Fap Gap

Posted on March 23, 2019 by Lola Down

Fap. Jill. Vibe. Flick the bean. Solo time. T.C.B.

However you call it, Lo does it. And she does it more than any woman I’ve ever met and more than most women whose rumored self-pleasure sessions have reached my ears.

That said, it came as no surprise to me when I heard. . . well, just sit down, get comfortable, and I’ll tell you.

Lo had gone on her date. I was home, alone. At least she had had the courtesy to jack me off before leaving. But what to do with my time? You see, dear compassionate reader, when Lo goes off like that, it puts me in the greatest state of tension and anticipation. If only I could be there on all of her dates, sitting at the bar, watching from afar.

But Lo needs, deserves, and wants her space. I get that. And, to be fair, the eager expectation is more than half the fun. The other half is hearing her tell the tale to me in bed.

Still, that gap between her departure and arrival must be filled. A hard, very hard task.

I can’t just go out with friends. My mind would be preoccupied. And what if I missed Lo’s return?

Reading is futile. My every wandering thought is of Lo, and the thoughts wonder frequently, just like Lo.

Writing? Well, sometimes that is a good pastime.

But on this occasion I got up to some mischief.

You, my faithful reader, are well aware from long ago that Lo is insanely jealous. Not just of my attention, not just of other women, but of literally anyone who might remotely rival her in my eyes. Hence, she was frequently frowning upon my watching Weeds, and especially Mary-Louise Parker, whose character, Nancy Botwin, not only intrigued me, but reminded me of Lo in a number of ways.

Frankie Shaw fapping to MySexLifeWithLola – Can you believe it?!

Somehow, during Lo’s late night adventures most likely, I managed to get through all the episodes of that series. And for a good long time, nothing replaced it. . .

. . . until SMILF came along with its very Lo-like star, Frankie Shaw.

Lo and I had watched the first episode together, but when Frankie got down and dirty, Lo hit the power button and said, “Nope. No more for you.”

“But. . .” I tried to protest.

“But nothing. If you’re getting hard watching, then I’m shutting it off and you and I can go to the bedroom and get fucking.” And that’s just what we did.

Now that Lo was out, and most likely getting fucking with someone else, the image of Frankie Shaw on the “recently watched” option of the T.V. menu was calling to me and I thought, “This is ridiculous. This is more than a double-standard. This is cruel and unusual punishment.” So I hit “Play.”

My suspicions were borne out; Frankie Shaw is just like Lo. When she frantically scrolls through the photos on her computer with one hand down her panties, it was a replay of a vignette I had seen so many times with Lo in the starring role. In my mind, though, Frankie Shaw was fapping it to mysexlifewithlola.com, scrolling through all the desultory images of Lo fapping it to who-knows-what – probably to Frankie Shaw, if I’m being honest, since Lo loves to condemn with me that which she condones privately.

I only got through another two and a half episodes before I saw the headlights of a car out front stop and let out a passenger. It was Lo. I could tell by the swivel of her hips as she walked. The T.V. was off before she was in the house.

“Hello,” she called from the door.

“Hello,” I called back.

She peered in the unlit living room. “Sitting in the dark?”

“It’s my best light and greatest comfort.”

“Well, it can be dark in the bedroom too,” she said, walking down the hall, her leather boots on the wood floor sounding like seductive music to my ears.

I got up and followed her and said, “You bring the light,” as I turned on the nightstand lamp to see her. Upon reflection I added, “You know, that’s where Lucifer gets his name.”

“What?” she asked, looking at me quizzically.

“Lucifer, it literally means, ‘carrier of light.’ It is said that he, like Prometheus before him, had stolen the holy light of God and ferried it to humans. Artists for millennia have understood that light to be metaphoric for creative inspiration, not literal light. That’s what you are, my Lucifer.”

“Well, get in bed if you want to fuck like the devil.”

I waisted no time. I hopped under the sheets as she stood next to the bed looking at herself across the room in the full-length mirror.

“Good date?” I inquired.

She took off her black leather jacket and removed her shirt. No bra. She was wearing a bra when she left. It must have been a good date.

She bent over, took off her boots, and then slid out of her skirt. Still no panties.

Her naked body eased up next to me and she whispered in my ear. “Did you miss me, Daddy?”

“I always miss you when you’re gone.”

“Did you wonder what I was doing?’

“Of course.”

“What did you do while I was out?”

“I’m more interested in what you did,” I said. (See what I did there?)

“Slide in me and I’ll tell you,” she said.

As I complied, she moaned and said, “I missed you, Daddy.”

I guess I have a type.

I entered her and, truth be told, all I could feel was how very wet she was. It made me think of the scene from SMILF where Frankie Shaw is having sex with the tall, big, basketball player, surrounded by all the other guys from the team, and he says, “Am I in you?”

Just as I thought that, Lo said, “Can you feel me, Daddy? Am I loose?”

“So loose,” I said, “Like the opening of a tent flapping in the wind.”

“Well,” she said, “you don’t have to be so explicit about it.”

“I wasn’t explicit,” I said, “it was a simile.”

“Here’s a simile: Get in my ass, it’s just like my pussy, only tighter.”

I laughed and followed her instruction. She moaned.

“Your ass is a vice,” I said. “That’s a metaphor.”

“I thought you meant that my ass is a vice, like gambling or liquor,” she said over her shoulder.

“It’s that too, and so many other things.”

“Oh yeah, what else?”

“It’s the seat of my love for you.”

“Look, Daddio, I want to get fucked good, hard, long, and hard. I want cock, right now, not poetry, so get up there and give it to me.”

“You said hard twice.”

“I want it twice as hard.”

I gave her what she wanted and said, “And I want to hear about your date.”

Once she was good and pumped, she began talking in between gasps for air.

“I showed up, looking slutty, smelling sweeter than cotton candy, and wetter than a flower in the rainforest.”

“Who’s the poet now?” I asked.

“Shut up and keep pounding.”

“Keep cumming and carry on,” I said, feeling her gushing.

“He was a perfect gentleman. He stood when I approached him.”

“I’m sure he stood at attention.”

“And he had saved me a seat at the bar. I sat down and after he got me my drink, I swiveled toward him and spread my legs so he could see, very clearly, what I was wearing under my skirt.”

“As I recall, you weren’t wearing anything.”

“That’s right, not even a merkin, as you had suggested.”

“I still think the merkin was the way to go.”

“Maybe next time, dear, but this time I was quite exposed.”

“Quite the exposé.”

“But not quite the big reveal. Not yet anyway.”

“I’m listening.”

“Yeah,” she said, “but not fucking. Deeper Daddio.”

