Crisscross

It was Labor Day weekend.  The COVID numbers were down low.  Lo Down’s libido was up high.  She always wants summer to last forever, but this particular year she was fearing the worst about the fall and winter.  Predictions were dire.  After her relaxed restrictions with MILF Meri and the brothers, she was increasingly feeling like a cornered animal as the days grew shorter.

Though her camping trip with MILF Meri and her son was way more than she had anticipated and it resulted in a couple of weeks of added anxiety, it seemed that the whole matter had just blown over.  She and Meri had been in frequent communication together, trying to suss out implications of their rendezvous.  Nothing seemed to come of it, to their great relief.

At the same time, they had been conspiring to create a way for Lo to politely bow out of her irregularly scheduled, but frequent, meetings with the brothers and for Meri to have an extramarital affair that could fulfill her desire for young, virile, and large cock, without her having to look too close to home.  Occam’s Razor – simply swap Meri for Lo as the brothers’ playmate of choice and Lo for Meri at home.  But the best laid fans require groundwork.  Lo and Meri set their minds to pulling off the switcheroo.  The opening gambit was introductions.

A backyard barbeque, socially distant, with only a few select guests presented itself as the most appropriate, convenient, and expeditious option.  To our little affair, Lo invited the brothers and Meri.

You might recall that the last time the brothers had paid a booty-call to Lo, they brought over a little something.  After they left, I said to Lo, “That sure is a big package.”

“Whose, Gary’s or Roy’s?” Lo asked.

“Whichever one left it.”  I still don’t know who is who.  It’s not like we engage in any actual conversation when they come over to pay a visit.  That is, when they pay a visit to cum over Lo.

“Oh,” sung Lo, “that package.  I thought you were talking about something else.”

The brothers had left something on the living room coffee table before they abruptly left.

“You know Lo,” I said, thinking about the way they treat her, “those two had better not go into the stock market.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, picking up the big box and looking at it with curiosity.

“Because their only technique is classic pump and dump.”

“Funny,” she said with sarcasm.

“And you had better get out of the stock market.”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“You cause things to get over heated and that leads to dangerous inflation.”

“You are taxing the economic analogies,” she said.

“And you’re a quick wit.”

“And a faster fuck.”

“What’s in the box?” I asked, returning to the large item on the coffee table.

Lo picked it up, shook it, and then slowly slid off the top.

“Oh, look at that!  The brothers’ mother sent over a little thank you gift.”

“Is it a large box of condoms?”

“No, silly.  Besides, it would be a box of large condoms for those two!”

“Then what is it?”

Out of the box she pulled a hefty blue glass vase.

“Isn’t that sweet,” I said, “a wide receptacle in which to place long stems.”

“Enough of the single-entendre.  There’s a note.  ‘Dear Lola, Thank you so much for all your care and concern for my boys.  They have told me how sweet you are to them and, as their mother, I appreciate it.’  That was nice.”

“Little does she know how sweet you are to them!”

“Let’s hope so,” said Lo.

We hadn’t seen them since then.  Lo was busy with her MILF Meri.  And the brothers, well, who knows what those boys were up to.

But now Lo and Meri had it all perfectly choreographed.  The brothers were to join and finally meet MILF Meri who had been keen to bed them ever since Lo hatched this plan.  Matchmakers’ schemes rarely ever come off without a hitch and this was no exception.  As if still attached to his mother by the umbilical cord, MILF Meri’s youngest son, the one who tagged along for Lo and Meri’s camping weekend, also came, uninvited, to the BBQ.  As if that wasn’t bad enough to upend Lo and Meri’s machinations, Roy or Gary (I still can’t tell them apart, though they’re not identical twins or even twins at all!) brought his girlfriend, unannounced.  The young, innocent doe was everything Lo despises in a female competitor (and let’s face it, she views almost all females as competitors).  The girlfriend was a thin waif with long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and she was quite young – still in high school.  She wore a cutoff t-shirt, proudly displaying her midriff and navel piercing, almost displaying her underboob, and she wore tight blue denim shorts (fashionably ripped and faded of course), and flip-flops.

The moment she walked into the back yard with one of the brothers, I could see Lo’s soul fuming, even as Lo pleasantly said, “No, it’s not a problem at all that you came.  What’s your name?”  The word façade is from the word face and Lo’s face was a true façade – concealing her inner green-eyed slayer.

“Ell, short for Ella.  Everyone calls me Ell,” she said with a bubbly, vapid smile.

“And you’re whose girlfriend?” I asked, impolitely, reinforcing the interchangeability of the siblings in my mind.

“Gary’s, of course,” she said, grabbing his arm.  I took note that Gary was wearing a blue shirt and Roy wore a black shirt.

“I see.  How long have you been dating?” I asked, offering them a drink.

“No alcohol,” called Lo over her shoulder as she eavesdropped on our conversation.  “She’s not old enough.”

I passed Ell a ginger ale.

“We started dating just before COVID.  It’s been so difficult,” she complained, “because his mother has been so strict about him and Roy seeing anyone.  We’ve only been able to meet in person once or twice since then and all without his mother’s knowledge.”

“Please don’t say anything about her being here today, HH,” requested Gary.  Those were, perhaps, the most words he had ever spoken to me, though he had been banging Lola all through COVID, along side his brother.

“Oh, I can keep a secret.  Rest assured,” I replied, well aware that his trysts with Lo were a secret to innocent, young Ell as well as his ever-watchful and protective mother.

“Thanks,” said Ell, flirtatiously with me.  It was transparently obvious that she was trying to use her sex-appeal to get me on her side.  “And you’re Lola’s father?” was her follow-up question.

Before I could answer, either affirmatively or negatively, she added in her bubbly attempt at charm, “I can see the resemblance.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” I said.  Luckily, Lola was out of earshot and neither Roy nor Gary let on otherwise.  I think they were dumbstruck, metaphorically scratching their heads at Ell’s inappropriate and incorrect question and my hesitance to disabuse her of the notion.  I winked at the boys, including them in my little ruse.  If they were going to implicitly include me in their deception of Ell, then they owed me an old man’s little joke.

MILF Meri approached and introduced herself and her son, as if he needed her to do everything for him.  He too was still in high school.

“You’ll excuse me,” I said, “I have to get the food ready.  I’m sure you all have lots in common.”  I knew very well that the one thing they all had in common was that they all had fucked Lo, with the exception of Ell, who was in the dark about it all.

MILF Meri was wearing a long, flowy orange skirt with a sexy slit that originated at her waist.  She wore a tight tank-top with a bra that accentuated her cleavage.  I wondered if her son knew that she was attending this party specifically to seduce the brothers.

“Looks like you have some rearranging to do,” I said when I met Lo in the kitchen.

“What do you mean?”

“MILF Meri has her horny son hanging on her and Gary brought a third-wheel who’s not you.”

“I’m never the third wheel,” she protested.  “If anything, I’m the hub at the center.”

“You mean the hole that fits the axle?”

“Whatever.  I’m a well-oiled machine.”

“With lots of horsepower.”

She laughed and said, “Do you think you can distract Shell?”

“Shell?” I asked.  “Her name is Ell.”

“Whatever,” said Lo dismissively, “she’s a shell of a person.”

“Just because she’s young, blonde, stick-skinny, and flirting with me doesn’t mean. . .”

“Flirting with you?!”

“Yes.  Is that so surprising?  You should know better than anyone that I am irresistibly attractive to younger women.”

“Get out of here before I turn you into a gelding!” she said, raising the knife she was using to cut the tomatoes.

I quickly left with a laugh and returned to our company in the backyard.  Soon after, Lo emerged with a plate of appetizers.

“Help yourselves.  HH will fire up the grill and take your orders,” she said cheerfully.

I fulfilled my hosting role, as instructed, and Lo disappeared back inside.  Little did I know at the time that Gary had followed her, leaving his girlfriend to talk to me while I put the meat over the flame.

“I wish you had told me you were bringing Ell,” said Lo to Gary, reproachfully.

“I’m sorry Lo, but she insisted.  I couldn’t say no.”

“You couldn’t?  It’s not your house.  You could have just said that it’s an invitation-only party and she wasn’t invited.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Gary, meekly.

“What is it, then?”

“Well, I was hoping she’d meet you.”

“Me?  Why?”

“Well,” he began without confidence, “she’s just not like you.”

“Few women are.  Few men are, for that matter.”

“I mean, she’s so inexperienced.  In bed, that is.  She doesn’t do the things you do.”

“Of course not,” said Lo matter-of-factly, “she’s a skinny chick.”

