Lusting for Infidelity

Lusting for Infidelity

[Continued from “A Little Side-Hustle“]

Luckily for me, Lo came to my rescue.  Just as Imogen was leaning in, her eyes locked with mine and her lips lusting for infidelity, her cleavage consciously hoisted to my attention, Lo suddenly appeared between us and said, “I could use your help now.”

Taken aback by the interruption, Imogen recoiled and looked bewildered at Lo who was crouching in front of the two of us.

“We’re moving the party outside,” said Lo, “Could you please help me with taking out some blankets and the desserts?”

Robert had a fireplace outside, the center of an alcove where he had set up an exterior living room with lounge chairs and couches.  Robert was getting the fire lit as Lo and Imogen carried the sweets outside along with warm coffee and strong drinks.

I was helping and at one point, as Lo and I were passing each other, her eyes stopped me in my tracks.  She looked wicked, wilily, and wanton.  What could that look mean?  I had no idea, but my guilty conscience led me to believe I was in deep trouble with her already.

When we were all outside, sitting around the fire, chatting, I deliberately tried to make conversation with anyone but Imogen.  But, pretty soon my small-talk options were reduced to one, for soon after dessert, the Aussie guests thanked their hosts – Robert and Lola – and departed.  All except Imogen.  What to do about Imogen?

Lo and Robert were lying down under a heavy blanket on one of the couches as Imogen and I were next to each other in two chairs.  I had one eye on Lo and one on Imogen, carefully treading and dreading my next move.  I could see Lo whisper something to Robert.  Then Robert asked me to help him clean up, saying, “Lo has done quite enough, the least we could do is chip in on the easy part.”  I welcomed his invitation and then he and I went inside to collect the dishes, glasses, serving trays, etc.  We were in the kitchen making some forced chit-chat while the ladies were outside.

The next thing I knew, the two of them came in and said they were going to bed in the master bedroom, leaving the two of us out in the cold.

The Dinner Party

[Continued from, “Feed it to Me.”]

“Daddy,” asked Lo, “if it’s ok with you, when the guests arrive, I’d like to pretend for the night that I’m Robert’s girlfriend.”

I raised my eyebrows as a confused bunch of emotions swirled in my mind.  Of course one of those emotions was arousal.  But there was also intrigue, surprise, befuddlement, and a twinge of hurt and even a sliver of jealousy.  Why wouldn’t she be ok with introducing me as her partner?  Why the rouse?  All of these thoughts flooded my mind, but then, at the flash of her pearly whites and her sexy red tongue gliding over them seductively, I could see that the real reason for the roleplay was because it excited her.

She liked the thought of taunting me, making me jealous, leaving me in the cold – the third-wheel as she got to be the center of attention.  So, what was I to do?  I capitulated and she gave me a devoted little peck on the cheek as a reward.

She practically danced back to Robert to give him the good news and I saw his face light up.  I imagine he has felt a bit awkward as a middle-aged single guy in a mostly coupled world.  And that awkwardness couldn’t have been diminished at all by coming to our house at all hours of the night for a booty call with Lola.  So, her little charade for the evening’s entertainment must have boosted his confidence.

“You know,” I said to Lo at one point before the guests arrived, “there’s a job for what you do.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, clearly delighted by her acting role.

“It’s called ‘girlfriend rental,’ or something like that.  I saw an article about it a while ago.  Men who don’t have girlfriends can hire a woman to be their date for a company function or even for Thanksgiving!”

“Hmmmmm, interesting,” she pondered, “a little side-hustle.”

Feed it to Me

Faye Danielles Getting Off to Lo’s Pics

 

“I’m having a dinner party on Friday,” said Robert to Lo as he was about to depart from one of his rendezvous romps with Lo in our bedroom.  She was standing naked in the hallway and I was opposite her, fully dressed, holding a tumbler of whiskey.  Robert was between us, but facing Lo.  “I was hoping you both would come,” he continued as he turned to me.

Lo walked up to him, a sparkle in her eye, and grabbed his arm.  “That sounds like fun,” she said, without even consulting me or my calendar.  “Who’ll be there?”

“It’s a group of colleagues from Australia.  They’re here for a conference and my department nominated me to welcome them.”

“Australia!” Lo exclaimed.  “I love going down under.”

“You’ve never been there,” I said, without thought to her double-entendre.

