.
Another fan read the story, “Divine Destinies,” about Lo’s immaculately pure pink posterior flower. He wrote to Lo requesting some steamy chat, adding that, “I love to talk about dirty things.”
Lo, taking offense at this, replies,
“Are you suggesting that the pinnacle of my success is ‘dirty’?”
“Lo,” I say, “turn over and I’ll
take a pic of my tongue deeply penetrating your perineum and we’ll show him how
you’re more beautiful than Charlene and Mr. Clean.”
She chuckles and asks, “How the hell
do you know that song?”
“My brain isn’t as old as my body.”
“If by that mean you mean that
you’re immature, then you’re right.”
“Roll over.”
She closes her laptop and I think I’m in luck, but
then she takes out her phone. She does
turn onto her tum and begins going through photos from fans. “I just need a little something to wet my
whistle, if you know what I mean,” she says, as she puts her right hand down
between her pussy lips and strokes, then, using that natural lubricant, moves
to her porn star.
She passes me the phone and says, “Look what I found
in my in-box!”
I, looking at both her boxes intently at that moment,
take the phone from her.
“Read it aloud,” she says, “I’m all ears. . . and
vagina.”
I see a long email from a fan, a woman named “Jen X.” It reads:
As I read the lusty letter, Lo is
having finger fun time between her legs and her feet are working in tandem to
stroke my cock. The words are so poetic
and prurient that I very nearly cum. Lo
can feel it and she turns and says, over her shoulder, “I just got out of the
shower. I didn’t wash my hair and I
don’t intend to today. If you cum, don’t
cum in my hair.”
“Do
you think Audrey Hepburn ever said that to Gregory Peck?”
“Look,
I aim to please, so please be sure to aim.”
Just
as she says it, I take aim and hit my mark, right between her shoulder
blades.
Painting on Canvas
After
I recoup, I get up and go to the bathroom to clean myself off. There, on the sink, is her giant
cucumber. “Do you think this is still ok
to eat?” I call to Lo.
“What,
your cock?”
“Well
that too, but I was referring to your veggie vagina filler.”
“Oh,
I’m not done with it yet. Toss it here.”
I
do so and I also return to the bedroom to get dressed.
“Where
do you think you’re going?” she asks as she stuffs herself full of the jolly
green giant.
How about this?
“To
the store to get something for dinner.
Do you want anything?”
“How
about an eggplant. This is not nearly
enough to feed me.”
Earlier
that day, dear reader, we had gone to the beach with our friends Stephanie and
Mark. They’re a married couple in their
30’s, they have a couple of young kids, suburban house, everything – a quaint
picture of domestic bliss. Then you
throw Lo into the mix and, well, you’ll see what unfolds (or unzips).
Stephanie is a
work acquaintance of mine who has her office down the hall. Every so often she texts me little notes
like, “Lunch today?” followed by a winkface, a smileyface, or some other
emoticon that drives Lo crazy! Lo is
convinced she has the hots for me. But
it’s hard to stay seated atop her high horse when she is just as often on her
knees in front of a different man. As
you shall soon discover, Lo was in for a dénouement all her own. Lo, it so turns out, has more than your
casual fondness for Mark. In fact, she
has made it no secret how she feels about him.
The first time we
had dinner with them, when Lo first met Mark, Lo rushed us home and threw me
into the bed, jumping on top of me, humping me and, looking down at me from
where she lifted and descended at a rising trot’s pace, she asked, “Do you
think he wants me?”
“Mark?”
“Yes, Mark,” she
said, panting.
She didn’t even
let me answer before she finished.
Apparently just the mention of his name was enough to get her heart
palpitating.
She fell down next
to me and, caressing her soft lower lips, she said, “He’s hard-up.”
“How do you know?”
“Did you forget
that Stephanie and I had lunch together a few weeks ago?”
“And she told you
that?”
“I have my ways of
getting information. I know that they
have sex once every six months, if that.
And it’s not for his lack of wanting.”
“Do you think he wants you?”
“Fuck me and I’ll
tell you.”
She spread her
legs and I slid in.
“He’s so tall,”
she began, “and sitting next to him I could tell that he was looking down my
blouse at my tits all night.”
“I did notice
that.”
“And his long legs
touched mine under the table.”
“Did they?”
“And his cock!”
She was cumming again. “His cock
is huge. I could see it bulging right
through is pants. Oh, it’s such a waste
for her not to be on that every night!!!”
She came hard this time.