I grabbed on to her ass with both hands and spread her as far as she would go for maximum insertion. She moaned deeply.

“Don’t get lost in your orgasm,” I warned, “I’m just as deeply invested in your story.”

“I asked him if he felt like eating.”

“The ambiguity of your question is delicious.”

“He paid the tab and we walked out of the hotel bar. I thought we were going to go to his car, but as we were in the lobby, we saw the guests of a wedding filtering into the ballroom. He stopped me and said, ‘I have an idea. You look too good not to show off. Let’s go.’ And then he took me by the hand and we crashed the wedding party.”

“Very impulsive.”

“We danced for a good hour before the food was served. He twirled me and dipped me, sweeping me off my feet.”

“Giving great views of your gams, I’m sure.”

“My what?”

“Never mind.”

“From there we went to the hotel room he had ready.”

“Just for a nightcap.”

“In the elevator up to the room, he kissed me passionately and his right hand began going up my skirt.”

“I bet the elevator wasn’t the only thing going up.”

“In the hotel room he sat me down in the chair and asked if he could make a request.”

“What was that?”

“He wanted to watch.”

“What?”

“He wanted to watch me finger myself, with my clothes on. He said that his wife has a fear of fapping. She never does it. And it’s one of his favorite fantasies – women masturbating.”

“Well, he found the right woman, alright.”

“That was no coincidence. He had been reading the blog for a long time. He tried to get his wife to read it, to open her up to new ideas.”

“And, did it?”

“He said it didn’t. I told him, ‘Well, I’m wide open.’ That’s when he could resist no more and he fucked me good, hard, long, and hard.”

“There you go again,” I said.

“What?”

“You said hard twice.”

“Well, he was hard. I was easy.”

I couldn’t take it any longer and I ejaculated deep inside her.

“Lo, you are the poet here,” I said as I slowly pulled out. “You pain such vivid images in my mind.”

“And now that you’ve dipped your pen in my inkwell, I’m sure you’ll write all about it.”

“I’m full of ideas.”

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

Waiting for a Lyft

Posted on March 19, 2019 by Lola Down

“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.

She is truly devilish.

The Masturbation Gap

Posted on March 17, 2019 by Lola Down

You, dear reader, already know that Lola is an inveterate masturbator. You also know that I am forbidden from any onanistic activities, unless either explicitly given permission, or told to do so as a performance for my dear Lola. The fact that there is a gap in our respective frequencies of masturbatory manipulation should come as no surprise to you, and writing about it here would simply be redundant.

However, what I do intend on explaining, or rather, complaining about, is the fundamentally unfair masturbation gap that exists between Lola, me, and her fans. You see, I am not allowed to engage in solo pleasure, not even to Lola’s sexy photos, unless granted permission by Lo herself. And she takes so much delight in my stymied suffering and enjoys my engorged balls so much, that she rarely gives me the green light. But with her fans it is another story. One might think that Lola has no say over what her admirers do in the privacy of their own homes with her pixilated pussy. But that is incorrect. One of Lo’s most enjoyable pastimes is to give specific instructions to her loyal lovers (both near and far) about exactly how they are to worship her image, pay tribute to her form, and pleasure themselves.

One adoring admirer writes to her and asks, “What’s up?” to which she replies, “If you’re looking at my pics, then, your cock.” She’s not wrong.

Another writes to her and asks very politely, “Morning, Lola. How are you?” to which she replies, “Horny, as usual. Now jack it for me.”

They are more than eager to comply. It matters not to them if they are at work, home, or, as Lola really likes, lying in bed next to their sleeping wives.

She commands some of them, especially the diminutively endowed guys, to go to a lingerie store, like Victoria’s Secret, and pick out various silk, satin, and lace panties for women. Then she instructs them to put the panties on and jack it to her pics and cum in the sexy, sheer, tight material – taking pics of it, of course. An even more intense kink of Lo’s is commanding those same fabric fetish guys to steal the panties from their wives or girlfriends in order to wear while jacking it to Lo’s photos.

Those are the lucky ones. There are some unfortunate fellas who are stuck in cock-cages and can only enjoy Lo’s photos without any self-pleasure.

And then there are the women. It is such a complement to Lo when lovely ladies from around the globe take photos of themselves jillin’ off to her. I will admit that I find it very flattering when the women also make a comment about “the steamy writing,” or say, “that story made me cum five times.” It is nice to know that every once in a while the literary seduction I work so very hard to create from the raw material of Lo’s sexual exploits is appreciated, especially by the lonely women, the married but unsatisfied wives, and the other sexual insatiables out there like Lo.

A Lovely Couple – He took the pick of her getting off to Lola

There was a time, early on, when I actually had a small cadre of female fans who wrote to me regularly. It was, not coincidentally, around that time that Lo took over the email and other social media outlets, telling me, “You do the blog, I’ll spread the word.”

Spread the word. . . yeah right! She meant, she’ll spread her legs and then disseminate her photos across the internet.

But I’m not complaining. I am glad that our little corner, or crotch, of the blogosphere makes so many people happy, even if it means that I must deny myself the pleasures that others get from my hotwife Lo. After all, I have to admit that I have nothing to complain about since fans and her lovers alike all tell me how lucky I am. Can’t argue there.

Sherry Rain

Posted on December 9, 2018 by Lola Down

I looked down and I saw Lola’s finger gently stroking Stoya’s pussy. She slid her wet finger up and down the soft labia and then gently inserted one, then two fingers deep inside. “You like this, Daddy? You want to fuck her pussy?” she asked. I did, but for the moment I was enjoying the view as I held my cock in my hands.

Now, allow me to tell you how we arrived at that supremely sexy moment.

It was late August. Lo and I packed up our big cooler full of beers, G&T, and various snack items: salsa, hummus, cheeses. We had a picnic basket full of chips, pita bread, pretzels, and basically everything you could want as an appetizer, but no meal.

We got on the road early. We knew that the parking spots at the beach would fill up quick since the weather forecast for that Saturday was so perfect and we knew that there wouldn’t be many more opportunities to get to the ocean this summer.

All the way out there, Lo was in high spirits. In summer she loves three things: heat, beach, and picnic baskets. Well, and sex. Don’t forget the sex. I just like seeing her in her bikini (and out of her bikini).

We got there just in time to get one of the few remaining spots in the parking lot and I carried the heavy stuff while Lo rolled the cooler. We set up the chairs and umbrella, spread out the beach blanket, and I pulled out a book and sat in the chair surveying the area while Lo lay spread eagle on the blanket.