“I can’t wait,” she said without regard for my remark.  “What time is the party?”

“I’ve invited people for seven,” he said, and before he could say any more Lo interrupted.

“We’ll come over at five!  I love party planning!”

“But. . .” stammered Robert.  “I was just inviting you to. . .”

Lo grabbed his arm and said, “A bachelor like you needs help throwing a party.  Trust me.  It takes a woman’s touch.”  She leaned in closer to him and kissed him, her naked body pressed against his clothes as her left hand reached down and stroked his cock over his pants.  “We’ll see you at five.”

Robert turned, nodded to me, and left in a rush, slightly embarrassed perhaps.

Friday Lo left work early and spent time at home getting all dolled up.  By the time I walked through the door, she was wearing her black pumps, her short black skirt, and a low cut, tight fitting blouse.  Her red lipstick stood out against all the black.

“Hi Daddio!” she said, “I thought you’d never get home.  Are you ready to go?”

“I guess,” I said.

“Oh no,” she replied, looking me over.  “You can’t go like that.  Here, let me dress you.”

She led me to the bedroom where she promptly picked out exactly what she wanted me to wear.

“No, not that.  I can’t stand that shirt,” I said.

“It looks great on you.”

“It’s too constricting.”

“We can’t all wear sweats all the time you know.”

“Just anything but that.”

“Fine,” she said, picking out an equally disliked shirt.  I made no argument because I could see her determination.

“You just like me because I’m like you’re little plaything that you can dress up, take out, and show off,” I said.

“I could say the same about you, but I dress myself up, take myself out, and show myself off.”

“Touché.”

We left and Lo was very anxious and eager in the car.  She kept rubbing my crotch as I drove and talking about the party.  At some point I turned to her and said, “You know, Lo, it’s not planned to be a gangbang?”

“Who says?” she pouted.

We arrive just before five.  Robert had four grocery bags full of food on the kitchen table.  His plan included baking fish, a pasta side-dish, and a pie, as well as lots and lots of appetizers.  Lo dove in, but before getting to work, she said, “I don’t want to get my outfit dirty while prepping.”  She stripped down naked, but for her heels, and put on a cooking apron.  Where it tied in the back revealed her sexy sweet ass.  She was the picture of domestic bliss.

Lo was fast, efficient, and knew exactly what she wanted.  Both Robert and I fumbled to keep up with her.  But eventually we had everything laid out nicely, ready to receive Robert’s international cadre.

Surveying the open-plan living room and dining room, Lo seemed well pleased with her accomplishment, but then she said, “I just realized, I’m starving.”  Between the kitchen and the dining room there was a tall half-wall that had a number of appetizer dishes laid out on it.  Lo bent over and leaned on the wall, looking at the appetizers.  As she did, her right hand moved down, behind her cooking apron and to her ass where Robert, who stood behind her could see.  She added, “And I’m horny.  Robert, are you up to fuck me?” she asked as she slapped her ass loudly to get his attention, as if he wasn’t already staring at her cunt.

Without a word, as if her ass slap was a special language between them, he unbuckled his belt and pulled out his cock.  As he approached her from behind, she looked up at me and said, “Daddy, feed me.”

I was standing in the kitchen and saw her open her mouth.  I picked up one of the small hors-d’oeuvre’s and raised it to her lips.  She bit her lip as Robert entered her, but then she opened wide and took the whole thing.

“Feed me,” she commanded again as Robert was going at her from behind.

I selected a different delight for her.

Robert grabbed onto her waist.  I continued to feed her and I said, “Lo, you want me to make you plump?”

“Yes Daddy.  I want to be phat for you.  I want to be soft and doughy.”

I continued to feed her and Robert continued to fuck her.

“Lo,” I said as I watched her tum and tits jiggle beneath her as Robert thrusted from behind, “I love your fat, your flab, your rolls, your chub, your pudge, your every delightful round, juicy, plump, perfect curve.”

She came.  Then she said to me with a breathy voice, “Get me that.”

At first I didn’t know what “that” was, but she pointed.  It was a bottle of extra virgin olive oil.  I went to pass it to her, but she just held out her hand and said, “Pour.”  I put a little in the palm of her hand.  She reached back and applied it to her special spot.

“Robert,” she said, “You may have my ass now.”