“What does that mean?” asked Gary.

“Come with me,” she said, grabbing his belt buckle and leading him out of the kitchen, down the hall, to the bathroom.  She shut and locked the door.  She got naked.  She sat on the toilet and unbuckled Gary’s belt, unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock and took it in her mouth.  He was very hard.  She peed and looked up at him, saying, “Guys use me.  I’ll do what a skinny chick won’t.  Would Ell do this?”

Gary reached down and pulled Lo’s head closer to him, causing her to envelop his meat with her mouth until it was in the back of her throat.  While he was enjoying Lola’s oral pleasures, he glanced out the window into the backyard where he could see his girlfriend chatting with me.

Lo pulled her head back.

“Uh uh,” she cautioned.  “You need to stay eager for your girlfriend.”  She wiped, flushed, got up, bent over the sink until her bare rear was pressing up against Gary’s cock.

As she washed her hands, he attempted to penetrate her.  “Can I have you, really quickly?”

“Na-ah,” she said, denying him.

“Just two minutes,” he pleaded.

“I’ll give you one minute.  In my ass.”

Lo reached in the medicine cabinet, took out a tube of lube and circled it around and then in her special spot.  Gary slid right in.  He was desperately trying to cum in under sixty seconds.  Lo was bent over the sink taking it and keeping track of the time.  She had no intention of letting him cum.  She needed him hard for MILF Meri.

At the sixty-second mark, Lo pulled forward and got on her knees, taking Gary in her mouth and looking up at him with a smile.

She could have easily coaxed him to cum in her mouth, but she released him and stood up, saying to him, “You see, boys use me when a skinny chick just won’t do.”  She kissed him, open-mouthed, for a long time while her hand held his hard cock in her palm.  “Maybe I should get a t-shirt that says that,” she mused, “Use me when a skinny girl just won’t do.”

She got dressed and led him out of the bathroom.  Luckily for both of them, the coast was clear.

Back in the kitchen, Lo continued with the food prep as if nothing had happened, but Gary was stunned by Lo’s revelation about the difference between thick and thin.  He was thinking it over as Lo washed some cucumbers.

“You mean,” he began to formulate a question.

“Pass me the pepper,” said Lo, with no time to spare for looking deep in his eyes and explaining the finer facts of life to him.

He passed the pepper unconsciously.  His mind was elsewhere.  “All the stuff you do. . . in bed. . . that. . .”  He didn’t even know how to phrase it.

“Look,” said Lo, “I’m not saying every skinny chick is a missionary-two-minute-no orgasm-might-as-well-fuck-a-slice-of-warm-pie chick.  I’m just saying that if you want to have what you have with me, you should be looking at a woman more like Meri.  Fish where the fish are, you know?”

“Meri?” he said with shock.  “That kid’s mom out there?”

“Yep.”

“But she’s married.  A mom.  A –”

“Amazing in bed!” Lo said, interrupting his slack-jawed confusion.

“What?”

“She’s a fucking animal in bed.  I should know.”

“You and Meri. . . ?”

“That surprises you?”

“Um, well, ur. . . she’s married,” he protested again.  “And a mom.”

“You have to stop seeing only labels.  She’s a woman of flesh-and-blood.  She has needs, wants, desires, drives.  I’m with HH.  That doesn’t stop me.  Or you.  Or your brother.  Or Meri.  Or her son.”

“Her son?!”

“Never mind I said that,” said Lo, happy to have planted the seed of jealousy.  “You should see her tits,” continued Lo.  “Here, will you carry this out to HH?” she asked, handing him a plate of hotdogs.  “Tell him I’m done with them.”

“You didn’t. . . ?”

“No, I’m just kidding,” said Lo.  “Or am I?  Not to worry, I have lots of fresh, long, stiff cucumbers.”

Gary went outside with the dogs and, no sooner had he left than Meri walked into the kitchen.

“What the actual fuck?!” asked Meri dramatically.

“I don’t know,” said Lo, preparing the steak, “what?”

“You didn’t tell me his girlfriend would be here.”

“I assure you, I didn’t know.  But really, remember the story of the kettle and the stove?”

“What?”

“You come in here accusing me of inviting Gary’s girlfriend and you show up with your son.  He couldn’t stay home and make himself a pb&j?”

“I had no intention of. . .”

“After what happened last time, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Lo, really, I. . .”

Lola wasn’t in any mood to hear yet another excuse for why Mamma’s Boy was tagging along with MILF Meri to the party Lola planned especially for Meri to hook up with the brothers.

“You’re making my job a lot more difficult, you know.”

“What did Gary have to say to you?”

“Gary?”

“Yeah.  He was just in here with you, wasn’t he?”

“He wants me to turn his inexperienced, prudish, girlfriend into a slutty sex goddess like me.”

“Ha!  Good luck!”

“I redirected his attention to you.”

“That’s my good little pimp,” said Meri as she grabbed Lo around the waste to give her a kiss.

Just then, her son barged into the kitchen.

“Ma,” he whined, not realizing what he was interrupting.

“What?” asked Meri, turning away from Lo.

“Oh, come on, Mom!  Give it a rest.  Can’t you be around her for more than a minute without trying to get in her pants?”

“I imagine your intentions for coming with me were lily-white!”

He turned around, walked out, and slammed the door behind him.

During all of this, I was talking with Ell.  Since Lo had invited all of her paramours here, I figured I had license to make her just a tad jealous while also teasing the unfortunate girl.

She and I had struck up a pleasant conversation, but she eventually asked to use the bathroom.  I told her where it was and watched as she disappeared inside just as Lo was returning to the party with the salad bowl.

Lo loves to play hostess to large crowds.  One of the most painful sacrifices she had to give up for COVID has been throwing parties.  Well, that is the second most painful sacrifice for her.  The first, of course, was no longer being the community cockbox.  But the brothers had helped mollify her.  She delights in feeding people and seeing them enjoy in her food and drink.  I think that on some deeper psychological level that primal pleasure is connected with the sexual satisfaction she seeks from providing for others to feast on her carnal sweets.  It is as if feeding people is how Lo vicariously fucks them.

Soon after, Ell returned and, acting glad to be in my company, picked up the conversation where she had left off.

“Where do you live?” she inquired of me.

“Oh, I live here, with Lola.”

“Is this your apartment?” she asked, a little surprised.

“I share it with Lo,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Just you two?”

“Yes.  Why?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to snoop or pry, but I couldn’t help seeing all those photos of you two inside.”

“We make a great couple, don’t you think?”

I could see her effervescence flattening as she continued learning about us.

“Does she have a boyfriend?” she asked, clearly disturbed by what she had seen.

“Many,” I replied, truthfully.  “And a few girlfriends too.”

Now I could see the wheels turning.  She was wondering if I was misunderstanding her questions.  Maybe I was so old that I wasn’t clear what she was trying to get at, she thought.

Just then, Lo came over to me and slid her arm around my waist.  “What are you two talking about?” she asked, giving me a kiss on the lips to emphasize to Ell Lo’s complete ownership of me.

Ell seemed to blanch.

“We were just talking about you and all your boyfriends and girlfriends,” I said.

Lo let out a little laugh and said, in a show of confidential solidarity with Ell, “He’s very good to me.  He lets me do whatever I want.”

“I see,” was all Ell could muster.

“The bedroom has had a lot less traffic since the pandemic, but every once in a while she still asks that I sleep on the couch to allow her and her lover some privacy.”

“And a bed,” said Lo, confused by Ell’s outrage.  “Only I’m allowed to play.  He’s not.”

“That’s fine by me,” I said, with a wink to Ell, “with a beauty like Lola, it would be a sin to keep her all to myself.  But she always asks permission first.”

“He’s so paternalistic,” commented Lo, “But that’s ok by me, because of my daddy issues.”  Lo let out a little laugh as if it were a joke with a hint of seriousness, but poor Ell was horrified.

“I, I, I think I have to get going.”

“So soon?” asked Lo.  “We haven’t even gotten started yet.”

Ell walked over to Gary.

“Strange girl,” remarked Lo.

“Yes, but cute,” I said to get Lo’s goat.

She elbowed me playfully in the stomach.

“Keep it in your pants, old man,” Lo said, “she’s in high school.”

“Like you have the moral high-ground in that regard.”

“Whatever.  If you want her, you can have her.  I’m much better and badder.”

“Oh Darling, you know I’m only teasing you.”

“Such a big tease,” Lo said sarcastically.

“Speaking of tease, I guess I should also let you in on something.”

“What’s that?”

“Ell thinks I’m your father, not your lover.”

