Sun-Kissed

Posted on July 3, 2019 by Lola Down

A July vacation at a beach house for a week can be the perfect antidote to all of your problems. Unless that vacation is a family reunion and the beach house is for thirty people. And among those thirty people are married dads in their forties and fifties who are in good shape. And your girlfriend is Lo. Then, you might have ninety-nine problems, but Lo is the only one you have to really worry about.

That was the case this week. Every seven years or so my extended family decides that we should make a pilgrimage from all the corners of the globe, rent one enormous house on the beach with enough bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate us all, and stay under one roof for seven days straight. We have been doing this for a few decades now, but we hadn’t had one of these since I started dating Lola.

She hadn’t met most of my family – only heard about them through various stories I told her and, to be fair, with thirty of them, I doubt that she really could tell one from the other without having met them in person. But this week, right in the middle of July, we were all going to be up-close and personal with each other. Foolishly, I hadn’t thought of warning her prior to our departure. This was my family. Did I need to warn her? Apparently so.

You see, if I do say so myself, I come from a very good looking family. My brothers and sisters and my cousins have certain family features in common – features that drive Lo wild. I’d even venture to say that, of the lot of us, I am probably the least physically attractive. My male relatives all have strong-cut jaws, expressive eyes, and the classic broad shoulder tapering to a thin waist. They are very health conscious, for many of them were athletes even through college. My female relatives share many of the same good genes that have preserved their looks into midlife. And they are married to rather attractive spouses.

Throw into this mix of middle-age men – all walking around topless, biking, kayaking, swimming, cooking, and being dads to their respective kids – a twenty something nymphomaniac with daddy issues wearing a skimpy bikini and you have just brought all sorts of wrath down upon your head. Such was my lot for a week.

It began innocently enough. We were on the beach with a few of my cousins. The sun was blazing and the waves were rough and tumble. We had our boogie boards with us and, after a beer, Lo said she wanted to ride the waves with me. We grabbed the boards and went into the refreshing water, waded out past the crashing waves and waited for the right moment. As we were out there, Lo turned to me and said, “Daddio, I’m so wet!”

“We’re in the ocean, Lo. Of course you’re wet,” I replied.

“I don’t mean like that,” she said with a devilish grin.

Before I could respond, a wave came and soon she and I were soaring towards the shore atop the white crest of the surf. Conditions were just right for multiple sorties. She looked happy, like a little girl. I had never seen her see so happy. She was grinning from ear-to-ear. What I didn’t realize, since I was next to her for most of the wet-n-wild rides, was that each and every time we caught a wave and were carried in atop the undulating surge, Lo’s bikini top would be pushed downward and, each and every time she stood up from the excursion, her breasts were popping out, wet and glistening in the sun for all my cousins to see.

I only found out about this later, when, back in the house, she got naked in the bathroom with me to take a shower. “Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

“Why would I be mad?” I said as I saw her perfectly tanned body before me.

“Because of my ‘accidents’ at the beach.”

“What accidents?” I asked, naively.

Then she told me about her struggles with keeping her top on her tits.

We got in the shower together and washed each other down with body-soap. It was one of those large shower/hot tubs that had a comfortable seat to sit. I told Lo to sit down below me and spread her legs. She did so, mistakenly thinking that I was going to put my cock in her mouth. She opened up to receive me, but, instead, I took aim and let lose, releasing the golden stream formed from the many beers I had had on the beach. She relished in the warm stream I doused her in, covering her tits and tum, puss and feet. When I was good and done, she pulled my hand down and reversed positions with me and, putting one foot up on the ledge, she took aim and allowed me to get it just as good as I gave it.

Then she got down on her knees on the floor of the shower and took my hard cock in her mouth, fondling my balls with her right hand as her left rested on my knee. Her long, wet, dark hair bobbed up and down under the stream of the shower. She wanted me to cum, that was clear. She worked hard to earn my ejaculatory appreciation, but I denied her the satisfaction of completion. Before she got lockjaw, we got out of the shower and dried off.

She bent over the bed, her ass beckoning me. It was my turn to get on my knees and worship her tumescent pussy lips with my tongue. She tasted sweet and I wanted more. I buried the tip of my tongue as deep as it would go in her cunt and then in her ass and back again and again. She came multiple times, her cum dripping down the sides of my mouth and saturating my beard as it streamed down my neck onto my chest. I delighted in making her so wet. Due to the cramped living quarters, she had to bite her lower lip and swallow her orgasmic screams. She buried her head in the pillow to moan and groan.

At some point I heard the sound of a radio playing from the pool area outside our window. AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” was narrating the scene.

She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean

They sang as I licked the smooth mons pubis of Lo from behind. She could take it no longer and she crawled forward on the bed like a wounded soldier out of the heat of battle. She rolled over, exhausted already, and spread her listless legs.

She was the best damn woman that I’d ever seen.