Lo knew very well how, as permissive as I am, the granting of that one reserved pleasure makes me jealous.  I should be the one to get the benefit of her ass.  But I let her have her way.  He entered her slowly as she guided him with her slippery hand.  She moaned.  He said, “Lo, you’re so tight.”

“Feed me!” she commanded me again.  I obeyed.  By this point the cooking apron’s knot had come untied and was drooping beneath her, only held up by the collar around her neck.  Her tits were flopping forward and back as Robert thrust with strong movements deep in her ass.  I saw her hands grab onto the marble of the countertop as she braced for a powerful orgasm.  Robert began to moan loudly as he was on the cusp of cumming in her ass and Lo squeezed her knees together and held on tightly to the marble.  She squirted all over Robert’s legs and the floor as he pulled out.  Then Lo either decided or instinctively did something to get my ire up (and something else up).  She turned round rapidly and got on her knees to take Robert’s cock in her mouth and let him explode there.  She was still squirting on the floor in spurts and, when Robert finally pulled out of her hungry mouth, she collapsed in her own lady juices on the hardwood floor.  Her legs were like jelly now.  She squirted again as she said, “Holy fucking shit!” with both hands between her legs in a futile attempt to stem the flood.

Lola

Robert ran to the bathroom and got a few towels.  He and I both helped Lo up and onto the couch, careful to place another towel under her before setting her down.

Robert dutifully cleaned up the mess on the floor and I gently kissed Lo’s forehead until she had regained some of her strength.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Robert cheerfully.

I removed Lo’s wet shoes and got a few paper towels to dry them off and clean them up.

Soon enough everything was neat and tidy again.  Lo went to the bathroom to change back into her party outfit and spruce up a bit, leaving Robert and me alone.

“You know, you have an amazing woman,” he said.  “Not only is she a fucking crazy nympho, but she can cook and host a party.”

“She’s pretty smart, too,” I added.

“That goes without saying,” he replied.

When Lo returned to the room, she looked ravishing.  Even if I hadn’t witnessed it myself, her glow said, “I just got fucked beyond consciousness.”  Too bad she had already been ravished by Robert and the guests were due soon, meaning I would be hard up the rest of the evening.

While she and Robert were in the living room and I in the kitchen, she said something to him I couldn’t hear.  Then she came to me and was very demure.

“Daddy?” she opened.

“Yes,” I said without a hint of emotion, which gave away that I was very emotional.

“Are you mad?”

“No, Lo,” I said, perhaps lying, though I really didn’t know my own feelings.

“Kiss me,” she said.

I hesitated, but she came close and kissed me, open mouth, with lots of tongue.

When she was done, I said, “Well, wasn’t that just the coup de grâce?”

She replied, “You mean crudités?”

“I don’t know, was taking his cock in your mouth right from your ass merely an appetizer, or was it the final blow?”

“Well,” she said with a wicked smile, “I hope not final!”

She kissed me again and grabbed my package as she did saying, “Admit you liked it, Daddy?”

I said nothing, but my silence gave me away.  I couldn’t both feign anger and be aroused at the same time, and the two contradictory feelings in me were wreaking havoc on my tortured soul.

Then she revealed to me the plan she and Robert had concocted together.  Actually, that’s not fair.  I’m sure that it was all Lo’s idea.

“Daddy,” she began, gently grabbing my arm.

“Yes?”

“If it’s ok with you, when the guests arrive, I’d like to pretend for the night that I’m Robert’s girlfriend.”

Compersion


Richard Prince – Girlfriend

            My good friend, Dr. Robert Smith, thought I was unaware of the time Lo sucked his cock, but there he was wrong.  Lo may cheat, but she doesn’t lie.  In fact, she brags.  Furthermore, I find her regaling me with tales of her infidelity arousing.  And Lo found Robert’s erectile dysfunction not only endearing, but a personal challenge. 

            The next time we saw him, at a fundraiser reception in an art museum, Lo affixed herself to him.  Arm-in-arm they strolled the corridors, pausing in dimly lit corners.  It was a nighttime event and the university spared no expense and was eager to show off its faculty to the wealthy alumni and other donors.  Because of the book I published long ago on art, I was one of the featured speakers.  After a brief hello exchanged with Robert, I was left to review my notes and consult with the university president about the order of the program.  However, every once in a while, I’d catch a glimpse of Lo leading Robert about, taking delight in the whispers and scandal that she was causing among our petty and gossipy colleagues.  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t irk me a little bit.  It would have been a totally different story if I could have been with them, observing, commenting, and teased by Lola’s cuckolding up close. 