“What?!”

“Or, rather, I guess she now thinks that I’m your father and your lover.”

“Oh boy!  That’s why she had to leave so quickly.”

“Yep.”

Roy, Gary, and Ell were sitting together on one side of the small backyard patio, while Meri and her son were on the other side.  Lo and I were by the grill.  We knew something had to be done to get these groups to mingle more.

Just then, to my great surprise, Lily made an appearance in our backyard, sans Jim.  I had no idea she was invited.  Was she?

In any case, this new addition served a convenient purpose.  Lily’s stag arrival allowed her to mingle within and among the three distinct groups of people: the brothers and Ell; MILF Meri and her son; Lo and me.  However, it also made Lo and Meri’s design a little more complicated, for the brothers were captivated by Lily’s beauty and, I surmise, her wedding band.  She was off limits and that is always an attractive feature in a person.

I found out later that Lo had told Lily about our Labor Day garden party and that Lily was extremely curious to meet all the people Lo had been pleasing during the pandemic.  But she was not sure if she would make it since Jim and Lily had another engagement at the same time.  It so turned out that Jim was enjoying himself there more than Lily and so Lily politely excused herself to inspect Lo’s summer conquests.

“Maybe we should introduce an ice-breaker party game?” I suggested to Lo.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We could play find the hidden dildo?”

“That wouldn’t work.  Too many dildos lying around the house.”

“Even better – everyone can be a winner!”

“How about Pin the Butt-plug on the Mommy?”

“MILF Meri?”

“The only mommy here.”

“Sounds like it would take too much skill.”

“Any other ideas?” she asked.

“Each of the women has to hold a beer bottle in her cleavage and pour a sip into a guy’s mouth.”

“You’ve got some perverted ideas,” she said.  “And I like them all.  But that wouldn’t work.  Ell over there is no more than an A-cup.”

We compromised and chose “Heads-Up!” – the charades game you can play using a smart phone.

Lo chose teams: MILF Meri and Gary, Roy and Lola, Lily and me, Ell and Meri’s son.

We played for a little while and as the adult beverages began to work their magic on the adults at the garden party, Meri became gradually more comfortable with Gary and attempted to engage his brother Roy.  Lily and I played nice, but she knew I was off limits and was more interested in teasing out the brothers, creating conflict and friction with Meri.  Finally, Ell and Meri’s son couldn’t have been more awkward together.

We only played a couple of rounds and it became quite clear that Meri and Gary were the hands-down winners of this game.  When it was over, the purpose of the game proved a success – the various parties were mingling and getting to know each other better.

To my consternation, after Lo went inside to prepare dessert, Meri’s son approached me.  He hadn’t said a word to me the entire time.  Not even a hello.  But now he walked up to me and looked starstruck.

“Did you really go to Japan?” he asked.  No introduction.  No small-talk.

“Yes,” I said, politely.

“And studied in a Zen a monastery?”

“That’s right.”

I’m not one to toot my own horn, but he approached me like I was a famous explorer or a celebrity.

“I want to do that someday.”

“I’m sure you will,” I said, mindlessly.

“And Lo really fucked all those guys there?”

He had blurted it out as if it was common knowledge.

“Where’d you hear that?” I asked.

The blog!  And the books!” he said enthusiastically.

“Shhhhh,” I said, pulling him closer to me in confidence.  “Look, it’s all well and good that you know about the blog and have dotingly read every story, but not everyone here knows about it,” I said, looking around at our guests.  “And some of the people here are in the blog.”  Namely: Roy, Gary, and Lily.  Now we can add Ell to the list of characters, I suppose.

“Oh,” he said, comprehending the need for secrecy.  “Well, I guess I just wanted to say, uh, that, I really admire you.”

“Thanks kid.  Good to hear,” I said, feeling like Hemingway.

At the same time Lily had begun to make conversation with Ell.  As I cooked, I eavesdropped.  I don’t know how they got on the topic, but Lily was telling Ell about her time in New York City.

“When I lived there,” she was saying, “I was in a thruple.”

“What’s that?” asked the naïve Ell.

“Well, in my case, it was an older married couple.  They took me into their place.  I had my own bedroom and when either the husband or the wife needed more sexually, they’d page me.  I’d go into the bedroom and service whichever one had need of me.  Sometimes both, but not often.”

Ell’s eyes widened.  Her jaw dropped.  Lily was bragging, but trying to play it as if it were nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary.

“Some nights she wasn’t in the mood, so he’d call me in to help him.  Other nights he might have fucked her, but came too early, so I’d use my mouth on her until she was satisfied.”

“What about you?” asked Ell, engrossed by this alternate lifestyle as if hearing for the first time about an alternate universe.

“Me?  Oh, I got a lot of pleasure from it.  I’m like Lo in that way.  I enjoy pleasing others.”

“Like fucking them?” asked Ell.

“Yeah.  But, with me, I’m chaste.”

Now Ell’s mind looked as if it was about to explode.

“What?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’m what’s known as A.O.L. – anal only lifestyle.”

“So he’d fuck you in the. . .”

“Well, not always,” said Lily nonchalantly.  “Sometimes he would bind my hands behind my back and my ankles together, have me sit kajira, and fuck my mouth.”

“Kajira?  What is that?  A Japanese term?”

“No, Gorean.”

“What?”

I could see that Ell was in for an education in the subtleties of fantasy fiction fan sexual positions, so I made my way over to Meri on the pretense of offering to refill her glass.  She was busy trying to entice both Gary and Roy into her den of maternal delights by speaking to them about sports, specifically hockey, as she feigned not knowing how much cleavage she was showing.  I saw the brothers struggling to keep eye contact with her while they desired to look down the V-neck opening of her tank top.  Simultaneously, the slit of her skirt was sliding further and further up her left leg, revealing just about everything, including her pantiless crotch.

I indicated that I would like to pour her some more wine.  She didn’t even look up at me.  She just waved her hand toward her glass, as if I were a waiter and she was indicating a refill.  She had the boys and she knew it.  She wasn’t going to let anything interrupt the seduction.

Everything seemed to be going fine and now that the awkward introductions were over and we were well past the getting-to-know-you period, time sped by.  Before any of us knew it, the sun had begun to go down and we had seamlessly transitioned from an afternoon lunch to thoughts about dinner.  No one wanted the party to end, especially since, due to lock-down and COVID, we had not spent time with this many other people in a long time.

Lo and I, reading the crowd, but lacking the provisions, discussed what to do.  We finally turned it over to our guests, letting them know that they were welcome to stay, but that we didn’t have enough food for dinner.

Sexy Sushi

After a bit of discussion, Meri suggested Sushi.  She said she’d pay for it and the Grubhub delivery.  Everyone gave Meri their orders and she took care of it.  After she was done with the extensive list that must have cost her over $200.00, she said, half jokingly, “We should make Nyotaimori of it.”

“What?” asked some of our guests.

“Nyotaimori,” she repeated, explaining, “You know, body sushi.”

Most people still looked confused.

“It’s an ancient Japanese tradition of serving sushi on a naked body – a woman’s body, traditionally, but it could be a man’s, I guess.”

“Ewww, that’s gross,” blurted out Ell.

“I think it’s sensual,” replied Lily.  “For a lot of people, the closest they come to embodied existence is eating, and even then they do it mindlessly.  This tradition really drives home the experience of living in the flesh.”

“Maybe it drives it too close to home,” added one of the brothers.

“Do we want to try this?” asked Meri, persistent and clearly eager to do it.

“Who would be the, er, serving table?” asked Ell nervously.

“The host should, of course,” responded Meri, quick to volunteer Lola.

“Oh, I don’t think you want to see me naked,” I chimed in, playfully.

“I wasn’t talking about. . .” began Meri, before she realized I was just joking.

“I’m game,” said Lo.  “Luckily I showered and shaved just before you all got here.  Hun,” she said to me, “will you light the firepit?”

“Sure.”

It was a warm evening, but Lo loves the ambiance of a firepit.  Lighting it wasn’t a problem since it was a propane fueled fire.  Living in the city, we couldn’t have a wood-fueled firepit.  We’re lucky to have a postage stamp sized backyard.

Lo went inside, stripped, put on a bathrobe, grabbed a couple of rarely used blankets, and returned to our company outside.  She spread the blankets on the long-neglected picnic bench and the brothers and I lifted it and moved it to the center of the yard.

Not much later, Meri’s phone alerted her that the food would be delivered momentarily.  She told Lo, who went around front to greet the delivery boy.  He had stopped on the street in front of the apartment building and got out with the large bag of food.  He was about to go in the front door when he saw Lo saunter up the side of the building in her white, plush, terrycloth robe.  He looked startled.