“On the B.P.?” Lo asked me. That’s our abbreviation for either “Beach Patrol,” or, more accurately, “Butt Patrol.”

There were a few couples around us, but we were in the mostly vacant far end of the beach, away from the crowds and screaming children.

The hours spent soaking up the sun sped by as Lo and I sipped our cold drinks and nibbled on the provisions. I got a good chunk of reading done, swam a few times when I got too hot to bake any longer, and enjoyed seeing Lo apply and reapply her sunscreen.

When the sun was low on the horizon, Lo and I packed up our temporary home in the sand, put it all in the trunk and then headed off to one of our favorite restaurants, right on the water.

We walked up to the rooftop bar and, though it was crowded, we managed to snag the last high-top table for two overlooking the blue water below and the sunset in the distance. It was perfect. We were famished and already feeling the effects of day-drinking while sunbathing.

We ate our meal as the band played “Margaritaville” and other classic summer songs. Lo’s feet kept rubbing up on my legs. I could tell what she was hungry for now and I was eager to get her home to feed it to her.

We paid the bill and just as we stood to leave, we heard someone from the next table say, “Oh, don’t go yet!” Was that directed at us? I turned around and saw two women sitting at one of the other high-top tables. Rather than sit across from one another, as Lo and I had been sitting in order to see each other, they both sat on one side of the small table and they were looking at us. My back was to them the whole time, but had Lo seen them? I don’t know.

“What?” I asked, politely, but a bit defensively.

“Don’t go yet,” one of them repeated. Apparently they enjoyed looking at us.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Never mind her,” said the other woman in a deeper voice, “we’ve been here all day and now she’s drunk.”

“I am not!” the first protested.

“Whatever,” said the second.

We were in no hurry, we had been together all day, and something about these two women appealed to us (or appealed to our vanity), so we took a seat on the other side of the table. We began with introductions. The taller, deeper voiced woman was Sherry and the smaller, sandy-haired woman’s name was Rain. They were a couple. They had been together for about a year and they admitted to watching the two of us.

We ordered another round of drinks, even though Lo and I had already settled up for our dinner.

“You have amazing tits,” said Rain. She was either less reserved than Sherry, or much more drunk. I couldn’t tell since I knew them not at all.

Lo almost blushed, but not quite. She was still in her bikini top and shorts.

“She has a great ass too,” I chimed in.

“I bet,” said Rain, liking her lips. The gesture reminded me of Lo’s trademark move and when I looked over at Lo, it was like a mirror reflection of Rain. They clearly had chemistry. I looked at Sherry whose poker face was inscrutable. Did she enjoy the flirting, as I did, or resent it? Was this just another night out for this interesting couple, or was Rain playing a dangerous game?

No matter, it wasn’t my relationship at stake.

We continued drinking and finding out more about the two of them. Rain was a yoga instructor. Sherry worked in finance. An odd couple, for sure.

The band continued to play and at some point after we had had another round or two, they played Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.”

“I love this song!” Rain informed us as she jumped off her barstool and grabbed Lo’s hand saying, “Dance with me,” as she almost dragged her onto the dancefloor. The two of them swayed back and forth and Rain put her hands on Lo’s hips as Lo put her arms around Rain’s waist. I could see their lips moving, but not hear what they said. I realized that I wasn’t the only one watching them. Not only were the other folks in the bar glued to these two long-haired, sexy beach babes dancing, but Sherry was also eyeing them closely. I decided to use the opportunity of our being mutually abandoned to try to understand what was going on for her.

“She always this friendly?” I asked.

A tense smile hid her frustration. “Rain? She’s a very free spirit,” she said. It was meant to sound like a compliment, but it came across as a complaint.

“Same with Lo,” I said, genuinely, “that’s why I love her so.”

She smiled again and I decided to lighten the mood a bit. “You have great teeth.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised, clearly not used to being complimented, “thanks.”

One little observation goes a long way. After that, she really opened up to me, telling me more about her and Rain.

The band played another song and Lo and Rain kept dancing. I saw Rain move her hand to Lo’s butt, over her denim shorts. Their bodies moved closer together, their steps smaller.

Sherry told me that this was her first relationship with a woman. She was newly divorced. She had two kids – teenagers. They were very conflicted about everything. I could see that either their emotions reflected her own or she was projecting. She and Rain had only been together about a year and a half. Rain had never been with a man, but was fascinated by men. . . and afraid of them.

Sherry was just as intoxicated as Rain, I realized, only she hid it better. She hid, or tried to hide, a lot of things. She went on to tell me that she’s often caught Rain masturbating to porn of guys jackin’ it and cumming. “She’s fascinated by guys ejaculating,” she said as if it was the most bizarre thing for a lesbian to be curious about. “She watches it again and again.”

Lo and Rain came back from the dance floor.

“At least someone dances with me,” Lo said, jibing me for my reluctance to set foot on any dance floor.

“At least someone talks to me,” I said, looking at Sherry.

“Oh yeah,” asked Rain, “what were you two talking about?”

“If I tell you,” I said, “you’ll tell me how nice Lo’s ass is.”

“Deal!” she said.

I looked at Sherry and saw real fear in her eyes. Of course I wasn’t going to publicize her intimate revelation. “We were just talking about Shelly’s kids and how quickly they grow up.”

“I know! Right?” said Rain, “When I met them, I was taller than both of them. But now they’re both this tall,” she said, putting her hand above her head by a foot.

Sherry looked relieved.

We talked some more, got some appetizers and more beer. Lo and I opened up about our special relationship. When Rain heard that I’m not allowed to have the same freedoms as Lo, she suddenly became more interested in me. It was as if being off limits was a dare for her, a challenge, a goal. She was now openly flirting with both Lo and me.

I completely lost track of time, but I knew we had a long drive home. We got the check, exchanged numbers, and said that we all need to come back here again together before the summer was over.

We walked downstairs and out onto the sidewalk. Their destination was the opposite direction from ours. Lo gave a hug to Sherry as I went in to give a goodbye hug to Rain, but to my great astonishment, rather than a hug, Rain’s lips came in right for mine. This was no little, polite peck goodnight, but an open-mouthed kiss, full of lips-on-lips and tongue exploration. She hugged me close and squeezed and the thought occurred to me that she was squeezing me as she wanted to be squeezed.

When our embrace ended, I furtively looked over to Lo to see just how much trouble I was in now. But Lo was busy talking with Sherry. Had either of them seen what just went down? Then Lo came over to Rain to give her a very proper and polite hug goodbye while I hugged Sherry. There were no hard feelings, or at least none that I could detect.