I slid in her pussy with my aching rod and, honestly, I couldn’t feel a thing. Just wet. So wet. At the very instant of my shaft lodging deep inside her, she came in waves – waves like those of the ocean that we were riding just a little while earlier. After her quick climax, she was suddenly filled with new energy. She rolled me over onto my back and slid her wet slit down the length of my solid pole, kneeling on top of me as she pulled and pinched her nipples. I grabber by her hips and rocked her forward and back, slishing and sliding over my hips.

She had a certain size,

Telling me no lies,

Knocking me out with those American thighs.

She came again. Again, all I could feel was wetness cascading down upon me.

She dropped her head down to bite on my neck and then she slid off of my rod slowly as her tongue slid down my chest, over my abs, eventually resting at my cock. She took it all in her mouth and down the back of her throat.

Taking more than her share,

She had me fighting for air,

She told me to cum, but I was already there.

I filled her with my pent-up power. But she wasn’t done – no, not by a longshot.

She wanted no applause,

Just another course,

Made a meal out of me,

And came back for more.

Had to cool me down

To take another round,

Now I’m back in the ring

To take another swing!

She licked and sucked, bobbed up and down, and opened wide for my balls – everything and anything she could do to get me back up and hard again. When she finally succeeded, she lowered herself slowly on me once more and grabbed me, letting her nipples gently touch mine as she let her body become enfolded in mine. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.

From her state of delirium, she began whispering in my ear.

“You know,” she said in a hushed tone, “I think your family likes me.”

“I’m sure they do,” I said.

“I mean, especially your brothers. They really like me.”

“I think they really liked what they saw.”

“And I liked what I saw.”

“What was that?” I asked as I felt her excitement increasing with the taboo things coming out of her mouth. I slowly moved my hands from her back to her thighs, to her ass cheeks, and then I pulled them, spread them, and placed my index finger on her special spot.

“They’re so built,” she said enthusiastically, “so mature.”

“You mean old.”

“Not old.”

“Older than me.”

“Yeah, but in such good shape.”

“I see,” I said, knowing where she was going. . . and liking it.

“And so big.”

“Big?” I asked as I entered her ass with my finger.

“Their cocks. Their balls. Wearing a Speedo. . .”

She couldn’t finish her thought. She was cumming and cumming harder than any of the previous times. My finger was deep inside her and I could feel her clenching up on it and releasing multiple times.

When she was done, all orgasms finally brought to fruition and her body exhausted, she said to me, “That last orgasm, it felt just like I was riding that boogie board. It felt like I was riding that wave, topless, the sea carrying me, lifting me, thrilling me, covering me with spume and salt and sun.”

“Did you cum when you were out there?”

“I think I might have, a little bit.”

“You really are a nymph, fucked by Poseidon himself.”

Tent Talk

Posted on April 26, 2019 by Lola Down

“No! No way! Uh-uh. I’m not going.”

“Please, Daddio.”

“Stop it. You won’t get me to go by doing that,” I said as Lo batted her lashes at me, reached for my cock, and rubbed her hips up against my leg.

“It will be fun.”

“Fun? Your idea of fun and mine are very different.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You think another wedding will be fun?”

“The last one was, remember?”

“I remember – the food was beyond blasé, the music was mediocre, and the people were piss-poor conversationalists.”

“Oh, Daddy. Don’t you remember what we did in the bathroom?”

“That was its only redeeming feature.”

“I have a lot of redeeming features,” she said, pulling her breast out of her blouse.

“You need a lot of redeeming, darling.”

“Suck it,” she commanded.

I bent my head down to her nipple and did as she asked.

“Bite down.”

I followed her instruction.

“Harder.”

I did as she wished.

“Mmmmmm, that’s it. Make it hurt. Pull it with your teeth.”

I pulled.

“Let’s go fuck,” she said, removing her blouse and lifting up her skirt, running down the hallway. I followed her, but she stopped me at the door to the bedroom. “No, wait,” she said, “I have a better idea.”

“A better idea than fucking?”

“Well, it involves fucking.”

“I see. What’s your idea?”

“I’ll change into the different outfits I might wear to this wedding and you can fuck me in each of them. At the end, you can tell me which is the one you want me to wear.”

She shut the door and when she opened it again she was wearing a little white blouse and a short skirt and heels. No panties. She lifted up the skirt and bent over the bed. “How’s this?” she asked.

I entered her from behind and said, “This will do.”

After she came, she pushed me out. “I have to try on another outfit. Give a girl some privacy to change.”

She shut the door again. When she opened it, she was wearing a tight blue dress and strappy heels. “Thoughts?” she asked as she lifted up the dress from behind and bent over the bed.

I repeated the process again. “I like this, but not as much as the other. Too fancy.”

Now she pushed me away again and she shut the door in my face. When it opened, she was wearing a short red dress. “This?”

“This is by far the best!” She looked like a little harlot and she lifted up the back to show me how ready she was for a third go-round.

“So you’ll come?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, meaning that I’d cum.

“No, you’d better not fucking cum on this dress,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m not paying to have this dry-cleaned. I mean, you’ll come to the wedding.”