“I’ll take that,” said Lo.

“Meri?” he asked, making sure he was delivering the food to the right person.

“Yes,” replied Lo.

He passed her the bag.  Lo reached out for it, allowing her robe to open slightly in the front, revealing her nakedness.

He cast his eyes away as he scurried off like a frightened deer.  Lo chuckled.  She returned to the crowd in the back.

“Food’s on!” she called, adding, “On me!”

Lo slowly removed her robe and passed it to Roy as she climbed naked up and onto the flat surface of the picnic table covered by the blankets.

While Lo was getting the food, Meri had gone inside to grab a head of lettuce from the fridge.

“The proper way to do this,” she said, authoritatively, “is to place a leaf of lettuce under each piece of food in order to prevent contact between food and skin.”

“Very sanitary,” whispered Ell under her breath sarcastically.

“It actually is quite sanitary.  I had the pleasure of being exposed to this time-honored tradition when I was in Japan many years ago.”

At this point, Lo was the one being ‘exposed’ to the tradition.  She was lying, baring all, on the table and looked, if I do say so, good enough to eat.

Meri took the lead and said to Lo, “You’re going to have to lie perfectly still.  Very shallow breathing.  No sudden moves.  Can you do that?”

“I’ll try,” replied Lo, a little nervous.  It was a lot of sushi that rested literally on her shoulders, and other body parts.

Meri placed the lettuce leaves down on Lo’s body, strategically – breasts, navel, the two corners of her Delta of Venus.  She placed a few more on her legs, and in between the other cardinal points.  Then she began to arrange the sushi pieces delicately on their little lettuce plates.  She arranged the soy sauce, ginger, and wasabi on the table, next to Lo.

“Who’s first?” she asked, handing out chopsticks.

Before anyone could answer, Meri turned to me and said, “I think, as co-host of this evening, you should do the honors.”

I took the chopsticks and found a succulent, deep red slice of tuna sashimi resting right over the topmost part of Lo’s slit.

Picking it up with dexterity, I dipped in the soy sauce and ate it all.  It was fabulous!

Others followed suit.  Ell notably refrained with a disgusted look on her face.  She tried to prevent Gary from indulging, but was completely ineffective.

Perhaps the most notable aspect of this cross-cultural culinary immersion was its lack of eroticism.  At least that was my experience of it.  Lo was so focused on her breath and remaining still that it was more like a meditation session than a sensual, sexual foray in exhibitionism.  The guests were careful to grasp their food in their chopsticks without incident to such an extent that they hardly noticed the body upon which they feasted.  It was only, perhaps, in between bites that one could take in the whole scene and even then, there was so little action on the part of Lo that her seductive charm seemed dormant.

The one aspect of it that did particularly strike a chord for me was that this form of hospitality yoked Lo’s two great loves: stylishly satisfying her guests’ appetite for food and elegantly gratifying her lovers’ desire for her body.

When we were all done feasting, and Meri had even popped a few sushi rolls in Lo’s mouth so that the conduit of the cuisine wouldn’t go hungry herself, Lo asked, “Anyone for dessert?” as she spread her legs and scooched down to the edge of the table.

Gary had his girlfriend, Ell, to keep him in line.

Meri thought it might appear unseemly to partake of Lo’s parted pussy lips in front of her son.

Roy seemed vicariously inhibited by his brother’s girlfriend’s harsh judgment.

Lily, though open-minded, preferred thick cock in her ass to giving oral pleasure.

That left Meri’s son.  Maybe he was intent on making his mother jealous after all of her overt interest in the two boys where were just slightly older than he.  Maybe he was tired of being the background wallpaper to his mother’s grab for attention.  Who knows, but after approaching the table, bashfully, he stepped up and indulged exactly the way Lo had taught him on their camping excursion earlier that summer.

Lo’s hands held on to the side of the table as she let him lap her up like a thirsty dog sloppily licking every last bit from his water bowl.

Meri stood at the opposite end of the table and fondled Lo’s breasts, pulling and tugging at her nipples.  Eventually she alighted on a creative way to inflict more intense pain.  She picked up a couple of chopsticks and turned them into a miniature vice in which she trapped Lo’s nipples and twisted them in the primitive torture implements.

Predictably, Lo came and came a lot all over Meri’s son’s eager and enthusiastic mouth, to such a point that his shirt was soaked from the collar to the navel.  Her climactic ejaculation was a revelation to Ell who, if she had ever had heard rumor of such a thing, certainly had never witnessed it.

When the waterworks were complete, Lo slowly got up from the table and found her way to a chair by the fire.  She sat, her bare legs crossed, her head drooping back, as she breathed heavily, catching her breath, causing her exposed chest to heave up and down.  Her nipples were erect and red with the results of Meri’s sadism and from them all the way up to her face her complexion was flush with the rush of blood following her orgasm.

Nipple Twist

Everyone sat staring at the Sushi Strumpet until I interrupted their gawking disbelief with an offer to refresh their glasses or grab them a drink.

Lo asked for a tall glass of ice water.

The night continued on with polite conversation as Lo sat among our circle around the fire, nude among the other clothed guests.  Occasionally she got up to get something or use the bathroom and her entrances and exits were dramatic by design.

Eventually our guests began to file out, beginning with the brothers and Ell, who had to be home early, so she said.

Then, seeing the night had reached its apex, Lily bade us all a good night.

Lastly, Meri and her son said they were off to their sleepy suburban home.

This left just Lo and me to clean up and, let’s be real, Lo wasn’t going to clean up anything.  She went into bed and said she’d welcome me there when I was done.

I found her with her legs spread wide saying, “Oh, Daddy.  Have me.”

There’s a deep, hidden connection between feasting and fucking, I thought.  It is not coincidental that the early Christian Eucharist was an orgiastic experience.  Feasting on the flesh, sacrificing the body to the spirit, elevating the soul through the nourishment of the corporeal house in which it lives, communing with the Holy Spirit through a physical act – all of these could be viewed as metaphors and substitutes for the sacred act of carnal connection and the interrelatedness of all life through the hollowed act of ingestion.  Man/Woman, Life/Death, Self/Other, Sacred/Profane, High/Low, Animal/Divine – all these pairs become intertwined and indistinct in and through the dual acts of copulation and ingestion.  Two uniting into one.  One becoming two.  The interplay of all things in the divine dance of a match: a fading cinder; a spritely spark.  They come together and form a fire that radiates light and warmth, around which the ever-widening concentric circles of the world emanate out  toward a horizon whose circumference is nowhere and center everywhere.

The union of all things

Very Thankful

mysexlifewithlola.com

It was Thanksgiving weekend and we had been invited to a family-friend’s house in Miami for the occasion.  Our host’s apartment was in one of the tall high-rise buildings downtown and was not nearly large enough to accommodate all the guests overnight, so Lo and I got a hotel room close by.  Being from up north, it took a lot of getting used to Thanksgiving without the brilliant foliage hues of warm oranges, deep reds, and brilliant yellows.  Rather, seeing palm trees, blue skies, and beaches made this weekend feel like any other vacation weekend.

We had arrived on Wednesday, the most highly traveled day of the year in America, but despite my travel anxiety, the trip went off without a hitch.  We got settled in our hotel early that day and then made our way down to Miami Beach where Lo slipped into her skimpy little bikini and we quickly made the transition from trudging through ankle high snow to gliding through soft golden sand and refreshing surf.  My staying out of Lo’s crosshairs was next to impossible on this beach because no matter where I turned there was another scantily clad sexy woman walking, lying in the sun, swimming, playing volleyball, or applying sunscreen.  Each time I looked up, I was in trouble with her.

Finally I said to her, “What do you want me to do, put blinders on?”

To my great surprise she smiled and said, “I’m just kidding.  Look all you want.  Go on the BP.”  BP is our code word for “Butt Patrol.”

“What?  Wait.  Say that again.  I think I have an inner ear infection.  I thought you said, ‘Look all you want.’”

“That’s what I said.  You’re not hearing things.  There are too many beautiful women on this beach for me to be jealous of all of them.”

Well, this was certainly a change.  At first it was a welcome change, but within mere moments of it setting in I became very disconcerted.  Does this mean she doesn’t love me anymore?  Has she lost interest?  Is she less invested in me, my feelings, my love?  A mini-crisis of faith descended over me and suddenly I lost all interest in any of the scenery.

We walked a little further in silence and then she added, “Also, I just feel fat.”