Lo and I began walking along the dimly lit sidewalk next to the dark beach. In our spirited conversation with the women, apparently Lo forgot the most important thing to do before departing a bar.

“Daddy,” she said, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I have to pee. So bad.”

“Well, let’s go back. You can. . .”

She cut me off. “No,” she said, “why should we go all the way back when we have all the beach to ourselves?”

“What?” I asked, astonished as I saw Lo walk onto the sandy beach, pull down and remove her shorts but leaving on her bikini bottoms as she stuck out her bum like she was grinding into the invisible groin of someone in a dance club.

“Are you peeing?” I asked in disbelief.

“Come here and I’ll show you,” she said, grabbing my wrist, pulling my hand between her legs so I could feel the drips as they seeped through her bottoms.

“Lo,” I gasped, “you’re bad!”

“You love it,” she said. “You know you do.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“OK,” she said, “let’s go.”

She grabbed me so we walked arm-in-arm and she sashayed down the sidewalk.

“Feel better, dear?”

“Much,” she said. “Feel hard, dear?” she asked as she reached over to feel my cock under my bathing suit. “Oh yeah,” she said, answering her own question, “you feel hard alright.”

She wasn’t wrong.

We got to the car and I got in, but I called to Lo before she got in. “Hey, you plan on taking off your bottoms?”

“What?”

“Your bottoms. Do you plan on taking them off?”

“Here? On the street?”

“Yes here, on the street. You certainly don’t plan on sitting on my car seat like that do you?”

“Like what, Daddy?” she asked innocently.

“Drenched in pee.”

“Drenched in pee?! What are you talking about?”

“Your little trinkle on the beach.”

“What?”

“You honestly don’t remember?”

“No. Is that why I’m all wet? I just thought I was really horny. I mean, I am really horny, but is that why I’m wet?”

“Yes. So strip.”

“This sounds like a fun ride,” she said as she dropped her bikini bottoms onto the sidewalk, threw them in the trunk, and got in the car.

I started up the engine and she reached over to grab my cock. “Do you want me to straddle you, Daddy?” she asked.

“No, Lo, I’m driving home.”

“Can I blow you?”

“No.”

“Hand job?”

“No.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do for this long ride home?” she asked as she put her bare feet up on the dashboard, spreading them to make a ‘V’ of her legs. “Just look at what you’ve got here,” she said as she slapped her cleanly shaved pussy.

She put the seat all the way back and reclined it as far as it would go, keeping her feet up on the dash as she began massaging her pussy. But within mere moments she was sound asleep next to me.

We got home and I roused her. It took a great deal of effort, but I finally got her out of the car and up the stairs of our apartment building, all butt naked.

Once in our apartment she crawled into bed. Now she was waking up.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” she said, spreading her legs.

“Lo, you’re beyond the ability to consent.”

“No I’m not, Daddy,” she protested. “Don’t you want me?”

“I sure do, but I’m not having you,” I replied.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to take things into my own hands,” she said, pulling out her dildo from under the bed and swiftly inserting it between her legs.

“If you’re going to do that,” I countered, “then I’m going to have some fun too. You’re not the only one with toys anymore.”

I rummaged through the closet and found my Stoya Fleshlight.

“No, Daddy! You wouldn’t dare!” she cried, still masturbating. “You wouldn’t have her when you could have me, would you?”

“Lo, I’m not having you.”

She grabbed Stoya from my hands and began touching her pussy lips.

“You can lubricate her for me, if you want,” I said.

She put out her hand and took some lube from the bottle as I squeezed it into her palm.

She stroked the pussy gently as I held my love organ in my hands.

“You like fingering her?” I asked.

No response.

“Are you thinking of Rain right now?”

“How’d you know?” she asked.

I was standing next to the bed as I watched all of this happening. Then Lo slid so that her legs were dangling off the side of the bed. With one hand she kept the dildo rhythmically fucking her pussy and with the other hand she slid Stoya’s pussy over my rock-hard cock.

“You like that, Daddy?”

Now I didn’t answer.

She went back and forth with the Fleshlight, fucking my cock with it as she fucked herself with her dildo.

“That’s it, Daddy, fuck her. Fuck her like you’d fuck me,” she said until she squirted all over the wood floor next to the bed. At the sight of her ejaculation, I grabbed Stoya with both hands and fucked Stoya hard and fast. Lo reached down, underneath and held my balls. She likes to feel them contract when I ejaculate. I came and came a lot inside Stoya.

After we cleaned everything up, Lo lay in my arms. She fell right to sleep. I held her and thought of the sound of the waves gently rolling over the silent sand of the beach in the moonlight.

Inveterate Masturbator

Posted on October 30, 2018 by Lola Down

It’s almost 9:00 a.m. and Lo hasn’t emerged from the bedroom yet. I walk into the bedroom and as I open the door I find her lying on the bed, tum down, ass up, in her left hand she holds her phone and she is staring at it intently as her right hand manipulates a dildo in her puss and another in her ass. She looks up briefly, caught in the act.

“I would join you, but I see you’re full up,” I say snidely.

“You can be next. Just give me about ten more minutes.”

“You realize, it’s a quarter-to-nine, right?”

She waves me off, resentful of the interruption, concerned about the distraction.

When I walk in again at five-to-nine, she’s already in her tight pants, her pumps, and blouse, ready to go to work.

“What happened to my turn?” I inquire.

“Sorry Daddio, but I only had room for three this morning.”

“What do you mean, room for three?”

“I mean, three orgasms.”

“I didn’t even hear you.”

She shrugs her shoulders and walks into the bathroom to fix her hair. When she does, I take a surreptitious glance at her phone. I see that she had made a phone call at 8:47 to Brian. I guess that’s why she was so quiet.

“You know,” I call to her from the bed, “you’re an inveterate masturbator.”

“What’s ‘inveterate’ mean, Daddy?” she asks in her little-girl voice.

“Chronic, confirmed, hardened, incurable, incorrigible, habitual, unrepentant.”

“Yep, that sounds like me. I like it: Inveterate Masturbator. It could be my superhero name.”

“And your superpower would be. . . making yourself cum?”

“That and the power to make others cum. You want to cum, Daddio?” she asks teasingly.

“Yes, yes I do!”

“Tell me more.”

“I want to cum. Isn’t that enough?”

“Tell me how you want to cum,” she says, walking over to me and putting her hand on my crotch.

“I want to cum in you, on you, for you, under you – choose your preposition.”

“Do you want me to tug your cock and jack you off or do you want me to suck it or do you want to fuck my puss or do you want to fuck my ass?”

“Preferably, a little of each, you know, like tapas.”