“Yes dear,” I said reluctantly, “You know you always get your way.”

“Don’t you like my way?” she asked as she slammed her ass into my hips again and again and reached back with her right hand to massage her perineum.

“Your way is the best,” I said, pulling out and telling her to get on her knees as I came into her mouth and she hungrily devoured me.

My reluctance to go was twofold. First, I simply detest weddings. Call me a curmudgeon, call me jaded, call me a stick-in-the-mud, but if you’re getting married, don’t call me. Second, I found it particularly challenging to be happy for the “happy” couple, knowing full well that they really weren’t happy together but rather, felt this to be the next logical step in their relationship. Relationships based on logic are not relationships based on love. Logic has its own sort of force, but not the mystical force exerted by love.

However, countering these two weighty reasons for declining our invitation were two weightier reasons to concede to the social obligation: an open bar and the prospect of seeing Lo on the dance floor in that red dress. If two people are fool enough to get engaged and ultimately get married, if those same two people are fool enough to invite me to their party and supply free food and adult beverages all night, really, who am I to stand in the way of my happiness?

So I went. This was no conventional wedding and thank God for that! It was not at some swanky hotel or a low-budget VFW hall. It was being held at a mountaintop private residence. As such, the bride and groom were welcome to use the grounds, but not the dwelling. A big-top tent was rented and set up and, as accommodations for the guests, we were welcome to pitch our own tents in order to avoid the treacherous hair-pin curves of the dirt road back down into the valley at night.

Lo and I arrived around noon and, though we thought we were early, to our surprise we found that the pre-nuptial festivities were already in full swing. Beer kegs were strategically placed around the expansive lawn, games of Frisbee, croquet, and bocce were being played. We mingled, took some pics of the vista overlooking the river basin below, and we drank and had lunch before setting up camp.

By two o’clock a sprawling tent city was emerging and we were lucky enough to find a level spot on some soft grass right at the corner of this temporary village. As we unpacked the tent and the air mattress, a young couple pulled up in their Subaru Outback and began setting up their tent next door to ours. Everyone was in a jubilant mood and the fella turned to me and said, “Not a lot of space here for all of us.”

“No,” I replied, neighborly.

“We’re practically right on top of one another,” he remarked. It was true, there was so little room between tents that we couldn’t even spread the lines to tether down the tent with the stakes.

“I wouldn’t mind being right on top of him,” Lo said under her breath to me. I saw her lick her lips as she watched him nimbly unpack the suitcases from the car into their tent.

“I hope you two don’t mind,” he practically called out to us, “but we’re planning on trying to make a baby tonight.”

I had no idea what the neighborly thing to respond was, so I just looked dumbfounded until his wife yelled at him, “What did you just say?”

“I said, we are hoping to make a baby tonight.”

“Oh my God,” she said, “You have to excuse him, he’s a redneck country boy,” she said apologetically. “You keep your mouth shut and just set up the tent,” she called to her husband.

“What?” he asked, “I’m just giving them fair warning.”

She was an attractive brunette, in her mid-thirties I’d guess, and clearly in love with the somewhat dim-witted, yet well-intentioned beau of hers.

The two of them made some small talk with us as we put the finishing touches on our new homes – asking how we knew the bride or the groom, where we were from, etc. At one point he turned to me and said, in confidence, “How old are you?”

“How old do you think I am?” I asked back.

“I’d say at least forty-five,” he said, being honest, though not necessarily polite.

“Well, you’re in the ballpark, if you add about five or so years.”

“And what about her?” he asked, nodding over to Lo.

“What do you think?” I said, turning it back to him.

“Twenty, twenty-two maybe.”

“Again, you’re close,” I said.

“You lucky dawg!” he said, slapping my back with a big smile.

Soon they and we went our separate ways. There must have been at least two hundred guests attending this affair and so we didn’t actually see them again that evening. I told Lo about his untoward questions and remarks and she smiled, contentedly, while her words denounced his lack of couth.

The rest of the day and night went much as you’d expect – cocktails were served along with hors d’oeuvres. As the sun was getting low making for the perfect romantic lighting, the bride and groom were escorted down the grassy out-door isle to the perfect spot with a backdrop of mountains descending toward the horizon in the distance. The speeches were made, the vows were exchanged, the public display of affection put on for the guests. I, for my part, held back my applause, reserving judgment for later years.

The band came out and dancing under the stars and in the tent commenced along with copious amounts of alcohol being consumed. Perhaps as a result of the fresh air or all the dancing, the effects of the alcohol upon me were negligible in comparison with what I ingested.

The stars were bright, the air was warm with a slight breeze, and music was wafting over the grounds. Lo was happy to be dancing in my arms and before too long she pulled me aside and said, “Daddy, let’s go to the tent.” It wasn’t so early; already some couples had made their exits. But the party was still at critical mass.

Nevertheless, Lo and I led each other through the ever darkening expanse of land to the tent city where, after taking a moment for our eyes to adjust, we figured out which tent was ours. In through the zipper door we climbed, out of our party attire we slipped, and into each other’s arms we sprung.