That dinner date
was a few months ago.
Now, we were at
the beach and I could tell that Lo was all riled up to see Mark in just his
swimming trunks. Knowing where Lo’s
attention would fall, I gazed at his crotch and had to admit to myself, she was
right – there was no disguising the size of that thing. It was truly amazing that the tip didn’t peek
out the bottom of those loose-fitting shorts.
As soon as we
staked out a spot for us to set up our chairs and blankets on the white sand,
Lo removed her sheer blouse, revealing her tiny bikini top and lovely tum. She had the confident air of a woman in her
twenties, showing off and prancing around her thirty-something
competition. And that self-assured
swagger sure got Mark’s attention.
Stephanie, who was
busy with the two kids, was oblivious to all the sexual tension coursing
between Lo and Mark. I watched,
contentedly. Lo was soon removing her
cutoff jeans-shorts, slipping out of them like a stripper on stage. Her bikini bottom left little to the
imagination, but I could see Mark desperately imagining what was left.
When she was down
to just her bikini, she got on all fours on the beach blanket in front of Mark,
who was sitting in a beach chair. She
roved around the blanket like a dog looking for its bone, but Lo was looking for
the sunscreen. Or so she said. I think she was just looking for attention. .
. and getting it.
“Where did you put
it?” she asked me.
“I don’t know,” I
said.
“He’s good for
nothing, Mark,” she said, jibbing at me.
As she was on all fours, her breasts hung down right in front of Mark
and then she turned and, searching her bag, her ass was up in the air right in
front of him. I’ve seen strippers on
stage who were more discrete than that.
“Oh, here it is!” she exclaimed as she pulled it out of her bag, looking
behind her to see if she was being watched.
She began applying
the lotion to her feet, legs, tum, chest, arms, shoulders, neck, face. “I missed a few spots,” she said, passing the
lotion to me as we exchanged looks – mine saying, “You’re pushing it.” Hers saying, “I want it pushed.”
I applied some
lotion to her back. “Lower,” she
said. I applied it to her lower
back. “Lower,” she said. I applied it to her ass and she pulled up the
bottoms into a thong and said, “Don’t take any chances.”
I applied it to
her ass cheeks as I looked at Mark and said, “The princess likes to be
pampered.” He laughed, but was clearly
thinking about pampering the princess in his own way. I enjoyed it.
A group of four
men strolled onto the beach with their cooler, chairs, volleyball, and
snacks. They set up camp right next to
us, attracted to Lo, no doubt. They were
all in their twenties, jacked, and looking to have fun in the sun. Lo’s attention was suddenly split between
Mark and the men. It looked like the numbers
won out – unless Lo was just toying with Mark now the way she had been toying
with me. Once she had the fish hooked,
she was content to throw it away and see what other catch she could accomplish
with her bait.
The guys, after
settling in and cracking open a few brews, set up the volleyball net and began
a game. Lo looked on enviously.
“Go play,” I said,
giving her permission.
“No, you come
too,” she said, ambiguously.
“I don’t want to.”
“Mark, will you
play?”
Mark was up for
it. The two of them approached the guys
and soon it was five guys and Lo bouncing the ball back-and-forth. Lo danced upon the sand, dashing here and
there, stretching to spike the ball, bending to pick it up, lunging to serve. She was clearly distracting to her teammates
and opponents alike. At some points her
bikini bottoms were showing her cute ass and at other points her breasts were
on the verge of flying out of their cups.
Stephanie talked
with me in between rebuking or cautioning the children. We discussed work and then leisure time. I had recounted some of the things that Lo
and I had done over the summer thus far.
“Wow!” she said, “You two do so much!”
“Well, if I had my
druthers, I’d probably just sit at home and read and write, but Lo is always on
the go-go-go.”
“One of the
downsides of dating. . .” she searched for the least judgmental words she could
find, “someone so young.” No matter how
she said it, it dripped with derision.
“She keeps me
young,” I said, simply, with a smile on my face as I watched my young nymph
flirt with the four guys and Mark.
The sun was
beating down and I could see all the players wilting in the noontime heat. They broke up their game and Lo grabbed some
cash from her bag and said she was going to get a snow cone.
“You were really
playing hard,” I commented.
Out of breath,
sweating, she just nodded.
“I mean, hard to
get,” I added sardonically.
“Daddio, I don’t
play hard to get. I play to get them
hard.”