“Fat?!” I cried out.  “Lo, you’re beautiful!  Perfect!  A goddess!  A zaftig, sexy, siren.”

“Zaftig means fat,” she said flatly.

“No.  Zaftig means pleasantly plump and juicy.  You know that.  That’s exactly what you are, you little squirt.”

Zaftig Lola

“Wouldn’t you prefer her or her or her?” she asked, pointing at different stick-skinny-blondes on the beach.

“If I did, I would be with her, her, or her.”

“Then why don’t you go with them?”

“Now you’re just fishing for more compliments.”

“No,” she said, “I’m serious.”

“Because I love you.  I want you.  I find you attractive.  And so do a lot of other people, I might add.”

Her hand reached out to hold mine and we walked a little further, but the sun was beating down and it was soon far too hot to be out there in the direct light of noon.

We headed toward Ocean Boulevard and I thought we were looking for a cool – literally cool – place to have lunch, but Lo, of course, had other ideas.  We had passed a strip club on the way to the beach and apparently she took mental note.  She directed us right there and we ducked in to get out of the heat and into the steamy striptease.  But, little did we know, Miami isn’t like New York or D.C. where they have performances all day, all night.  No one was dancing.  It was just another dive bar.

The bearded bartender asked what we’d have and Lo said, “I came here to have a show.  Where are the dancers?”

“Oh, they don’t come on until eight or nine,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Fine, then make me a margarita and make it strong,” she demanded, visibly disappointed.

“I’ll have a piña colada” I said.

Lo was sitting with her elbows on the bar, her biceps boosting up her boobs in her bikini top.  The bartender obviously enjoyed the view.  He made conversation with her, almost ignoring me.

“Sorry the ladies aren’t on now,” he said.  “But I know a few who’d like to put on a show for you,” he added.  “And I’d like to see that.”

He asked us where we were from and so forth.  Lo was flirting with him and rubbing my leg with her foot, but he couldn’t see that.  Did she want him?

We each had our drink, cooled down and then, when we asked for the tab, the bartender said it was on the house.  Lo smiled flirtatiously and I put down a healthy cash tip.

“What now?” I asked Lo, to see where her whims would take her.

“Let’s just fuck,” she said.

We went straight back to the hotel and Lo stripped out of what little she was wearing.

She looked pleasantly plump and juicy and I told her so.

“Show me how bad you want me,” she said.

I pulled down my bathing suit and revealed my incredibly rigid cock pointing right at her.

“Mmmmmm, good,” she replied, lying back on the bed.

I climbed on the bed and lifted her legs in the air.  She had crossed her legs doing a little stripper move and I entered her as I held her up by her ankles.  She moaned.  Then I took her beautiful, soft feet, one in each hand, and gently rubbed her soles on my cheeks as I looked down at her, fondling her nipples.  She held my head between her feet and I grabbed her hips.

“I want to fuck your round rump,” I said.  I slid my hands up the side of her body to her tum and grabbed a handful of her flesh.  I held her by her doughy roll and I loved it.  “You know,” I said, “I find this part of you even more sexy than your tits.”

“Now you’re just making me feel self-conscious and fat,” she said.

“I love it,” I said to her.

“I don’t,” she said to me.

“Turn over,” I instructed.  She complied.

I began going at her from behind as I smacked her lovely ass cheeks with my hands.  She backed into me, ramming my pole deep into her.  I could feel her intensity growing.  And then she said, “Do you like my ass, Daddy?”

“Love it.”

“Do you like my fat ass?”

She was trying to get me to cum.

“Yes.”

“You like your fat little girl?” she asked seductively.

“I love my fat little girl.”

“Don’t you want to cum all over my fat, fat ass?” she asked and hearing her say that was enough.  I gave her one last thrust before pulling out, and grabbing my cock and ejaculating all over her ass and back, shooting occasionally all the way up to her shoulder blades.  Simultaneously, she began to squirt down on the bed.

“Pleasantly plump.  Very juicy,” I said.

I removed the covers from the bed.  We didn’t need them anyway.  It was warm enough without them.  After I cleaned us both up, we snuggled – big spoon/little spoon.  My hands were around her and I was holding her breast with one hand and her tum with the other.  But then I felt a warm liquid all over my lap.

“Did you just squirt again?” I asked her.

“Yes, Daddy,” she said simply before falling to sleep.

Sometime later, we both woke from our nap.  What had been a blindingly hot day, was now slowly slipping into a cool dusk.  I got up and took a shower.  Lo was still in bed.  Then I sat at the little desk of the hotel room and took out my computer.  I was preparing to post on the blog.  Lo was watching TV.

“What are you watching?” I asked.

“The New Girl.”

“The Nude Girl?”

“No, The New Girl.”

“Oh, cause I was watching The Nude Girl,” I said.

“Who?” she asked, jealously.

“You,” I said, showing her the pics of her on my computer screen.

“Oh, well, you don’t have to look only at the pics, you can have the real thing,” she said, spreading her legs and rubbing her puss.

“Lo,” I said, “Are you getting horny watching TV again?”

“When don’t I?  Besides, Zooey Deschanel is such a MPDG.”

Zooey Deschanel

“A what?”

“You know, a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.”

“No.  I don’t know.  Explain.”

“A Manic Pixie Dream Girl is. . .” she was looking for the right words, “is Zooey Deschanel’s character on this show.”

Lola

“And what’s that?” I asked, not being familiar with the show, this Zooey woman, or the expression.

There are these three guys on the show.  They’re sad, they’re lonely, they’re single.  They’re roommates.  And then comes along Jess who moves in with them.  She’s bubbly.  She’s cheerful.  She’s good-girl-American-girl-cute.  And she’s just what they need.  And they all want to fuck her, secretly or not so secretly.  That’s what an MPDG is.”

“Oh, so in addition to a MILF you also yearn to be an MPDG.”

“Oh no,” said Lo, “I’m both.”

“Is that possible?”

“Not for most women, but I can pull it off.”

“Yeah, you pull it off alright – you pull off your sweater and your bra and suddenly you’re every man’s dream.”

“Watch it!” she warned.  “I still remember how you called me fat.”

Me?” I cried.  “You’re the one who. . .”

“Don’t even,” she said.  “You’ll piss me off and then you’ll have to butter me up.”

“OK,” I said, “If you lie naked, I’ll get a stick of butter.”

She threw a pillow at me and said, “As fun as that sounds – treating me like a butterball turkey – I want to go out on the town tonight.”

“Yeah, tonight and every other night.”

“It’s not every night that we are in Miami,” she said, getting out of bed.

“Where do you want to go?  Another strip club?”

“No no,” she said.  “I’ve got a few places in mind.”

“A few places?!”  It was a good thing I got that long nap in, because usually I am not able to keep up with Lo’s nights out.

She slipped into her bathing suit and, because it was still too early for the club scene, we went up to the hotel’s rooftop pool.  We got a couple of lounge chairs by the side that overlooks Ocean Blvd. and the beach, but we sat facing west to see the sunset.

An older couple sat next to us and the woman removed everything except her bikini bottom.  She looked at me as her obviously surgically enhanced breasts ballooned almost into my face.  “Is she trying to seduce me?” I thought and I saw Lo look sidelong at us both.

Lo and I got in the pool and I swam up to her and whispered, “Lo, that totally was not my fault.  She sat down next to me.  She was trying to impress me.  I didn’t know what to do, so I just smiled politely.”

“It’s ok,” laughed Lo at all my excuses.  “I know.  Besides, she’s got nothing on me,” she said, removing her own bikini top and putting it on the side of the pool.  She and I swam in the pool together as if we were one monstrous fish with four appendages.  I loved being next to her bare torso in the pool with others looking on from the patio.  Then she got out like a goddess and sat in the lounge chair and I went to the bar to order us drinks.  I watched admiringly as others were staring at my little nymph.

I brought her drinks and we enjoyed an indescribably colorful sunset.  I felt as if everything was perfect.

As the pool area emptied out, we went back to the hotel room.  After Lo showered and slipped on a sexy dress and slid into some very sexy heels, we were out and about at one of the city’s dance clubs.  I am no dancer, but I love watching Lo dance.  I ordered my drink at the bar and watched as she danced and flirted with the city’s diverse beauties.  I really think that Miami is perhaps the best looking city in the US.

As I sat and soaked in Lo’s form under the twirling lights, I thought of the Don Henley song, “All She Wants To Do Is Dance.”  Yep, that’s Lo.  All she wants to do is dance. . . and fuck.  And this night it looked like she was doing both out on the dancefloor.