Tents are never ideal places for frolics in bed – firstly, because there is no bed per se. Secondly, because open sleeping bags slip and slide and bunch up and disappear in the darkness. Be that as it may, we found a way to make it work.

We were lying on top of one of the sleeping bags and under the other one. We were spooning. My arms were wrapped around her naked body and her round bum was pressed up against my pelvis. She could feel my manhood growing hard. My hands groped her breasts. Her tush pushed harder on my hardness. She reached behind her and began stroking it. She pointed it at her target and it slid right in.

“Do I feel tight or loose?”

“Tight.”

“Wet?”

“Very.”

“Do you like?” she asked as I protruded deeper into her.

When we were done, we turned on the flashlight to remake the “bed” (air mattress) and cuddle up next to each other – big and little spoon – for warmth, though the air had only cooled a little and we hoped that no one heard our kinky taboo sweet nothings.

Only a few minutes had passed before we heard our neighbors unzip their tent and clumsily get into bed. They must have set up their interior so that their heads were right by ours, because we could hear every word they whispered.

“Shhh, Sam, you’ll wake everyone up,” she said.

“No one’s around,” said Sam.

“Yes they are,” she whispered back. “I just saw the light go out in their tent when we were walking here.”

“Then they’re not asleep.”

“Shhhh,” she said back.

There was some rustling and movement and then we heard some giggles on her part followed by a zipping sound (the sleeping bag) and some more rustling. Lo was kissing me when we heard her moan. It didn’t take long before they had worked themselves into a rhythmic slip-sliding sound and we could hear the heavy breathing. Lo reached down and grabbed my hardening cock. We heard the wife moan and it sounded like she was in bed with us.

Lo got on all fours, her head facing the neighbors’ tent, and she nudged me to get behind her. As I entered her, she also moaned. We heard the rhythm of the neighbors stop cold for a second and then, when Lo moaned again, it picked up.

I was very self-conscious and I could hear my hips slapping up against Lo’s ass as Lo began to breath more heavily. Soon she was whispering, “Yes, yes.” We heard the neighbor wife call, “Fuck, that feels good. Harder, Sam.”

That just spurred Lo on to be louder with her, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” in time with my thrusts.

Now it was feeling like a competition – who could go longer, who would be louder. It was odd, there in the darkness, as if we were in the same room, yet not. The simultaneous orgy and privacy was getting us very worked up and I think Lo wasn’t able to control it any longer – she started crying out, “Fuck, I’m cumming. Fuck! Deeper! Hold it. Hold. It. Stay. Right. There.”

As she did so, our female neighbor began growling through her grit teeth. She was cumming too and it was an angry, intense orgasm.

When we were all done and lying down, I’m not sure who started it but there was giggling and soon we were all giggling before Lo said, “Good night,” to our neighbors and they responded with a very warm, “Sleep tight!”

Fap Gap

Posted on March 23, 2019 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writing? Well, sometimes that is a good pastime.

But on this occasion I got up to some mischief.

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

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

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

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

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

“But. . .” I tried to protest.

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

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

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

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

“Hello,” she called from the door.

“Hello,” I called back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good date?” I inquired.

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

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

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

“I always miss you when you’re gone.”

“Did you wonder what I was doing?’

“Of course.”

“What did you do while I was out?”

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

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

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

I guess I have a type.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I laughed and followed her instruction. She moaned.

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

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

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

“Oh yeah, what else?”

“It’s the seat of my love for you.”

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

“You said hard twice.”

“I want it twice as hard.”

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

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

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

“Who’s the poet now?” I asked.

“Shut up and keep pounding.”

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

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

“I’m sure he stood at attention.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Quite the exposé.”

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

“I’m listening.”

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

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

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

“I asked him if he felt like eating.”

“The ambiguity of your question is delicious.”

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

“Very impulsive.”

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

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

“My what?”

“Never mind.”

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

“Just for a nightcap.”

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

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

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

“What was that?”

“He wanted to watch.”

“What?”

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

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

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

“And, did it?”

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

“There you go again,” I said.

“What?”

“You said hard twice.”

“Well, he was hard. I was easy.”

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

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

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

“I’m full of ideas.”

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

Cliterotica

Posted on March 15, 2019 by Lola Down

[In honor of all our friends, such as Cara, Hy, Catherine, and of course, Michael & Molly, who are attending Eroticon this weekend, a little fantasy of what we envision our attending it to be like. Hopefully next year.]

“LOLA” – her name lit up the marquee. As we approached the theater from the street, slick from the recent rain, Lo looked up and said, “Big, bright, beautiful, and inviting. That’s me alright!”

We were in England for the annual Literotica convention and somehow we were the headline event for this evening’s performances. Lo was giddy with excitement.

Entering the theater from the side door for performers, there was a flurry of activity backstage. Everyone was primping and preparing. Lo, herself, had tried on three different outfits and five different pairs of shoes before settling on the glittery gold sequin top, the slinky green skirt, and the flashy four-inch heels. “Green and gold,” I said, “the colors of money.”