            As it was, they disappeared out of my sight.  I only heard later, while horizontal with Lo in the darkness of our bedroom, impaling her with my rock-hard rod, between her gasps and groans, what happened. 

            “I walked with him as he politely escorted me through the various galleries: Impressionists, Expressionists, Cubists, and so on.  At each one he attempted to explain to me what I already knew, but I flattered him with my oos and ahs and reallys? – as if he were telling me something new.”

            “You’re bad,” I said.  “I bet you do that with me too.”

            “No, Daddy, never.”

            Her lies are transparent.

            She continued, “I knew the museum very well, of course, and I eventually led him to the contemporary art gallery.  I asked him if he liked contemporary art and he admitted he didn’t really understand it.”

            This was a rather intellectual conversation for pillow talk.  But I was willing to follow her lead. 

            She said in her sultry, seduction voice:

            When we got to the contemporary, I brought him to see Richard Prince and his ‘Girlfriend’ series.  He looked very confused and asked, ‘How can this possibly be art?’

Richard Prince, “Girlfriend” closeup

            I asked, ‘Don’t you find it beautiful?  The artist was so in love with his girlfriend that he chose to photograph her nude and put her up in an art gallery for all to see.’

            ‘That’s exploitation,’ he said.

            ‘Not if she likes it,’ I said.

            ‘A good feminist like you? –  How could you like it?’

            ‘How could I like being photographed naked and put on display for all to see?’ I asked to clarify his meaning.

            ‘I mean, how could you think that she likes it or that a woman likes it or. . .’ he stammered uncomfortably, ‘how could you like this,’ he said, indicating the large photograph.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘HH does the same for me.’

            ‘What are you talking about?’

            ‘He likes to photograph me nude and then share it with the world.’

            ‘What?!’ he asked, shocked. 

I looked down at his crotch to see if he was getting hard.  I think he was.

            ‘It’s called candaulism.  It’s a kink.  I’m surprised you don’t know of it – an educated man like you,’ I said, gripping his bicep.  ‘It comes from an ancient Greek story about Candaules, the king of Lydia, who was so proud of his beautiful wife, he arranged to allow his minister, Gyges, to see her naked.’

            ‘Is that so?’ he said, as if he were only academically interested.

            ‘Yes.  It turned out that the queen, Nyssia, was aware of the spying eyes and, according to legend, in order to teach her husband a lesson, summoned her husband to come to the bed and pleasure her.  Of course she knew that the figure in the shadows was not her husband, but, unable to escape, Gyges obeyed the command of the queen and, in the dim light, approached the bed.  All the while Candaules was secretly watching with a curious mixture of arousal and jealously.  Gyges entered the bed and then entered the queen.  She said all sorts of salacious things as they made love in order to drive the point of her lesson home, and that she did, wounding the suffering king with her cries of passion.  Finally, at the climactic moment, the king could hold back no longer and he made himself known to both Nyssia and Gyges.  Drawing his royal sword, the king made to slay the dutiful minister, but Gyges narrowly avoided the steel blade and, removing it from the king’s hands, impaled the king with his own sword.  A tragic tale, don’t you think?’

            ‘Yes, yes indeed.  And it should serve as a cautionary tale for HH.’

            ‘Oh, but that is all ancient history,’ I said, waving my hand.  ‘What HH and I do together is very fun.  Its proper term is ‘compersion.’  That is, the delight of seeing one you love pleasured by another.  Would you like to see?’ I asked, pulling out my phone. 

            ‘Perhaps later,’ he said just as we approached the Koons’ sculpture.  ‘Dear Lord!’ he exclaimed as he saw the porcelain rendering of Woman in Tub, ‘What is this gallery?!  The Museum of Pornography?!’

Not Koons’ “Woman in a Tub,” but Lola in a Tub – the inspiration

            ‘Oh, don’t be so rigid, and hardened in your ideas of beauty,’ I said to him as I patted him on the chest.  ‘This is a classic.’

Jeff Koons “Lady in a Tub”

            ‘Oh yeah, right up there with the Mona Lisa,’ he said sarcastically. 