“Hmmm,” she hums, “I like that.” Then, abruptly, she turns and walks out of the bedroom. “Too bad I have to go to work,” she calls over her shoulder. “I guess you’ll just have to be hard-up for me all day.”

That is too much. All niceties are off. “What about your friend?” I call back to her.

“My friend?” she asks as she slips into her heels.

“Yeah, Brian, who you had phone sex with this morning.”

“Daddy,” she says, stopping in her tracks, “you were snooping.”

“Yeah, so. It doesn’t change the fact.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to be really hard-up all day until I get home and have the time to tell you about it. Kisses,” she says as she puckers up. I am in no mood to kiss her after that torture. She waits with her eyes closed. When she feels nothing on her lips, she opens one eye and then the other. “Fine,” she says, “if you don’t want to kiss me, I’ll find someone who does.”

With that she walks out the door.

My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

Posted on February 14, 2018 by Lola Down

“I’m so fat!” she decried as she stood in her bikini looking in the mirror at her reflection.

“You say that like fat is a bad thing,” I said with a smile.

“Shut up.”

“What? All I’m saying is I like some meat on your bones. You always tell me how much you like my meat and to bone.”

She threw a pillow at me. “You’re tapping into my greatest insecurity.”

“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.

“Your weakness is me.”

“I know. I know. Lola, you’re my Kryptonite. I’m the Man of Steel. But after being around you I go soft as a Slinky. But seriously,” I said, “come here.”

She walked to me like a child who had just been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She stood in front of me. I grabbed and kissed the small bulge above her bikini line.

“Stop it! You know I hate that!”

“But I love it. It’s so sexy.”

“I have to work on my beach body.”

“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”

“We both should exercise.”

“Exercise?! Are you kidding me? I just heard about a forty-year-old man who dropped dead – DEAD! – while on the treadmill. Oh no. Not for me, thank you.”

“What are you talking about? He probably had a preexisting condition. He probably had heart problems or was overweight.”

“That’s proof! Proof that exercise is bad for you. Positively lethal!”

“That’s not proof.”

“All I’m saying is that you never hear of a perfectly healthy forty-year-old man dying on his couch while reading a book.”

“Give me a break!” she said, throwing her arms in the air.

Lo and I went down to the pool of the hotel.

It was Valentine’s Day, we were on vacation in a warm-weather city, and Lo was looking like one sweet-tart.

Lo thought that, as usual, I had failed to make any plans for V-Day. There she was wrong.

After some hours by the pool where she only got jealous of the other bikini babes walking past me, lounging in the reclining chairs, or dangling their feet in the water, we both were hungry and, after changing, I surprised her for the first time that day by actually having a lunch destination suggestion.

“Chinese?!” she questioned, both skeptical and disappointed.

We drove through the grid of the city to the special Chinese restaurant I had scoped out. This wasn’t just your average Chinese joint; it was a newly opened, chic, “Asian-fusion” place simply called Red that was all the rage.

Luckily, Lo was impressed.

After our meal, Lo’s Fortune Cookie read: “Emotion is energy in motion” and I added “in bed.”

When we got back to the car, a compact, two-seater, Lo laughed as she got in.

“What?” I asked, curious as to what she found so amusing.

“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.

“I want to know.”

“I’ll tell you later, when you’re older.”

“Lo, I’m older now. I’ll always be older. So, out with it.”

“Where are we going now, Daddio?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Where would you like to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. . . some dive bar.”

“That should be easy enough,” I said as I got the car started and, put the top down, and pulled out into the busy road by the beach.

No sooner had we gotten stuck in the see-and-be-seen crowd of the resort road, than Lo leaned back with one high-heel shod foot dangling seductively over the edge of the door and the other up on the dash as she flashed me, venting up her skirt in the warm, humid, sea-salty air.

“Lo, you’re doing it again?”

“Doing what, Daddio?”

“Flashing in public.”

“Am I? But we’re in the privacy of our own vehicle.”

“Lo,” I said, as I gave her a side-long glance, trying to focus on traffic.

“You like, Daddio?” she asked.

That night I surprised even myself by having dinner reservations, chocolate, cupcakes, roses, and a card all lined up. Good job, HH. I congratulate you. When we got to the red rented convertible, I popped the top down and looked in the back seat, saying to Lo, “Oh, look there, someone must have left something in the car before we rented it.”

She looked over the bucket seat and saw, sitting on the leather behind her, the scarlet box of chocolates, the bouquet of roses, a box of pink-frosted cupcakes, and a cardinal colored envelope.

Hopping in, she tore into the card. It was an e. e. cummings poem and a little note from me.

She read the e.e. cummings poem and looked at me seductively and said, “Soon I’ll be-e cumming too.”

She then opened the cupcakes and slowly sank her mouth over the pink-frosted top, taking a slow, seductive bite.

“Lo! We’re on our way to dinner,” I jokingly rebuked her. “You can’t eat dessert before dinner.”

“But Daddy,” she said, looking at me with frosting on her lips. “you know that I can’t pass up a good cream filling.”

“How did you know it was a cream filling? You’ve only just had the frosting.”

“I wasn’t talking about the cupcake,” she said as she bit into it again. She then leaned over the seat and gave me a big, wet, frosted kiss. “But I know that you know that cream filling is my favorite and so I figured you got me what I wanted.”

Secretly, I delighted in seeing her eat the cupcake. A certain kink, that is, if she was into it too, which she most definitely was not.

We got to the restaurant and Lo was wearing a cute, short red dress and matching pumps. She looked adorable. I could tell that all eyes were on her, just as she likes it.

“Lo,” I said as we sat at our romantic, candle-lit table, “you look better than ever!”

“Oh, go on,” she said, vainly. I love her vanity.

“Really, they say that men get better looking with age and that may be true. But you, my dear, look better to me every day we’re together.”

She slipped her right foot out of her sexy shoe under the table and lifted it to rub my leg up and down, showing her appreciation of my sincere, but flattering words.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Why not, Daddy?”

“Because I may have to ravish you right here and now, rather than wait until we get back to the hotel and in bed.”

“Sex is not just something that happens in bed. Sex is a lifestyle.”

“You should write adult fortune cookies.”

She continued to rub my leg up and down, stretching now to touch my crotch. Her antics were hidden by the long tablecloth draped over the cozy round table, but I have no doubt an onlooker would be able to tell what she was up to.

After our meal, the waiter asked if we’d like dessert. I looked at Lo. “I really shouldn’t, I had the cupcake in the car,” she said.

I looked at the waiter and ordered an espresso and the red velvet cake for the lady.