We were there to do a reading and book signing, but Lo had plans for oh so much more than that. Her Marina Abramovic performance-art streak was activated and she had conspired with me to put on a show. We were to be a Penn & Teller style duet. She’d be Penn, the showman, and I’d be Teller, the silent sidekick. She had her props: a little wooden lectern on which she put the book, some paints, paint brushes, markers, and a sign. The sign read:

Match, Vol. I – $35

Match, Vol. II – $20

Match, Vol. III – $20

Complementary with your purchase:

Squeeze

Tease

Pull

Paint

Draw

Write

Kiss

Suck

Cum

NOT ALLOWED:

Penetration of any sort

Photos

(Mild BDSM is ok)

All prices USD

After the opening acts, we were introduced to a loud round of applause. I got butterflies in my stomach and I’m sure Lo did as well. We took our places on the otherwise empty wooden stage under the hot spotlights. I stood next to Lo at the lectern with three stacks of books and my portable credit card swipe device plugged into my phone.

Lo opened the books to the places she had specially chosen for this event and read some select passages: The preface to Vol I, penned by her; the encomium to the color red; a few poems. As she read each passage in her sweetly seductive voice, she slowly removed first one and then the other strap of her blouse and let it fall, revealing her breasts. She then wriggled out of both the blouse and her skirt until she stood stark naked but for her sexy heels. The poems were read in the buff.

When she was done the music began – selections of songs mentioned in the books. I invited the audience members who had pre-purchased books to step up and have Lola sign them while they each took a turn participating in one of the activities mentioned on Lo’s sign.

The first ones in line were a bit shy and timid. They ventured a kiss or a gentle tug on Lo’s nipples while she leaned over to sign one of the gloss nude photographs of her in the book. A few others took up the Sharpie pen and wrote love notes to Lo on various parts of her body. Some wrote “Slut” or “hotwife” or “cum here” with an arrow pointing to her puss.

As the audience saw the performance taking place, those without books were eager to get in line and I began selling our inventory. Men took out their cocks and began stroking as they eagerly awaited their turn in line.

Some of them stroked it next to Lola as she signed the books and wrote cute comments about the men’s anatomy in the margins.

The first man to cum did so on Lo’s feet, filling up her shoes with warm jizz.

The next man to cum had a powerful ejaculation and managed to hit Lo’s tits with remarkable aim. He even got a bit of applause!

A woman was in line and she gave Lo a very warm kiss on the lips and then slid her tongue down Lo’s neck to her glazed breasts and cleaned off the previous customer’s cumtribution.

This performance went on for some time, until we sold out of all our books!

Unfortunately for Lo, all of this fun foreplay was merely a tantalizing orgasm tease. She whispered in my ear and I briefly disappeared off stage to grab Lo’s favorite toy from one of the event sponsor’s display: The Hitachi Magic Wand. We plugged it into an extension cord and I brought the large, white device to Lo who proceeded to use it on her clit while sitting in a high stool. She spread her legs and, within only a few moments filled with tension and anticipation, Lo finally gushed with an torrential outpour of emotion, release, and fluid that covered the stage.

After her grand finale, some stage hands appeared at Lo’s side with warm, wet towels and they cleaned her off. One of them gently removed Lo’s feet, one at a time, from her shoes and wiped them down. Another person mopped the wooden floor. Once Lo was cleaned off, she got dressed again and we walked off the stage. Before exiting, though, Lo took a long bow, but not to the audience, but to the wings of the stage, thus giving the audience one last look up her skirt.

Congratulations were showered on Lo and me from our fellow literotica friends and authors and we got ready for the afterparty.

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.

Slap Shot

Posted on July 25, 2018 by Lola Down

“Tell me about the hockey team,” I say.

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

“Oooohhhh, you mean the hockey team that I met on my trip.”

“Yeah, that hockey team. Why? Is there another I should know about?”

“There are a lot of hockey teams in the world.”

“And you’re just the gal for each of them, aren’t you?”

“If you say so,” she says, batting her eyelids.

“Just tell me about the hockey team you began telling me about the other night.”

She had begun telling me about it the night she returned from her business trip, but I was so primed and ready for our reunification that I didn’t last long enough to hear any more than the teasing preview. Now a few weeks had gone by of my living in ecstatic mystery wondering about her little hints and jibes and I felt ready to hear the full-length tale.

“First,” she says, “get naked and lie on your back.”

I follow instructions.

She pulls out the massage oil and drips it over my cock. She begins to rub as the starts up where she left off.

“I told you, I was on my way back up to my hotel room when I got in the elevator with a bunch of guys who had arrived in town for a hockey tournament. I think they positively could smell how horny I was. They began to make small talk with me and I flirted back. They told me that they had the entire ninth floor of the hotel. I told them I was on the eleventh floor and I asked if they were up for coming up.”

“Let me guess, they were all very hard-up.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, caressing my member with both hands. “Just like you. . . only bigger.”