Around two in the morning, she finally came back to me, all sweaty, and said she was ready to go because even though she was having a great time, her feet were killing her.

On our way to the hotel in the back of the Lyft, she pulled out her phone and was looking at something that made her excited.  She already had her shoes off, but as she looked at her phone, she put her bare foot on my lap and said, “Massage it, Daddy.”  She lifted up her other foot and asked me to do the same to that one while her dress revealed her commando crotch.  She used her feet to flirt with my manhood as the driver made small talk, but I could tell that she was way too intoxicated to know what she was doing.  When we got to the hotel, as we were crossing the quiet lobby, she said to me, “Come to the bedroom and fuck me.”

“Lola, I’ll come to the bedroom, but I’m going to sleep.  It’s a quarter-to-three in the morning.”

“No it’s not.  It’s sex-o’clock.  Time for me to cum in the bedroom.”

“In that case, I’m not going to the bedroom.  I’ll stay right here on the couch in the lobby.”

“I can cum on the couch just as easily as in the bedroom.  Even easier, because here I have an audience.”

Realizing the futility of my rebuke, I made sure she got to the hotel room without falling.

I went right to sleep, but at some ungodly hour I woke to find Lo on her phone travelling down dark electronic alleyways at night.

When I awoke in the morning, a flashback of the evening crossed my mind.  Lo was sound asleep, naked, next to me.  I grabbed her phone and scrolled through her history.  Just as I suspected, a number of photos and messages from her Tumblr fans.  Naughty, dirty, taboo, fetish, and wildly NSFW messages and photos.  Good thing we were on vacation and so were most other people for Thanksgiving.  I’ve noticed that around holidays, Lo’s fans really step up.  Loneliness sets in, I suppose, and they reach out.  Lo, ever gracious, always compliments their dick pics and entertains their most depraved fantasies about her.  Every once in a while she draws the line with them, if they disrespect her or disrespect women in general.  Though she is into BDSM, she still wants to be worshipped as a goddess.  It’s a fine line, but make no mistake, there is a line.

Lo’s Call for Tributes

I read a number of conversations that made me laugh.  For instance, in response to one fan who asked, “What’s up?” Lo responded, “If you’re looking at my photos, then your cock.”

To another guy who sent a pic of himself jacking off to her photos, she said, “Looks like you’ve got things well in hand.”

Satisfied that her nocturnal communications were nothing but the innocent fapping fun of a nymphomaniac, I put her phone down and made myself a coffee.

Lo woke, groggy.  She went to the bathroom and was in there for a while.

I had sat down to begin writing.  I had my warm cup of coffee to my left and my notes to my right and I was gazing off to the middle distance contemplating the first line of the story when I heard, “Darling, can you come here?  I need your opinion on something.”

I muttered under my breath, “She’s going to ask me how she looks in something and I will tell her and she’ll disregard my opinion and do whatever the hell she wants to do anyway.  I don’t know why she claims she needs my opinion.”  But I called back to her, “Yes dear,” as I got up from my comfortable writing perch and went to the bathroom.

In the bathroom I found her in a skimpy bikini.

“How do you like this top with these bottoms?” she asked.

“Nice.”

“Am I too fat?”

“Define what ‘too fat’ is.”

“Am I fat?”

“Honest answer?”

“Yes.  No.  Yes,” she said, confused.

“You’re just right.”

“But do I look fat in this?”

“Darling, you look perfect in it.”

“Is the bottom too cheeky?” she asked as she turned around and jutted her butt out.

“No.  This would be too cheeky,” I said as I pulled the sides of the bikini bottom together to reveal most of her ass, followed by a spank.

“Mmmm, I like that,” she said.

“Me too.  You’re welcome,” I responded as I began to return to my writing.

“Watit!” she demanded, “I’m not done,” she said as she removed her bikini top and grabbed another one.  She put on the second top.  “What do you think of this?”

“I think it’s too big.”

“Too big?”

“Yeah, it covers too much of your tits.”

“Well I like it,” she said.

“I don’t know why you say you want my opinion on things when you never act on it.”

“Fifty something years and you don’t know by now that when a woman asks your opinion on how she looks, what she wants to hear is a compliment?”

“No,” I said.  “It only took fifteen seconds for you to tell me that.  Now I know.  Thank you.  And, by the way, you look great in that.”

“I look even better out of it.  Take me to the right beach and you’ll see just how good I can look out of it.”

It was an enticing prospect, but today was Thanksgiving and we had to be at our family-friend’s house by two for the big meal.  That left little time for an excursion to a nude beach.

We were both hungry and we ordered breakfast to our room.

Room service arrived and Lo answered in her skimpy bikini bottoms, no top.  She even bent over to rummage through her bag for a tip to give him.  My guess was that her little show was all the tip he needed.

After he left, Lo began to pout.  She had ordered a bagel with cream cheese.  “The bagel’s not toasty enough and the cream cheese doesn’t spread.”

“You know what I like about you?  You tell it like it is.  There’s no beating around the bush with you.”

“I don’t have any bush to beat,” she said, pulling back her bikini bottom and showing her shaved triangle.

“That is true.”

“But you can beat my puss.”

I was only wearing my cut-off sweatpants-shorts and a T-shirt.  As Lo sat in her chair, fondling herself, I grew noticeably hard in my shorts.

“Why do you resist, Daddy?” she asked.  “I can see you want me.”

“I do, but. . .”  Before I could finish the sentence, she put her legs up in the air.  One on the desk and the other on the bed, and she really went at it.

“Jerk off for me,” she commanded.

“Do you want me to fuck you or do you want me to jerk off?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

I pulled at my cock, hoping that I’d be getting some of her puss.  She teased me by pulling her pussy lips, by pulling her bikini bottoms into a micro-bikini with her pussy lips spilling over the thin thong.  “Should I go onto the beach like this, Daddy?” she asked.

That was too much for me.  I exploded in my shorts.

HH cums

“Nooooooo,” she called, seeing her hopes and dreams splattered all over my crotch.

“Sorry, Lo,” I said meekly.

“Damn it!” she said.  “First breakfast was a disappointment, now dessert.”

“You’ll just have to take matters into your own hands,” I said.

No sooner had I said it than she swung around in the chair and opened the laptop computer to look at her Tumblr.

“Were you fooling around with my Tumblr account?” she asked me.

“No,” I said as I was cleaning myself off.  “Why?”

There was no answer.

“Are you looking at all the messages from last night, er, earlier this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that was all you,” I said.  “Don’t you remember?”

“I do now,” she said.  I couldn’t tell if she was just trying to make like she hadn’t had that much to drink or if she was being honest.  In either case, she began laughing.  “I’m pretty funny,” she said as she masturbated to the photos she saw.

She got up and went on the bed where she shut her eyes and plunged her puss with her fist.

When she was good and done, I asked her what she was thinking about.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?  Really?  You just came like a howling wildebeest to the thought of nothing?”

“I’m very Zen.”

“Lo,” I said, unamused.

“Well. . .”

“Out with it.”

“I was thinking of the woman from the pool yesterday.”

“Mrs. Silicon?”

“Yeah.  But in my mind. . . .  No I shouldn’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“If I say it, you might get the wrong idea.  You might think that I want it and I definitely don’t want it.”

“Want what?”

“In my mind she was young, blonde, and natural.  She was coming onto you, making me jealous.  You took her down to our hotel room.  I followed and then the soundtrack started playing, ‘Girl Crush.’”

“What?”

“You know, the song ‘Girl Crush,’ by Little Big Town,” she said as she put the video on.

 

I gotta girl crush, hate to admit it but
I gotta heart rush, ain’t slowin’ down
I got it real bad, want everything she has
That smile and that midnight laugh she’s giving you now

I wanna taste her lips, yeah, ʼcause they taste like you
I wanna drown myself in a bottle of her perfume
I want her long blonde hair, I want her magic touch
Yeah, ʼcause maybe then you’d want me just as much
I gotta girl crush, I gotta girl crush

I don’t get no sleep, I don’t get no peace
Thinkin’ about her under your bed sheets
The way that she’s whisperin’, the way that she’s pullin’ you in
Lord knows I’ve tried, I can’t get her off my mind

 

“I see,” I said after hearing the song.  “We could make that happen.”

She threw a pillow at me.

After she got dressed, I asked her what it was she wanted to do in the few hours we had before we were expected for the Thanksgiving meal.

“I didn’t tell you?”

“No, no you didn’t.  What?”

“We’re going fishing!” she said all excited.

“We’re doing what?”