After the waiter left, Lo said to me, “Daddio, I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then do it. Why not? It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

The cake and espresso came and I almost did too as I watched Lo eat the decadently delicious confection.

“Let’s go to the hotel and order a whole cake for you to eat while I eat you out,” I suggested, eager to have my luscious little Lo.

“Not yet, Daddio,” she said. “It’s early. Let’s go out for a few drinks first.”

“But I want you so much right now,” I said as I watched her tongue lick her red lips of the crimson cake crumbs.

“I’ll give you an appetizer in the car.”

We got in the convertible and Lo turned toward me in the red leather bucket seat. She spread her legs and rubbed her pussy over her cherry colored panties.

“I like how your entire outfit matches.”

“I’m good like that.”

I drove down the main drag of the city and Lo let the seat go back, lifted her feet onto the dashboard, and removed her panties. “I won’t be needing these where we’re going,” she said as she tossed them high in the air. I saw them fly upwards and then down onto the road behind us.

“Lo!” I scolded.

“She laughed.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of us.”

“Oh, Daddio,” she said, rubbing my arm, “don’t be so rigid about the rules. Are you rigid?” she asked, moving her hand down to my cock.

“Like a ruler,” I said.

“If only you were twelve inches!” she exclaimed.

I parked the car and we went into a cute little bar called “Rosebud & Thistle.”

“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said as we walked to the joint.

“Rosebud.”

“What about it?”

“That was the last word he said.”

“And the name of his sled.”

“Did you know that it was also what William Randolph Hearst called his wife’s clit?”

“Now you’re just making that up,” she said skeptically.

“I appreciate your esteem of my creativity, but that’s a fact.”

“Well, why don’t you have a pet name for my clit?” she asked peevishly.

“Because, to me, you’re so much more than your clit.”

“Good save,” she said as we walked in the bar.

Inside was drenched in dim, romantic, rubicund light with lots of tufted leather love seats and a long bar with classic, 1950s style shiny red leather and chrome stools.

“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.

She scanned the space and settled on the bar, leading me to the far corner. We found two vacant stools kitty-corner to each other. She made for one that was next to a lone gentleman who stared into his dwindling drink. She interrupted his ponderings to ask if the stool was taken and he politely invited her to sit. She slid up on the stool which, given her diminutive size, meant that her feet didn’t touch the ground. She smiled at him and I could see her eyes penetrate his dark soul.

Immediately she initiated small talk with him, telling him that we are from out of town and never had been to this place before. “Is there something pretty and sweet that catches your eye?” she asked before adding, “on the menu.”

He began to make a recommendation, but before he could even get it out, she interrupted him and said, “You know,” grabbing his elbow, “I’m in the mood for something stiff.” He looked at her, his eyes growing a little wider. “What are you drinking?” she asked.

He simply said, “Whiskey.”

“Straight?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Well, I’m not straight,” she said, “I want something complicated.”

She looked at the drink menu and put her finger to her lips, contemplating the choices in her mind.

I cleared my throat since throughout this award-worthy performance, I had remained silent.

“OH!” said Lo, introducing me, “This is my man, HH. HH, this is. . .”

Obviously she didn’t know his name.

“Ron,” he said.

“Hi, Ron,” I said.

“HH, will you order me a pomegranate martini? I’m going to freshen up,” she said as she attempted to scooch off of her stool. But the sliding down lifted up her red dress and nearly exposed her rosebud.

“Whoops!” she exclaimed, waiting just long enough for Ron to see before pulling down the front of her dress.

Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.

I sat at the bar making conversation with Ron for a few moments before Lo returned.

“So, Ron,” she said almost immediately, “why are you here all alone on Valentine’s Day?”

I felt that that was none of Lo’s concern, but there was no putting the question back in between her just glossed lips now.

Ron went into a long story about breaking up with his girlfriend of four years only a few days ago. Turns out she was cheating on him.

“What can I do to cheer you up?” asked Lo, sliding her dress up.

“You’re already cheering me up,” he said with great appreciation in his voice.

Lo’s drink came.

“How’s your drink?” I asked as she took a sip.

“It’s wet.”

“Your drink?”

“That too.”

Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.

I took great delight in seeing her eat her third dessert and flirting with Ron as I sipped my Manhattan.

“Mmmmm, this is so fucking good!” she said as she took another bite.

“‘Fucking’ is unnecessary and vulgar,” I replied.

“I don’t agree at all. For me fucking is completely necessary and appropriate.”

“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.

“That’s what I meant,” she responded immediately. “Why, what were you talking about?”

“I was talking about your vocabulary. You have a dirty mouth.”

“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”

Then Lo turned and offered a taste of the cake to her new friend and he took it. “Isn’t that just heaven?” she asked as her right hand rested his left arm on her bare leg. He nodded yes and I could see him rubbing her thigh. When the cake and drinks were consumed, Lo paid the bill, pulling some dollars out of her ruby purse.

“I would have got that,” I said as the bartender took Lo’s cash.

“That’s ok, Daddio,” she said, “this has been my treat.”

Lo kissed Ron on the cheek, slid awkwardly off the stool again, and wished him a happy Valentine’s Day, adding, “Next time, let her cheat – it’s more fun that way.”

Lo put her arm around mine and we went out to the car.

“Lo, you were very bad in there,” I said.

“Was I?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I thought I was very good.”

When we got in the car, she kicked off her heels and put her feet up on my lap. “Rub them, Daddy,” she said.

I caressed her toes and instep with my left hand and she moaned.

“Did you like Rosebud, Daddy?” she asked.

“You mean the bar or your clit?” I asked back, looking at her rub her pussy as I pulled out of the parking spot.

“Yes,” she said enigmatically.

“I liked watching you eat three desserts,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll get donuts for breakfast.”

“I’m like the perfect donut – delicious, hot, fresh, with a lovely hole.”

“You sure have a way with words,” I said.

“My tongue is wicked, that’s why it’s red, but my soul is pure as the driven snow.”

“Well, that wicked tongue of yours was really charming the pants off of good ole Ron.”

“Can it charm the pants off of you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked as I looked at her, driving distracted.

“Take your cock out.”

“Lo, I’m driving. In a convertible. On the main street of this city.”

“Exactly,” she said, wiggling her toes over my lap.

At a red light, I unzipped and pulled out my hard shaft.

We drove on and as we did her feet and toes caressed me. The surprise of it all brought me to an unexpected climax as well, covering Lo’s toes with my warm jizz.

This presented a problem. My trousers were soaked. The seat had a puddle. Everything was wet and sticky. How were we to get into the hotel to clean off?