            Having my phone out, I snapped a shot.  ‘It should be,’ I said.  ‘You’re just priggish in your stodgy ole professor way.  Don’t be such a prude.’

Art Appreciation

            “I bet you weren’t a prude, were you,” I said to Lo as I continued my steady rhythmic forays in and out of her puss with my cock. 

            “I got 99 problems, but being a slut ain’t one.” she said. 

            They returned to the courtyard of the museum where I was to give my talk and I watched them sitting in the audience next to each other.  Lo’s legs were crossed and she was proudly displaying her beautifully shod foot.  At one point I saw them passing notes. 

            “What did you write to him?” I asked her.

            “I just wrote that I found it incredibly sexy to see you up there at the podium in the museum giving your talk.”

            “Really?”

            “True, Daddy,” she said.  “Do you like that?”

            “I do.”

            “And then I wrote that I was getting too wet to sit still.”

            “You didn’t!”

            “I did, Daddy.  That’s when I got up.”

            I remembered seeing her walk out on my speech.  The thought of the reason why was too much for the erogenous zone of my brain to handle and I unleashed a torrent of my pent-up desire inside her. 

            “Oh Daddy,” she said, surprised, “Stay in me while I tell you the next little part.”

            “OK,” was all I could mutter as I caught my breath.

I went to the Ladies Room and quickly took care of my craving.  When I returned, I sat next to Robert and asked if I missed anything.

He said, ‘No, but I feel like I missed something.’

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘What’s that?’

‘You,’ he said.

‘Me?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said.  ‘I missed you when you were gone and I’m supremely curious as to where you went and what you went to do.’

‘Come with me,’ I said, ‘and I’ll show you.’

We got up and I took him to the Medieval room of the museum, and there, in the dim light, surrounded by the muted reds and blues of the stained glass windows, I sat with him at a pew and took out my phone to show him all the photos of me from the blog, most of them of me masturbating. 

‘Robert,’ I said, ‘Here we are in a place of devotional art and you see all these beautiful images and the illuminated manuscripts over there?’

Lola Down – 21st Century Devotional

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Well, this,’ I said, indicating the images on my phone, ‘is HH’s devotional literature for me.  This is the illuminated manuscript of the 21st century.  Sex is no longer sinful.  Sex is spiritual. And I am a sex goddess.’

            “How extraordinarily pompous of you!” I said. 

“You would have said the same,” she retorted.

“You know me too well.  But I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Rub off on me, Daddy!  Rub off on me!” she pleaded as I was still firmly sheathed in her dripping cunt. 

“What happened next?” I asked as I leaned into her, pressing my now tumescent cock deeper.  She came and she came in massive orgasmic waves.  Clearly the memory of being the object of worship was pleasing to her. 

            “Then he took the phone and looked at it as he leaned toward me.  Our lips touched and he held me tightly in his arms as our tongues entwined.  I saw that, as he was kissing me, he was looking over my shoulder at the phone he held in his hand, staring at my sexy photos.  I reached down and grabbed his cock and it was rock hard.  His other hand reached down and felt my soft leg all the way up to my panties.  I wanted so much more, but the event had just let out and we had to look presentable.”

            “That’s when I found you with him walking over to me with that devilish grin on your face.”

            “I thought I looked angelic.”

            “A devil is a fallen angel,” I reminded her. 

Community Chest


What’s black and white and read all over?

            Recently our financial situation improved.  In no small part, Lo’s getting a full-time job has certainly contributed to our recovering fiscal health.  Now that we aren’t always scraping by to pay the rent or put food on the table, we actually have a little bit of money that we can set aside for a rainy day.  So, trying to be the responsible adults we pretend to be, we created a joint savings account.  I know, nothing says sexy like money in the bank.  Walking home from the bank, feeling a sense of accomplishment, I said to Lo, “We’ll call our account ‘The Community Chest.’”

            “Community Chest! – That’s what they called me in college!” she blurted out with a smile. 

I thought she was joking and said as much. 

“No,” she said, “that’s really what they called me.  There’s a long story there that I’ll tell you when we get home,” she said, grabbing hold of my hand and pressing her palm into mine.  

When we got home, I started to make myself a sandwich in the kitchen.  “So,” I said to her, “what’s the story from college?”