“Well, boating or fishing or skinny-dipping.  Whatever we want, but my friend has a boat and. . .”

“You’re friend?  Who the hell do you know down here in Miami?”

“Darling, I have friends all over the world.”

“Tumblr friends?”

“When you’ve got assets like these,” she said, showing off her butt, “everyone wants to be your friend.”

“Good grief!”

“Anyhow, this friend of mine, or ours. . .”

Ours?!  I don’t even know him!”

“Whatever.  That doesn’t matter.  He knows you very well by now.  He’s got a boat and he promised to take us out for a little trip today!”

Soon we were at the marina and, after a few wrong turns, we finally found the boat and Lo’s ‘friend.’  His name was Alan and he seemed nice enough.  He was tall and lanky, he had some scruff on his face like he hadn’t shaved in three days.  He was tan and looked like he spent his days in the Florida sun.  I’d guess he was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight.  He had a small motorboat and we got aboard and Lo stripped down to her sexy bikini while Alan steered and made small talk with me.  Turns out, I was right about how he spent his days.  He worked at the marina part-time and as a waiter the rest of the time.

Lo and I had a few beers and we had a great view of the city from off the coast.  The sun, the gentle rocking of the boat, and the beer made me drowsy and I almost nodded off.  But we stopped the boat and we all decided to strip down to our birthday suits and take a refreshing dip.  Lo, who used to be on the swim team in high school, made an elegant dive into the deep blue sea.  I followed and then Alan.  I might add here that Alan’s schlong was quite long and I could see Lo looking up from where she was treading water, lusting after him as he pealed out of his tight shorts.  When I was next to her, I said, “Lo, you sure are a good Catholic.”

“What?” she asked, perplexed.

“As Jesus said, ‘Be fishers of men, not of fish.’  Looks like you landed a real big one.”

“Oh Daddy.  Do you think I didn’t know before how big he is?”

“I should have known.”

Then Alan jumped in.  The water was refreshing and it was liberating to be so far out, swimming the way God made us.   Lo was swam right up next to Alan.  “I’m getting tired of treading water,” she said quite falsely.  “Will you hold me a while?”

Alan gladly wrapped his arms around her torso and allowed his left hand to rest on her breast.  I watched from a slight distance.  I could see Lo gently guide his right hand down to her puss.  He was clearly rubbing her clit and soon she was cumming.  She loves to cum in the ocean.

After she came, she turned around, wrapping her legs around Alan’s hips, and she held onto him like an aquatic marsupial.  They began to make out, but it was awkward because, try as he might, Alan couldn’t keep both of them afloat while simultaneously trying to have intercourse with Lo.

Soon we climbed up the boat’s ladder, Lo first, of course, followed right after by Alan, and I brought up the rear.  We were all sitting in the boat, catching our breath and enjoying the invigorating breeze and sunlight for a while.  Then Lo went to the front to tan naked.  Alan and I put on our shorts and Alan began to drive the boat back towards the marina.  We passed a few other boats that waived and blew their horns at the sight of Lo.

About halfway back, Lo got up, grabbed another beer, and then asked Alan if he needed anything.  The way she said it, I knew exactly what she meant.  Alan said, “No, I’m good.”

But Lo got down on her knees, beer in one hand, and took his cock in her other hand and began stroking it over his shorts.

She looked up at him and said, “You sure?”

He looked down at her and said, “Well. . .” and that was enough for Lo to pull out his cock and take the whole, long pole deep in the back of her throat.  She sucked on it and then periodically took a sip of her cold beer.  Apparently the contrast between warm and cool was very pleasant for Alan and soon his froth was mixing with the head of the beer in Lo’s mouth.  She seemed gratified and proud of her accomplishment.

Alan zipped up and Lo put her bikini back on just before we were within sight of the folks on the dock.

We parked the boat and Lo and I said our goodbyes, apologizing for having to leave so early, but we did have a Thanksgiving dinner to attend.

As we were walking away, Lo, holding my hand, asked me, “Daddy, why didn’t you fuck me on the boat?”

“I enjoyed the show,” I said.

“But didn’t you want me?” she asked.

“I did, but honestly, with the beer, the sun, and after the swimming, I was completely exhausted.”

She rolled her eyes and replied, “You put the ‘old’ in ‘cuckold.’”

We were on our way back to our hotel when, along the way, we found a cozy little bar called “The Village Pump.”

Lola stopped to look in for a moment.  “Isn’t that what they called you in high school?” I asked, making a Lola joke.

“I’m rubbing off on you,” she said sardonically, followed by, “Hmmm, that sounds like fun!”

She grabbed my hand to pull me inside.  “But Lo,” I protested, “we have to get ready for Thanksgiving!”

“This place is so cute and the back patio spills out right onto the beach,” she protested.  “Just one drink.  I just want to experience it.”

“Fine,” I conceded as we walked in, to Lo’s delight.

We popped in, each ordered a drink, and we found our way to the beachfront seating in the way back of the bar.  Lo looked lovely in her sun hat and her bare feet.  She teased and tempted me as we sat there, suggesting all sorts of fun frolics with her feet and licks with her lips.  We downed our drinks, paid the tab and then were off to get ready for the Thanksgiving meal.

Back at the hotel, we changed into our casual-formal attire.  In Miami everything is casual.  We had to change quickly because due to Lo’s epicurean exploits, we were running behind schedule.  We got to our friends’ apartment fashionably late, but people were still having cocktails and eating some light hors-d’oeuvres.  Lo took a flute of champagne and quenched her thirst with it and then she grabbed me by the hand to pull me aside.

“Follow me,” she said, as she took me to the master bathroom.

Before I even had time to ask her “What?” she was bent over the marble sink in front of the large mirror.  “Mount me,” she instructed.  She slipped out of her red dress and pulled her tits out of her red bra.  I looked at the two of us in the mirror and penetrated her as she wished.

“What’s this all about?” I asked in a whisper.

A Quick Fuck Before the Thanksgiving Meal

“Shut up and fuck me,” she said as she pulled out her phone.  She put it on the counter and turned it on.  Over her shoulder I could see that she had just got an influx of pics from fans jackin’ it to her divine image.  Apparently, they excited her.  As she was scrolling through her happy holidays messages, I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick shot of the action – a sexy selfie of us mid-coitus.  She came.  I didn’t.  I was a bit too distracted.  But then, just as I was pulling out of her tight, wet slit, the clenching of her cunt on my cock was the little added stimulation I needed to put me over the edge.  I came, unexpectedly, all over her ass like icing on a cake.

Hastily, I cleaned her up and then she pulled up her panties and pulled down her skirt.

We hadn’t yet had the Thanksgiving meal, but I knew what I was thankful for.

Lo smiled mischievously as we mingled with the guests.  She was happy.  I was happy.  And our merry-making in Miami was brought to a very satisfying conclusion.

Public Figure Exposé

Katie Hill

 

This blog is about love, sex, relationships, psychology, and sex.  Yeah, I said sex twice because, if the name of the blog is “mysexlifewithlola.com,” then an expectation is created that there will be a lot of sex.  So, there you have it.

This blog is decidedly not about politics.  In fact, many of you dear readers may have noticed that through all the topsy-turvy turbulent times in which we are living, this blog has delicately navigated a course far from politics.  There is a good reason for that.  If you are reading this, it’s because it is a fun escape from whatever else is going on in your life.  No need to bring all that baggage here as well.

But right now sex and politics have mingled in a way that make it appropriate for us to discuss.

You may have heard about Congresswoman Katie Hill recently.  If not, allow me to summarize her story.  She was, until last week, a Democratic representative from California.  She’s only 32 and she got elected after being the executive director of the non-profit People Assisting the Homeless (PATH).  Apparently, she also has a “kinky” side.  She came out as bisexual after high school and it is alleged that she and her now estranged husband were involved with another woman in a consensual relationship.

These facts became a problem for Hill when allegations swirled that she had an inappropriate relationship with a male staffer – a violation of House ethics rules that were put in place to prevent exploitation of power differentials in the wake of #MeToo.

But the thing that sunk Hill’s ship was the release of nude photos of her, allegedly by her estranged husband in an act of revenge porn.

It seems to me that in this day and age we need to begin taking seriously the fact that people can be more than one thing.  Katie Hill can be a successful, sincere, hard-working, do-gooder striving to help the homeless, represent her constituency, and bring equity and justice into the lives of many.  And she can be married to a man, have relationships with women, and not be limited by traditional notions of monogamy.  And she can be into taking nudie pics of herself and her lovers.  All of this can be true of the same person.  “Kink” does not mean bad or selfish or untrustworthy.  “Public Figure” does not necessarily mean missionary position for the rest of your life with the same partner of the opposite sex.  Aren’t we beyond that yet?