“Well, isn’t this a fine mess you got us into?” I asked, mimicking Oliver Hardy’s constant refrain to Stan Laurel. But the allusion was lost on Lo. Different generation.

“What do you mean I got us into?!”

“Just kidding, dear. But what are we going to do?”

“Not a problem.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just drive up to the side entrance of the hotel.”

“What are you going to do, put on your invisicloak?”

“Sort of.”

I drove up and Lo said to me, “Leave your phone and wallet in the car and follow me.”

I followed her and she used her hotel key to let us in the pool entrance. She walked as if she was tipsy and, as if she were walking a balance beam, she tiptoed along the edge of the pool before “accidentally” falling in.

After a split second of shock, I kicked off my shoes and dove in after her, fully clothed.

A few of the guests and the staff ran over to the pool. I held Lo in my arms, her red dress clinging to her breasts, her little bare feet kicking and splashing. She faked coughing.

“It’s all right,” I called out. “I got her! But could someone get us a couple of towels?”

Men rushed to help and we both got out of the pool even more soaking than we had been a few moments ago. We wrapped ourselves in the plush white terrycloth towels and I turned to Lo and said, “Pure as the driven snow.”

She looked at me, her mascara dripping down her face, her hair matted down, and she smiled saying, “You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome?! I saved you!”

“By letting you save me, I saved you. Happy Valentine’s Day Daddy.”

Back in the hotel room, after a long hot shower, as I lay naked on the bed watching Lo brushing out her hair, I put on a song that summed up Lola’s V-Day shenanigans. It’s called, “What Ever Lola Wants,” sung by Sarah Vaughan

Whatever Lola wants
Lola gets
And little man little Lola wants you

Make up your mind to have (your mind to have)
No regrets (no regrets)
Recline yourself resign yourself you’re through

I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for

Whatever Lola wants (Lola wants)
Lola gets (Lola gets)
Take off your coat
Don’t you know you can’t win (can’t win you’ll never never win)

You’re no exception to the rule
I’m irresistible you fool
Give in (give in you’ll never win)

I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for

When she came out of the bathroom, she said, “Damn straight! And now I’m coming for your cock.”

She crawled on the bed and, just to tease her, I said, “I thought I’d read a little.”

She spread her legs and replied, “Read between the lines,” as she placed her middle finger between her lush red labia.

“Looks like it says, ‘Rosebud,’” I said as I indulged in my dessert.

Truth Stick

Posted on October 24, 2017 by Lola Down

It was Friday night and Lo and I were at a fundraising event at our city’s art museum. It was a lovely affair and the only thing that gets Lo and me more riled up than art museums is art museums at night, with alcohol and lots of good looking people dressed to impress.

In my humble opinion, Lo was the most impressively dressed. She was all dolled up in her heels, slinky skin-tight blue dress showing a lot of leg and cleavage, and her long hair framing her alluring face. We were in the courtyard of the museum and a classical string quartet was playing. I looked up at the sky and said to Lo, “I’m worried about the weather.”

“What about it?”

“I’m afraid it’s going to rain. I don’t want you to get wet.”

“Too late for that. I know what I’m going to do when we get home.”

“Oh boy.”

“Hopefully many boys!”

“Oh, I thought you were talking about me.”

“You and some other eye-candy I see tonight.”

“Like a little girl in a candy-shop, are you?”

She bit her lip and said, “Do you have anything for me to suck on, Daddy?”

“Lo, wait till we get home, ok?”

We were drinking champagne and then I noticed the perfect complement for it. “Look, Lo, a cupcake bar! Let’s get some.”

“You’re really undoing all of my effort.”

“Undoing what effort?”

“My diet. Losing weight.”

“You have to feed your soul. Soul, being immaterial, never gains weight, but it can starve.”

“My soul is starving – starving for your attention. Let’s forego the cupcakes and find a coat closet and get right to the main course.”

We mingled and drank a bit more, but the weather was ominous. Finally I convinced Lo that we should get going.

We picked up the car from the valet, but once we were in, Lo suggested going to a club.

“Lo, it’s already ten o’clock.”

“Already?! Are you kidding me? As if that’s late. The night is young and so am I.”

“Well, young’un, I’m not and I’m tired. You can drop me off at home and have your night on the town.”

“Well,” she said, “at least tell me I’m going to get laid tonight.”

Silence.

“Oh no, I’m getting fucked tonight, preferably by you.”

Silence.

“If you don’t plan on doing me tonight, then I’m making calls and I’ll find someone who will.”

“Is that the origin of the term ‘call girl’? I’ve had it backwards all these years!”

“Shut up and feel my puss! Feel how wet it is?” she asked as she pulled my hand up her dress to her crotch where I discovered the reason for why her dress looked as smooth as skin on her – no panties!

“That’s it, Daddio.”

I began to caress her and she put the seat back to allow me easier access. Suddenly a car jumped out in front of us from a side road. I swerved. She sat up.

“Watch it!” she yelled at me.

“Do you want me to drive carefully or to finger you?”

“Oh yeah. . . Well, I guess I don’t really need you,” she said as she began fingering herself.

This was almost as distracting for me as my doing it for her. She came. She came again. We pulled in the driveway. I went to open the door.

“Not so fast, Daddio.”

“We’re home.”

“But we don’t have to go in right away. How about you kiss me? You know, I’ve gotten more tongue from a dog than I have from you in the past month.”

“Didn’t I get on my knees and lick your pussy all morning after your shower before we went out tonight?”

“That’s my cunt. I’m talking about tongue-to-tongue.”

“With a dirty mouth like that, is it any surprise?”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

I kissed her. She pulled my hand down to her dripping pussy.

“It’s never just romance with you?” I ask.

“It’s all romance with me. My definition of romance is very wide, very deep, and fits a lot into it.”

“Are we discussing romance or. . .”

“Just shut up and keep kissing me.”

I followed orders. She again pressed my fingers down on her clit. She rubbed them around the way she wanted to be stroked. “I said, keep kissing me. That didn’t mean to stop fingering me.”

“How about we take this inside?”

“OK, pull down your pants.”

“Not inside you! I meant let’s go in the house.”

“Oh, right.”

As we were walking into our building, there was a flash of lighting and a crackle of thunder – loud and very soon after the lightning. Big, heavy rain drops began to fall, one-by-one at first. Within moments of getting inside, it was a heavy and steady downpour. “Let’s start this storm off right,” said Lo as she grabbed me, pushed me up against the wall, took my hands and placed them on her breasts. I kissed her on her open mouth. It was hot.

We walked to the bedroom. I got naked and into bed. Lo went into the bathroom saying, “I just have to take off my makeup.”