She asked if we
wanted something. After putting in my
order, I watched as she and two of the young men walked down the path toward
the dunes, behind which was the concession stand. Just before they were out of eyeshot, I saw
Lo stop and untie the halter-top of her bikini and ask one of the men to fix it
for her. He was fixing it from behind
while the other guy was in front of her.
The guy fumbling with the stings “accidentally” lost his grip of them,
letting the top fall. Lo laughed as she
pulled it back up. Down it went again as
she tried to pass the string to Mr. Butterfingers. They all laughed as Lo covered her breasts
with her arm. They retied the knot and
walked on. They were away for a long
time.
When Lo got back
from the concession stand, Lo asked me to go into the ocean with her. “Where’s my snack?” I asked, expecting that
she would at least bring it back.
“Whoops!” she said
with a smile. “I got a bit. . .
distracted. Come with me in the water
and I’ll tell you about it,” she said, up to no good. I gave her an angry look, but she’s knows I
can’t be cross with her for long.
I followed her to
the deep blue sea. The water was
warm. We were relatively alone at that
part of the beach and I carried Lo in my arms.
When we got out to the point where I could still stand, but was lifted
as the waves crested, Lo kissed me passionately.
“Wow!” I said,
surprised.
“Feel me, Daddio,”
she said, moving my hand between her legs.
“Am I wet?”
“Lo. We’re swimming. In the ocean.”
She smiled. “Oh, trust me, I’m wet.”
“What were you up
to?”
“Nothing.”
She kissed me
again.
“Lo, I know you
were up to something. I saw your little
ploy to flash them your tits.”
“You
saw that, Daddio?”
“Yes.”
“What
else did you see?”
“That’s it. You disappeared behind the dunes. You were away for a long time, while I
patiently waited for my snack. No snack
came back.”
“Oh,
you’ll get your snack,” she said. “Your
snack will be coming soon.”
She
kissed me again. It was like she was
drunk on sunshine, shore, and attention.
“Finger
me, Daddio.”
I
put my index finger into her slippery hole underwater, beneath her bikini
bottoms.
“Oh,
yeah,” she moaned. “Hurry up. I have to cum.”
“What
were you up to?”
“Let’s
just say that the snow cone was dessert.”
“What
did you do?”
“Both
of them, with my mouth. Are you mad?”
“Oh,
that’s why you were so salty. I thought
it was just the sea water.”
She
moaned. Beneath the rolling waves I felt
her pussy clench on my finger. She
came.
“Do
you think Mark knows?” she asked when her momentary ecstasy was at an end.
“Why
would he know?”
“You
think he thinks I’m a slut?”
“He
has no reason not to.”
“Good.”
“Why
do you tease these poor married men?”
“I
just like being an inspiration to people.”
“You’re
so altruistic.”
“I
think so. I really hope that they’ll go
home tonight and fuck like banshees.”
“But
you know that she isn’t up for it.”
“Well,
then I hope they’ll go home and after she falls asleep, he’ll make himself cum
five times next to her in the bed to the thought of me today at the beach.”
“And
you’re going to cum to that thought at least five times in the shower tonight,
won’t you?”
“If
not before.”
Her
orgasm achieved, we swam back to shore.
She adjusted her bottoms as we emerged from the water. We walked up to our beach blanket and chairs
and as we approached I could see the guys next to us speaking in hushed tones
and looking at Lo. I could see them
making eye contact with her and her smiling back at them. The two who lucked out were gloating to their
two hard-up companions. I wondered if
Mark and Stephanie could hear them.
When
we got up to the group, one of the guys asked Lo if she’d like to play some
more volleyball now that she cooled off.
“The game was tied up. You’re not
going to leave it that way, are you?” he asked.
“What’s
wrong with being tied up?” asked Lo suggestively.
“I’m
game,” said Mark.
“OK,”
said Lo, “Let’s play.” She and Mark went
over and the six of them volleyed. I saw
Lo running and jumping, bending over in a set-stance like Kerri Walsh. At one point, she ran to hit the ball in the
far corner of the impromptu court. She
missed it. As she fell down and was on
all fours, she crawled to the ball and I thought I saw something that I
wondered if anyone else saw. I wondered
if it was what I thought it was. The
sand between her knees was wet. After
she tossed the ball to Mark she said, “I have to take a break,” and she came
over to me sitting on the towel.
Luckily, Stephanie had gone in the water with her kids and was swimming,
seeming to ignore the action of the court.
“Lo,”
I said, “did you. . .”
“You
saw?!” she asked, mortified.