“And?”

“Well, they invited me to their floor first and so I got off.”

“Off the elevator?”

“Well, I got off on my floor, went to my room, got myself off, freshened up, and then went to their floor. All the doors were open on their floor and everyone was coming and going like in a dorm room. I flitted here and there and some of them were changing or walking around with their shirts off and a few had just gotten out of the shower and had nothing on but a towel around the waist. They were all gorgeous.”

“I bet. I bet you didn’t even see their faces.”

“Oh, no. I saw their faces and their arms, their chests, their lovely sculpted legs. I saw just about everything.”

“But you wanted more.”

“More is my favorite amount. So I invited five of them down to my room.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me. A select five.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. How did you select them?”

“I had the whole team stand at attention in a row naked and I selected the five longest cocks.”

“You did not!”

“No, but a lady can dream, can’t she?”

“Anyhow, I selected the five nicest guys and we went down to my room and I told them a bit more about me before slipping off my panties. I had my little black cocktail dress on and I bent over the side of the bed and let them take a look under it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And I encouraged them to pull out their cocks and jack off behind me, which they did willingly.”

“I bet.”

“And then I said, ‘Go on, slap it.’ And one of them gave me a good, solid whack.”

“They were so kind and considerate.”

“I thought so too! My fingers were down between my legs, caressing and pulling my long pussy lips. They could see as they took turns slapping my ass. First they were timid, but then they grew more confidant as I moaned and said ‘Yes.’ Then I asked who wanted to be first in. One of the guys immediately got behind me and began thrusting as hard and fast as he could. It was rough and manic like a jackhammer horizontally placed in my cunt.”

“And you loved it, I bet.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong. But he came so quickly, deep inside me. I crawled up on the bed and let the next guy in. He was slower, more loving.”

“Loving?”

“Well, more gentle. I turned over my shoulder and said, ‘You can do better than that,’ and his friends encouraged him. They each had their puds in their hands, except for the guy who had just cum in me. But guy number two couldn’t finish. I guess it was a lot of pressure. He pulled out and a lot of cum from the first guy dripped out of me. One of them snapped a photo of me from behind just before the third guy went in me. After that, I sort of lost track of who was where because then one of them got under me and entered me so that they were double penetrating my pussy just like I always wanted. And later one was fingering my ass and then he let himself in there, cumming deep inside while a different guy was under me in my puss. I have no idea who came where or how many times I came. One of them even got in front of me and came in my mouth and on my face. In the end, let’s just say that everyone had scored at least once.”

“Who says that hockey is a zero-sum game?”

“Right? Win-win!”

“Any chance I can get a shot on goal?”

“It’s wide open,” she says as she gets on top of me and slides her puss down my pole.

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

“Smoother than ice, and a whole hell of a lot warmer.”

Sexy Shorts: Punctuality

Posted on January 28, 2018 by Lola Down

It was one of the first really cold days in November and we went to a football game together. When we returned home around 4:30, we were both cold.

“My hands just can’t get warm,” cried Lo.

“Put them down my pants,” I said, “I wore long johns.”

“You would,” she said as if implying something, but that didn’t stop her from putting both hands down there and cuddling my cock and balls in her chilly palms.

“Thanks,” she said.

“My pleasure. Truly.”

We were expecting company, but not until 6:00. After her hands warmed up, Lo began to stroke her pussy with one hand while tugging on my cock with the other. Suddenly the doorbell rang. “Who the hell?” I asked, upset at the interruption. I had to hop out of bed to answer the door. Lo stayed in bed.

It was our guests. I felt like telling them that punctuality is a deadly sin in my book.

I popped my head in the bedroom to announce our guests to the lady of the house. She was decidedly not impressed by their promptness. “Whatever happened to fashionably late?!” she asked, pulling her panties up and scrounging for something to wear.

Later that night, as the company was going out the door I said, “Come again.”

After the company left, Lo said to me, “I can’t believe they came so early! I had plans.”

“What sort of plans?”

“I was going to jill it and cum and you were going to do me and cum and I was going to jill it some more and cum again.”

“Those are the best sorts of plans.”

“Yeah. . . the best laid plans.”

Bigger, Harder, Longer

Posted on October 9, 2017 by Lola Down

Carrying a mug of coffee, I walk in on her just as she is squirting, pulling the Hitachi away from her clit. Her hands scrunch up the sheets under her and her legs are spread. Her head lifts and her breasts heave as she breathes quick breaths, screaming, “Oh Fuck! Oh FUCK! OH Fuuuuck!!!” She looks over at me and says, “Don’t just stand there, get me a towel!” I do so.

“I just came to tell you breakfast is ready.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Daddio!”

“When you’re ready, I’ll see you at the breakfast table.”

“But you didn’t kiss me good morning.”

“Yes I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I did – all night long.”

“Yeah. I had to punch you to get you to stop and let me sleep.”

“Well, those were your good morning kisses.”

“I want one now.”