“What story?” Lo asked, playing dumb.  She loves to tease me and see that she has succeeded in piquing my interest. 

“You know what story,” I said, taking out the pickles, “the ‘Community Chest’ story.” 

She reached down and slid her hands from her waist up and under her bust, pushing upwards so that her cleavage bulged out of the neckline of her black tank top.  “You like, Daddy?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I want to hear the story.”

“Kiss them,” she instructed. 

I wagged my pickle at her (literally, no pun), and said, “Look here, Lo, if you’re trying to get me to hop in the sack with you and forego this lovely lunch I’ve just made, you’re in for some disappointment.” 

“I’ll be your lunch,” she said, standing up, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the kitchen floor.  She stood in her little black lace panties and her black boots. 

“Lola,” I said plaintively. 

“You know,” she paused and thought and then said, “I’m hungry too.”  She sauntered over to the fridge like a stripper on the stage.  She bent over, putting her ass in the air, standing on her tiptoes, and took a long look at the contents.  “I know what I want to eat,” she said, turning and walking toward me. 

What is there to eat?

“Lo.  Lo, I see that look in your eye.  Lo.”

It was no use.  She dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor.  She undid my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pulled them down, pulled out my hard cock and filled her mouth with meat. 

Snack

“Fuck my face,” she asked, looking up at me.  “Put your hands here,” she said, moving my hands to her head, “and push me, use me, fuck my mouth.”  I followed instructions.  “Harder, Daddy!” she said before I forced her back on my rod.  I had passed the point of no return and soon I was filling her up as she ravenously swallowed all I gave her.  It all happened in the matter of a few moments.  Then she got up, took my plate with the sandwich that I had so carefully prepared, and sat at the table, taking a big bite of it.  “Mmmmmm,” she said, “can I have a glass of seltzer to go with this?” 

“Lo!  That was my sandwich!” I rebuked as I pulled up my jeans. 

“I just wanted a bite.  Here you have it.”

“No, it’s yours,” I said dejectedly as I got her a drink.

“No, I feel bad.  Have half.”

“Fine.”  I sat across from her and we ate.  “Now, tell me the story.”

“Well,” she began, chewing, “you remember Ryan?”

“No, I don’t remember Ryan.”

“Ryan, the boy from college.”

“I’m going to need a little more to go on than that.  There were a lot of boys from college.”

“I told you about how one night after watching a movie in a friend’s dorm, he and I crashed there on the sectional couch.”

“I vaguely recall that.” 

“You just want me to tell you again.”

“Indulge me.”

“Well, we got to talking in hushed tones about sex.”

“And who initiated that topic?” I asked sarcastically.

“He was curious about my masturbatory practices,” she said, ignoring my question.  “I told him that I jill it once a day – at least.” 

“Oh yes, I remember that story now.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that.  Come to the bedroom and I’ll tell you the rest.”

I followed her sexy ass to the bedroom, got naked, and climbed into bed with her.

She got on her back and spread her legs.  Putting her hand down there, under the covers, she continued in breathy tones.  “I was masturbating under the covers, like I am now, as I talked to him in the dark.  I imagined that he was masturbating too.  I asked him about his girlfriend – someone I didn’t really know.  He said that he wasn’t too happy with her and I asked him why he didn’t break up with her.  He said, ‘because she gives really good blowjobs.’  I said, ‘Oh yeah?  Tell me how you like it.’  He told me about what she does, adding, ‘but I don’t think she really enjoys it.’”

Lo was pulling on her nipples now and squirming in the sheets. 

“I was sad to hear that.”

“I’m sure you were broken up about it,” I added full of sarcasm.

“I told him, ‘You should try getting a blowjob from someone who really enjoys it.’”

“Did you give him one?”

“I really really wanted to.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“But he was too shy.”

“Too shy?!”

“Or something.  Maybe he felt bad cause of the girlfriend.  Whatever the reason, I didn’t get to give it to him.  I just masturbated till I came.  After that night, there were many nights when I’d be in my dorm, chatting on Facebook, and he’d pop up and quickly turn the chat into something sexual.”

“So you had virtual sex with him?”

“You could say that.”

“But that still doesn’t explain how you got the nickname.”

“I’m getting there.  Give me a minute,” she said as she climaxed. 

            I waited for the waves of pleasure to subside. 