“So
you did?”
“Yes. Accidentally.
Do you think anyone else saw?”
“Even
if they did, your bathing suit is wet from the ocean. They probably just thought. . .”
“But
Daddio, I gushed. I’m still gushing,”
she said, spreading her legs a bit to show me a burst of clear liquid spraying
onto the towel as she accidentally squirted.
“This is bad!” she said, adding, “But it feels so good.” A look of relief was on her face after her
release.
“Have
some water. Stay hydrated and take it
easy.”
Lo
rolled over on her tum and watched the five guys hitting the ball around.
“Lo,”
I said, “If you don’t want to have any more accidental orgasms, then stop looking
at the eye-candy.”
“I
wish I could,” she said. “Or I wish I
could just get good and fucked right now!”
Lo lay in her
agony only for a little while before Mark quit the game. The guys had lost interest once Lo bowed
out. Mark rejoined us.
Soon
thereafter, Stephanie and the kids came back up and all were ready to go home
for an early dinner.
We
went back to Mark and Stephanie’s place.
Stephanie changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt and Mark manned the
grill, still in his bathing suit.
Lo
was back into her cutoff jeans-shorts and bikini top. No bikini bottoms or panties. She helped Mark with some food prep in the
kitchen before we all sat outside to eat.
The
kids were getting cranky and soon after dinner we left so they could deal with
the inevitable melt-down that we could see coming.
“Match, Cinder & Spark,” great beach reading
On
the ride home Lo said to me, “Did you hear what Stephanie said when Mark
commented about the curls of my hair?
She said, ‘You don’t even notice I have hair.’ But honestly, she doesn’t do anything to keep
herself up and attractive. And she
doesn’t even have a sex-drive.”
“Don’t
you see the pattern?”
“What
pattern?”
“The
pattern: Hunter and his wife, Mark and Stephanie, Carl and Hollis – so many of
them. These youngish hot guys with very attractive
wives and there is just nothing going on.”
“How
is it a pattern?”
“I’m
old enough to have seen the pattern.”
“What
pattern?!” She was getting impatient
with my teasing now.
“Lovely, fun,
free-spirited woman (or so she appears) locks that shit down, puts a ring on
it, gets married, and no sooner than the last piece of wedding cake is put in
the freezer, she chops off her loose long locks, gets a little bob-cut, and
then it begins.”
“What begins?”
“Well, with
different women the timing may vary, but give the domestic bliss a year or so
before she pops out one or two screaming poop-makers and then it’s all
sweatpants and sweatshirts all the time.
A few years of that and then she complains to her husband, ‘You wouldn’t
even notice if I died my hair purple!
You don’t even see me!’”
“You’re being
sexist.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, and I don’t
like it.”
When we got home
it was chilly out. “I’m going to get
into sweatpants and a sweatshirt,” said Lo, “Is that ok with you or won’t you
notice me anymore?”
“Lo, with you it’s
different.”
“How?”
“Cause I know that
you’re always naked under those clothes.”
“Naked and wet.”
“Go take a hot
shower, hop on the bed, put your beach bum up in the air and await your
punishment for your bad behavior today.”
“Really?!” she
said with great anticipation.
“Yes, really.”
“Punishment or
reward?”
“In my mind it’s a
reward. But I know you prefer to think
of it as punishment.”
“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.”
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.”
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.”
“How
do I look?” she asked, doing a little twirl on the toes of her shiny black
boots.
“Just
Peachy,” I said.
“Peachy?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re
so old,” she replied. “Do you like the
lipstick? Too much?” she asked as she
puckered up.
“Depends. What do you plan on doing with it?”
“Hopefully
something naughty,” she said as her tongue ran over her pearly whites.
Lo
was all decked out for a date she had with a new gentleman caller. About a half hour earlier she had emerged out
of her steamy shower, silky smooth down below.
She showed me saying, “Hopefully he’ll appreciate this.”
“You
are eager for him to get up your skirt,” I said, nonchalantly, though I was
upset that she wasn’t offering it to me.
“So
eager that I’m not going to wear panties.”
“Why
don’t you shave for me? Only when you’re
going on dates?”
She
walked up to me and made a pouty face, and teased, “Oh, is my ole man jealous?”
“No,”
I said, “Not jealous. But I appreciate a
slick, wet, whistle just as much as the next guy.”
“I
know,” she said condescendingly. “But
don’t you like my muff too?”