I lean over to kiss her good morning. She lets me kiss her on the lips before pushing my head down between her legs. “I meant there,” she says.

“Lo, I’m not going to eat you out before I eat breakfast. It’s on the table getting cold!”

“Just one kiss, Daddio. Please.”

I indulge her. One kiss turns to a full-on tongue-fuck-fest of every area between her legs from the small of her back to her bellybutton. Luckily she cums quickly. I pull back and go into the bathroom to splash water on my face. Her juices have a way of soaking my beard and mustache. I look up, into the vanity mirror over the sink and see her preparing to pound herself with a dildo.

“OK, that does it!” I call to her. “I’m just going to throw out the breakfast I made.”

“No, Daddio, I’ll be there in. . .” Her words trail off as she becomes preoccupied with the instrumental manipulation of her puss.

I walk out of the bedroom, my hard-on leading the way. I sit down at the breakfast table alone and eat the luke-warm eggs and toast while I hear her sing-song voice of oohs and ahs crescendo from the bedroom.

When we’re both done, I stand up, put my plate and glass in the sink and I bring her her breakfast on a tray.

“Oh, breakfast in bed!” she squeals, leaning over to put her toys away safely stashed under the bed.

“If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Mohammed.”

“Daddy, I’ll cum to anything.”

“Don’t I know it! What did you cum to today?”

“I’m sorry Daddy,” she says, looking guilty.

“Why? Because you let your eggs and toast get cold?”

She shakes her head, no.

“What is it then? That you used my mouth, but kept all the orgasms to yourself?”

Again she shakes her head in the negative. Keeping orgasms to herself gives her no guilt.

“Then what?”

She passes her phone to me. I look at it. It’s a photo of a giant black cock.

“A friend of yours?”

“Not yet, but I hope someday.”

“Who is it?”

“Just a fan.”

“A fan of your pics, not my writing I assume.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him about it.”

“What’s he have to say for himself?”

“I don’t know. He just sent me this pic and. . .”

“And it’s got you all preoccupied.”

She shook her head yes with a guilty look on her face. “I want it, Daddy!” she said like a girl asking for a big lollipop at the circus.

I turn to leave the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To do the dishes.”

“I’ll do it!”

“No, I’ll do it. I don’t like the way you do it. Besides, you have to eat your cold breakfast.”

“Why do you wish to maintain control all the time?”

“It’s not a matter of retaining control. It’s a matter of maintaining standards.”

“You have so many standards. Double standards.”

“I only have one standard. . . the best.”

“That’s my line,” she says, followed by, “but, if you’re speaking about me, then go on.”

I finally walk out the bedroom into the kitchen. As I’m in the midst of putting dishes into the dishwasher, Lo saunters up to the entrance of the kitchen naked as the day she was born, she turns to me and says, “Are you jealous?” She’s always trying to get me jealous, to no avail.

“Lo, you’re standing right where the neighbors can see you through the window, you know.”

“Does that make you jealous?”

“No. But it may make the neighbor’s wife jealous!”

“Phhh,” she sounds dismissively, bending over to give the neighbor a more explicit view. As she’s bent over, she says, “I’m just a hotwife with an exhibitionist’s streak and a loving man who can use his fingers to type out stories that make people come back for more.”

“I don’t think your big friend was coming back for my writing.”

“Well, I can’t help it if behind every good nympho is a line of men waiting to fuck her and behind every bad nympho is a longer line.”

“Which one are you?”

“Fuck me, Daddy, and you’ll see.”

“No, Lo, I already know. I was just testing to see if you would admit to it.”

“The line behind me is very long, very hard,” she says as she reaches over and grabs my cock.

“That doesn’t make sense. How is the line hard?”
“Fuck me and I’ll show you.”

She bends over, this time with her rear towards me rather than toward the window.

“Are you still doing the same old thing?” I ask.

“You mean you?” she asks, looking at me from between her legs.

“Very funny. This ‘old thing’ is going to work.”

“Work on me!”

“Didn’t I make you cum this morning? – and you squirted all over me and the bed!”

“That was a drop in the bucket.”

She wiggles her ass, like she’s playing charades. So I guess, “You’re horny.”

She sees the bulge in my khakis. “And you want me.”

“Yes, Lo. I always want you. But sometimes I have to actually go to work.” I walk over to her and give her wiggling bum a good smack.

“Mmmmm,” she moans, “again!”

I repeat.

“I love spankings,” she says, “they’re like applause, but on my ass! Let me hear how much you like my ass.”

I ‘applaud’ her five or six times. But I do no more than applaud. I then walk out of the kitchen.

“But Daddy,” I hear her call down the hallway, “what about my encore!”

I leave the house and go to work, but on my way home that afternoon, I stop and run a special errand for Lo. For a while now I’ve wanted to try a cock sleeve. I run into my local adult toy shop and peruse the possibilities. After a careful review, I decide on one that is a total of 11 inches, dark brown in complexion, very realistic, and best of all, has a ring to wrap around my balls to anchor the sleeve in place.