            She flipped over and lifted her ass up.  “Fuck me, Daddy, and I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”

            “Lo, you just blew me in the kitchen.”

            “Come on!  You can do better than that.  Can’t you get it up again?”

            Her belittling comments didn’t help the situation.

            “Get behind me and fuck me,” she demanded. 

            I got behind her, but I wasn’t hard.  She reached under the bed and passed me her glass dildo.  “Use this for now,” she instructed.  I slid the smooth, hefty sculpture into her slippery puss and she continued talking in spurts. 

            “He was a gamer and I think he told his nerdy friends about me.  Soon they were inviting me over their dorm rooms to play with them.  They each wanted me to jiggle their joysticks.”

            “I bet they did.”

            “They were all computer geeks and none of them had much sexual experience.  Anyhow, I didn’t actually do anything with them.”

            “Nothing?” I asked in disbelief.

            “Not much, but they made up stories about me.  They each claimed that they fucked me and so they began calling me the community chest, bragging that they each made a deposit.”

            “And you let them get away with that?”

            “Let them, I got off on it.”

            All this time I was almost mechanically pushing and pulling the glass object in and out of her puss as she was backing up and pulling forward on her hands and knees.  Now she said, “Harder, Daddy.  Pay attention to what you’re doing!”

            I tried to give more attention to her puss, but I had more questions for her.  “So,” I asked, “what did you do with them?”

            “Well,” she said, ramping up again, “like I said, they didn’t have much sexual experience and when I did try to blow one of them he. . .” she broke off and began her howling orgasm.

            I pulled the dildo out from her and she squirted, involuntarily, all over the sheets.  She thrust her hands between her legs, trying to stop the sprinkler, and she exclaimed, “Wow!  I feel like a fucking Slip-n-Slide!” 

            “You’re more fun,” I said.

            Collapsing in the bed when she was done, I brought a towel over and applied it between her legs and to the sheets.  I asked her again, “What happened?”

            “I squirted,” she said, annoyed at my ignorance.

“No, silly.  I mean, what happened with the geek?” 

“Oh, well, I was on my knees and I unzipped his pants, but when I opened up his fly, I saw that he had already cum.  I said to him, ‘Let me blow you.  You can take my tits out of my top and suck on them,’ but he was so embarrassed that he just zipped up and left.”

            “And the thought of that made you cum just now?” I asked.

            “No,” she said, “the thought of making all of his friends cum the night that I went over there to play video games and they watched me finger myself – that made me cum.”

            “Tell me that story.”

            “Another time, Daddio, when I actually have a shot of getting fucked by you,” she said, closing up shop for the day.

Sun-Kissed


Beach Reading

            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. 

Shower Time

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


The Red Dress

            “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


Lola by Jerger65Jerry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Writing?  Well, sometimes that is a good pastime. 

            But on this occasion I got up to some mischief. 

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

Mary Louise Parker
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. 

Frankie Shaw of SMILF – Lola’s Fantasy

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

            “But. . .” I tried to protest.

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

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

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

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

            “Hello,” she called from the door.

            “Hello,” I called back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Good date?” I inquired.

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

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

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

            “I always miss you when you’re gone.”

            “Did you wonder what I was doing?’

            “Of course.”

            “What did you do while I was out?”

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

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

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

            I guess I have a type.

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

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

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

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

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

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

            I laughed and followed her instruction.  She moaned. 

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

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

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

            “Oh yeah, what else?”

            “It’s the seat of my love for you.”

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

            “You said hard twice.” 

            “I want it twice as hard.”

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

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

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

            “Who’s the poet now?” I asked.

            “Shut up and keep pounding.”

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

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

            “I’m sure he stood at attention.”

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

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

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

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

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

            “Quite the exposé.”  

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

            “I’m listening.”

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

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

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

            “I asked him if he felt like eating.”

            “The ambiguity of your question is delicious.”

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

            “Very impulsive.”

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

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

            “My what?”

            “Never mind.”

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

            “Just for a nightcap.”

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

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

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

            “What was that?”

            “He wanted to watch.”

            “What?”

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

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

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

            “And, did it?”

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

            “There you go again,” I said.

            “What?”

            “You said hard twice.”

            “Well, he was hard.  I was easy.”

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

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

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

            “I’m full of ideas.”

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

Cliterotica

[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.]

Drawing of Lola by nglare

            “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

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.