“Lo,
I like all of you in every way,” I said, “But maybe you could just keep the
mons pubis polished all the time, especially for when I go down on you.”
“But
Daddy, it’s winter. I might catch a
chill.”
“Wear
a merkin. I hear they’re coming back in style.”
“Funny.”
“I’m
serious. I read an article about
it. It was all the rage for Fashion Week
in New York.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee,”
she said dismissively.
“You
don’t seem to be too worried about catching a chill today,” I observed.
“I
plan to have his warm mouth on my va-jay-jay soon enough,” she retorted.
“Are
you just trying to tease me?” I asked, adding, “Cause you could have my mouth
on it right now.”
She
was applying moisturizer to her tits, tum, and mellifluous legs and puss. “Will you get my back?” she asked, applying
some lotion to my palm and turning around.
I
began to rub it into her shoulders and then down her back. She bent over, exposing her rear. “Get it in good there, cause I want to be
silky sweet for him when he has his face where your hands are now.” I was circling my middle finger around her
anus and she was moaning.
After
a little while of that, she got on the bed, lying on her back, her legs up. I thought for sure this was my
invitation. But no! Instead she said, “Don’t forget my toes. Get right in there.”
I
applied the lotion to her heel, her arches, her toes and between her toes, one
foot at a time. She was almost climaxing
from the sensation. I was hard as a rock
in my slacks and protruding noticeable. I
could see her pussy glistening.
“Do
you plan on giving him a foot-job as well?”
“I
plan on giving him whatever he wants.”
“Lo,
why are you torturing me so much? I’ll
just pull out my cock and you can give me
a foot-job. Think of it as warm-ups or
practice,” I said as I unzipped my pants.
“I’m
already hot. I don’t need warm-ups. And are you saying I need practice?”
“Practice
makes perfect.”
“I
am purrrrrfect,” she said, “or at least so I’m told.”
She
got off the bed and began rummaging through her wardrobe.
“Out!”
she commanded. “You’ll see when I’m
done.”
I
left the room and then, a while later, she appeared in the living room asking
me how she looked. I was starving for a
taste of her. When I said, “Just
peachy,” I was thinking about eating her peach, which now was more like a
nectarine.
She
lifted the hem of her short skirt to show me her bare nectarine. Then she bent over to pick up her purse and
pull out her phone.
“Lo,
the whole world can see how nicely you prepared yourself when you do that
move.”
“That’s
what I was going for.”
I
rolled my eyes.
“You
won’t miss me too much?” she asked.
“Lo,
I’m going to tell you the truth. As soon
as you shut that door, permission or no permission, I’m going to pull out my
Fleshlight and cum so hard into Stoya’s pussy.”
“NO!”
she exclaimed. Horror of horrors.
“But,
I’m so worked up right now. I can think
of nothing else.”
“I’ll
tell you what,” she said, “I just ordered my Lyft. It will be here in exactly four minutes. Go get a condom.”
I
ran to get a condom from the bedroom and appeared back in the living room,
eager to fuck her, but I had another thing coming.
“Put
it on,” she said, looking at her phone.
I
obeyed.
And
then, instead of bending over the couch and letting me enter her, she grabbed
my covered cock with her right hand and began jacking it.
“What?”
I asked perplexed.
“I’ll
jack you off. You have about two
minutes,” she said, not even looking at me.
“Why
won’t you let me fuck you?”
“Because,
I’m pretty as a picture right now. I
don’t want to risk messing up my outfit.”
“Really?”
“A
minute and a half. Do you want to be
hard-up all night?”
“OK,
ok,” I said, letting her tug, “but why the condom?”
“No
mess,” she said, her hand moving mechanically.
“Speaking of pictures. . .” she said as she manipulated her phone with
her other hand. She raised up her arm
and smiled at the camera as she shot a selfie without me in the frame. No one would even suspect she was giving me a
hand-job as she flashed her smile at them.
She sent the pic to her date with a message, “Coming.”
She
looked again at her ride app and saw the car turn onto our street. She got closer to me and ever-so-gently
licked my earlobe with her tongue as she increased her wrist motion. “That’s it Daddio, think about how he is
going to lick my clit later. Think about
how he’s going to cum all over my puss and make my skirt all dirty with his hot
mess. I’m your little trollop, your
little. . .”
She
stopped mid-sentence. The Lyft was
outside our window. I came into the
condom. She let go. I grabbed my cock and stroked it as I watched
her through the window getting into the car and blowing me an air kiss.