Back at home I find that Lo has invited a few people over for a little get-together. Unaware that we were expecting company, I have to find a way of sneaking the rather large box in the house inconspicuously. I decide to pop my head in, say hello to the guests, and declare that we need some more beer. I run out to the local store and pick up a six-pack. I throw the toy in the plain brown bag and rush in, crossing my fingers that no one stops me on the way.

They are all in the living room and I call out, “I’m back! I’ll just pop these in the fridge and be right there.” I head to the bedroom first, hide my stash under the bed, and then put the beer in the fridge, removing one for myself first.

Walking in on our little circle of friends, I take a look at Lo and see that she has put on a stunning little number. Her heels, her short-shorts, and her black tank-top with her one-size-too-small push-up bra under it, giving her quite the shelf popping out of the top. What’s the reason for this, I wonder.

I give her a kiss hello and tell her I’m famished, looking at her quizzically.

Lola complains that the meal she prepared didn’t come out the way that she was hoping.

I say, “You know, I don’t think love is blind so much as love is deaf.”

“What does that mean?” she asks.

“You could go on complaining like that all night, but because you look so good, I don’t hear a thing.”

I get a little laugh from everyone there and then the ‘guests of honor’ arrive. Two young men from across the street who had moved in recently were invited by Lo. Brothers. Built. Did I mention young?

“HH, you remember Roy and Gary,” she says, that look of desire in her eye, her tongue running over her lips as she introduces us. “I just thought,” she says innocently, “since we were having people over, I’d invite them as well.”

“Very neighborly of you,” I say.

The rest of the night goes on with Lo dancing that fine line between being a charming hostess and a wicked vixen.

Finally, past eleven, all our guests leave, including the brothers from across the street.

Lo goes into the bedroom and when I emerge out of the bathroom, cock sleeve firmly in place, Lo nearly jumps in fear and fawning over the giant extension between my legs.

“What the hell is that?!” she cries out.

“Just something special I bought for you today.”

“What? Why? Today?”

“Yes. Because you were so enamored of your fan who sent you that pic that was longer than your forearm.”

“But Daddio, you know I love you,” she says, reaching out to grab the long appendage and feel its heft and girth.

“Yes, but you long for bigger, longer, thicker, and bigger.”

“You mentioned bigger twice.”

“I like how indignant you are.”

“Indignity is my forte.”

“No, lack of dignity is your forte.”

“Daddy, I have loads of dignity. I just prefer to be degraded in the bedroom.”

“Well, do what you do best and get on the bed, spread your legs, make yourself good and wet, and let me pound you with this monster cock.”

“I thought you’d never ask. Oh, and by the way, I’m already super wet. I have been all night.”

“The brothers?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

I do as she wishes and I have to admit that it was a little difficult to fit the bulbous bad-boy in, but once in, Lo takes all of it with grace and gratitude.

“Can I use my Hitachi?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say, since with this sleeve it’s easy for me to lean back and give her enough room to fit her Hitachi over her clit. With the sleeve on, there is significantly less sensation and I welcome the vibrations of the Magic Wand.

Within mere moments Lo is saying, “Pull out! PULL OUT! I have to squirt!”

I do as she says and an impatient stream of spray shoots out on me.

“Holy shit!” she says, as if she had never cum like that before. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe every time it feels like the first. But just as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she rolls over and says, “Take that silly thing off now and fuck me rawdog!”

I obey and begin from behind her and say, “Lo, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t even feel you. That sleeve spread you so wide.”

“Don’t you take this the wrong way,” she says over her shoulder, “but I can hardly feel you. Now fuck me like you mean it.”

I do as she commands and as I pound her from behind, all the wetness covering her ass splish-splashes with each thrust and it makes a slick slapping sound.

I continue harder and faster, hoping to register something within her, and after much striving I finally succeed. I hit my target and she cums even harder than she did the first time.

But then something I’ve never seen before happens. She literally passes out mid-orgasm. She faints from fucking. She swoons from sex. She is out cold for about three or four minutes. When she comes to, she just asks to hold me.

“What happened Daddy?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “One minute you were cumming, the next you were out cold. How much did you have to drink tonight?”

“One glass of champagne.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I swear.”

“Have you ever fainted from fucking before?”

“No Daddy. Never.”

“How do you feel?”

“Great.”

“Did you cum in me Daddy?”

“No, Lo. I didn’t cum at all.”

“Are you sure?” she asks feeling between her legs.

“Yes Lo. That’s all from you.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You were wonderful.”

“But I passed out – literally on you.”

“It’s ok. I took it as a compliment.”

“You would. You have such a big ego.”

“If you’re talking about this,” I say, holding the sheath, “then you’re right. It is big. I had a big ego before, and now it’s even bigger.”

“Daddy, a man’s ego is not his cock size.”

“No. I agree. But the bigger his cock size, the bigger his ego.”

“Well, you’d better watch out. You know what they say?”

“No, what’s that?”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“Oh? Is that how it goes? I thought it was, the harder they cum the harder they pass out.”

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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