I guess I was more tired than I thought. Within seconds I fell into a deep and heavy sleep. I awoke to a naked Lo between my legs with my cock filling her mouth.

“Lo, I think I’m too tired,” I said, fearing her wrath.

She pulled her face up enough to say, “That’s a lie.”

“No it’s not.”

“Let’s see what the Truth Stick says.” She grabbed my hard cock. “The Truth Stick says otherwise.”

“I should beat you with my Truth Stick!”

“Yes! That’s all I want!”

She climbed on my erection and slid her warm puss down it, straddling me.

But, no matter what the Truth Stick said, I kept on nodding off to sleep. I don’t know if she came or if she merely got turned off by the lack of attention, but at some point she climbed down from her pole and sat next to me in bed. She pulled out her Hitachi and placed it between her legs. Looking over at me next to her with disdain, as she massaged herself, she said, “Brian, my special friend at work, said he’s really eager to work with me. He told me today that whenever and wherever I need him, I should just say the word and he’ll be there. I’m thinking about him right now. I’m thinking about his big, strong arms. I’m thinking about his broad shoulders. His huge bulge in his pants. I’m thinking about what sorts of things I might ask him to do for me.”

I know she was just trying to make me jealous and simultaneously rile me up to giving her a good hard pounding – plumbing her depths with my Truth Stick – and I was flattered, but unable to give her what she wanted. As I heard her climax alone next to me the lyrics of a song wafted through my mind as I gently withdrew to dreamland:

She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she cums just like a little whore.

Sexy Shorts: Like Clockwork

Posted on September 26, 2017 by Lola Down

It’s getting late and I wonder why Lola’s still asleep. I walk into the bedroom and find her naked, her fingers between her legs, watching a video on her phone. She doesn’t stop, as she usually does when I interrupt her solo-time, so I sit in the chair and watch her. She looks up from the bed and says, “Do you mind?”

“What?”

“I’m not masturbating to put on a show for you. I’m masturbating because I have to cum before I go to work and I have to be at work in fifteen minutes. I trying to get this done here.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

“You are stopping me. I just want to fuck myself and finish.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Grrrrr,” she grumbles, dropping the phone, pulling out her dildo and stuffing it in her wet crotch with both hands. In-and-out, in-and-out she furiously pounds herself until, thirty or forty seconds later, she slides the twelve-incher out of her and ejaculates a spray of cum all over the bed.

As she catches her breath, I say, “Feeling better?”

“Yes. No thanks to you.”

“It was a win-win. You came, I got to see you cum.”

“I would have cum faster if you hadn’t interrupted me.”

“I’m sorry, I was just checking on you because I didn’t want you to oversleep.”

“Well, I’m up.”

“And now, so am I.”

Game Time

Posted on September 10, 2017 by Lola Down

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

“Daddio?” she said Thursday night.

“What?” I replied in a raspy whisper.

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

“Lo, don’t tell me you want to fuck.”

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

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

“Daddio, it’s been days!”

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

“Yes! You see – two days!”

“Living room.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s my ‘to do’ list.”

“Oh yeah? Whose names are on it?”

“Funny. Do you need anything?”

“Some more orange juice and throat lozenges.”

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

“I still have a 102 temperature.”

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

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

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

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

“Where are you and what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant my used panties,” she responded.

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

“I’m coming,” she texted.

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

“I mean, I’m coming home now.”

“Oh.” Phew.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I made myself lunch.”

“What did you have?”

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

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

“Are you implying that I’m average?”

“Ugh. Are you hungry?”

“No dear.”

“You should eat.”

“No thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“Lola, your omelet is ready.”

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

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

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

“You already did – virtually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK.”

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

“Uh oh,” she said.

“What?”

“Too high, too long.”

“What?”

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

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

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

“No, I can go,” I protested.

“You rest. I’ll go in.”

“Why can’t we both go in?”

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

“You are incorrigible.”

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

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

“That’s quite a behind too,” I said.

“And it’s all yours, Daddio.”

“Let’s not exaggerate. All?”

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

“At least you’re more accurate now.”

“Well?”

“Not now darling.”

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

“Fine.”

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

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

“I look like a little sailor!”

“Trying to find semen.”

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

“It’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

I heard nothing from her the rest of the night.

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

“Did you have a good time, darling?”

“Frustrating,” she whispered.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“We went to a gay bar.”

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

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

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

“Let me have it.”

“No,” I said.

“Let me suck it.”

“No.”

“Please. Let me just hold it.”

“Lo, I’m still sick.”

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

“Lo.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

“Just the same, I still want you.”

“I’m flattered,” I said flatly.

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

Cock substitutes are no substitute for cock according to Lo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you really rallied for tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, nothing.” She dismissed her comment.

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

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

“Yes, please do,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll just be a minute,” Lo said.

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to get home and do you!”

“What happened out there?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dreamy,” I said sarcastically.

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

“And everyone else.”

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

“Never you mind and continue with your story.”

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

“You’re bad.”

“I couldn’t help it, Daddy.”

“Did anyone notice?”

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

“And what?”

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

“You came.”

“I’m cumming.”

“I mean then.”

“Yes. And now.”

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

“Right.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I’m going to shovel.”

“What should I do?”

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

“I don’t want to catch a cold.”

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

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

“What’s all this for?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lo?”

“Yes, Daddio?”

“What are you doing?”

“Do you like?”

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a hand-job.”

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

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

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

“What did you want to tell me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“So, you had that all planned out?”

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

“A woman, or a slut like you?”

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

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

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

“How do you want it?”

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

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

“Put a condom on me,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not like you, Daddio.”

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

“It’s true. You’re the one for me.”

“But he turns you on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew that already.”

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

“She said that?!”

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

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

“Maybe you should clue him into the blog?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You what?!”

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

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

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

“No! Of course not.”

She gave me a quizzical look.

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

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

“And what did he say?”

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

“And what did you say?”

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

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

Masturbation Monday: Creative Writing and Performance Art

Posted on July 3, 2017 by Lola Down

Creative Writing and Performance Art

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

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

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

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

“Care to share?” I asked.

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

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

“Yes?” I inquired. “Can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then let me have you.”

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

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

“It’s called a selfie stick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that what you were writing?”

“Yes, Daddy. I know I’m bad.”

“And this admirer of yours?”

“She told me it made her cum a lot.”

“So, she wants to get together?”

“Yes.”

“And him?”

“I assume so.”

“And you?”

“I can’t wait.”

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

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

“So you want me to cum on your face.”

“Yes. Badly.”

“Now.”

“Always.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Did I ever tell you my bukkake fantasies?”

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

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

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

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