Further, though once upon a time it was the height of scandal for a woman to be exposed – think Phryne being exposed by her lawyer in ancient Athens, Lady Godiva,  A Night in Paris, or The Great Celebrity Photo Leak of 2014 – today it seems as if everyone and their mother is eager to have their racy photos on the internet and trending!  So what is the big deal?  Andy Warhol spoke of everyone having 15 minutes of fame in the future.  I think now that everyone will soon have their top 15 nude photos on the internet.

As optimistic as that may be, we also need to be realistic.  There are still many backward-thinking, bigoted, misogynist, mean-spirited, spiteful, and opportunistic people out there who are not above using a woman’s nude images against her.

Lo and I were pondering all of this when, just the other night, one of her female friends from the NFWITSFW part of the internet (that stands for “no fucking way is this safe for work”) told her that she wants to be “exposed.”

“What do you mean, ‘exposed’?” asked Lo.

“You know, like, I want the pics of me nude and pregnant to be the first image result when someone searches for that.”

Lo said that if I wrote a story about her friend and posted it, she probably would be.  Though Lo is a “sinfluencer,” I think she overestimates our power of “product placement.”

Our friend, Karla, or KB HotWife, as she likes to be known, said, “Use my real name.”

“What?!” asked Lo.

“Yeah,” said Karla.

“You’re sure to get all the attention you crave if we do that, but be careful what you wish for,” cautioned Lo.

Luckily for Karla, I’m not a speed writer.  The next day she told Lo she changed her mind.

Both Lo and I were relieved.  It’s one thing if she wants to use her own name, but we didn’t want to be the ones to expose her.  Who knows, she might want to run for public office some day!

[Below, enjoy some photos Karla has sent us for you to enjoy.]

Writing Down Lo


            What does it mean to be an “underground” author in the age of the internet?

            Lately I’ve been reading a lot of and about Charles Bukowski.  Largely ignored for most of his life, he submitted his rough, distinctly “low-brow” poetry to independent and small press journals.  Through these he gained an “underground” following that slowly grew by word of mouth until other independent and small press publishing houses printed his works in book form for that “underground” fan base.  Bukowski’s work caught the eye of other writers and musicians, mostly in the L.A. and San Francisco areas, until eventually he caught on nationally and even internationally. 

            But in today’s media world, what does it mean to be an “indie” author or to have an “underground” following? 

fan pic

            This indie author, whom you are now reading, dear valued patron, has a substantial following, or, shall I say, a much larger following than I ever imagined would sprout from my initial blog posts about Lola.  As I have explained in various interviews elsewhere, this compulsion, which borders on graphomania, came into being because, after a few months with Lo, I discovered that there was almost no literature out there about being in a relationship with a nymphomaniac.  Since no one else was writing about it, I figured I’d toss my hat in the ring and give a first-person account of what it’s like – the proverbial trials and tribulations as well as the orgasms and titillations.

            Before I knew it, I was suddenly gaining a following and garnering the praise and accolades of other fellow sex-bloggers.  Women were sending me fan mail and nudes of themselves, much to the consternation of Lo.  Men and women were writing to Lo and sending her all sorts of salacious selfies, much to her lurid enthusiasm. 

The Beautiful Faye Daniels getting off to Lola Down

            Our subscriptions and unique visits to our blog went up and soon we were being featured on sites like Bustle and Top Sex Blogger lists. 

            I compiled various stories into books and those sold swiftly.  And now, today, we have over 20,000 followers on our various media outlets. 

            However much those numbers might dwarf the reach and following of a Bukowski back in the day, with the potential of today’s technology, that seems far less impressive than it would have been when the only way to get your writing in front of a reader was through the mimeograph machine. 

            Are you, dear confessional confidant, part of an underground audience?  Does it even make sense to speak of such in today’s complex and multilevel media ecosystem?  Or is “underground” just a term that is used retrospectively to describe a core following of people that read a certain author before he or she hit the mainstream?  Is it something that can only be applied with hindsight? 

            I don’t know the answers to these questions and I suppose, on some level, it doesn’t matter since I write about what I love and I love what I write about – Lo.  As long as the love is good, I feel the writing will be good as well.  And though the letters and gifts from the readers are flattering and the money (what little there is) earned from the writing is appreciated, what matters most is that I really enjoy doing what I’m doing. 

Bimbos, Bubble-butts, and Blowjobs

Our day at the beach for a vacation fantasy cum true didn’t quite pan out the way Lola had envisioned it.  We didn’t make it to the nude beach, but we did find a lovely stretch of semi-private secluded sand where we could lay out and enjoy the sun and sea.  But, much to Lo’s consternation, soon after we had parked our payload of the day’s provisions and set up camp, a gaggle of girls moved in on our unofficial quadrant of beach and set up their site immediately adjacent to ours.  This wouldn’t have been unwelcome if it were a handful of hunky men that Lo could tease and tempt all day, but that was not the case.  It was five college age women in the skimpiest of thongs, showing off their bubble-butts for each other, and, I can only assume, since I was the only male on the strand, for my viewing pleasure.  This latter fact perturbed Lo to no end.

Not only did these women have the nerve to spread out (in every sense of the term) in our line of vision, but they spent a good deal of the time taking selfies, posing for each other’s pics, doing ridiculous stretches for the camera, and slapping each other’s butts.  The height of indiscretion came when, as Lo and I were walking past them to take a dip, one of them stopped me and asked if I would take a photo of their entire crew lined up by the water so that they could have a group photo.  I knew that acquiescing to this polite request would put me in Lo’s bad graces, but proper etiquette demanded that I oblige.  So I took a few snaps of the ladies and then ran to catch up with Lo who was ankle deep in the water.

“Having fun?” she asked in her sarcastic tone.

“Lo, I didn’t invite them to join us here.  This wasn’t my plan.  I didn’t ask to take their photo.  They approached me.”  All of this was true and she knew it, yet I sounded as guilty as if I were a five-year-old caught with my hand in the cookie jar trying to say, “It wasn’t me.”

Despite all the facts being on my side, that was no alibi in the eyes of the law; that is, in Lo’s very green eyes with which she judged me.  The true crime, as she saw it, had nothing to do with those facts, but with her perception, right or wrong, that I enjoyed the facts as they were.  For that, there was no excuse and no punishment harsh enough.

The water was a little cold, but that was nothing as compared to the cold shoulder Lo was showing me.  I didn’t know how I was going to get out of such a predicament.

“Look,” she said to me, “if you want me to wear a dental floss thong bikini, I will.  Just say the word.”

“Word.”

“I hate you,” she said, kicking the water and splashing me.

“You said to. . .”

It didn’t matter.  I realized that we were no longer in the realm of reason.  This was pure emotion and trying to explain anything was futile.

“Let’s go for a walk,” I suggested.  I took her hand, which she reluctantly allowed, and we strolled through the small waves.

We got about a quarter mile down the beach in silence and then I said, “Lo, you’re the only one for me.  You and you alone.”

“Then why do you look at those floozies?”

I could have explained that sitting on the beach, looking out at the horizon, only to have that vista invaded by almost bare bottomed, big breasted bimbos was not “looking” at them, but something much more passive.  However, again, that would be an appeal to reason, logic, and facts, none of which were going to aid me in this argument.

“I’m looking at you.  I’m with you.  I want you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Trick question.  Why usually evokes a causal explanation.  Not here.  Not now.

“I love you, Lo.  You’re the only woman I love.  No one else is you.  You are the only you I know and that’s the person I love.”  I was sincere.

Hearing those words, she leaned in for me to hug her.  I gave her what she wanted.  I held her tight.  It was a tender moment, but it also aroused me.  Feeling her flesh on mine, holding her body close to me as the water curled around our feet, I was eager to have her.  I could feel she was eager to have me too.  I pulled at the string of her bikini top.  I untied it.  It fell to the ground between us.  I slid her out of her bikini bottoms.  She willingly lifted her legs out of them.  I grabbed the top and the bottoms in my hand so they wouldn’t float away.

We were alone on the beach and I kissed her and held her.  My mouth slid down her neck to her breasts.  I dropped to my knees.  I kissed her soft belly.  I kissed my way down to her smooth, supple pussy as my arms wrapped around her and held her ass.  The waves washed up on my hips and torso.  I kissed her gentle kisses around her pale, white triangle.

She just kept saying, “Daddy, daddy, daddy.”

She then slid down onto her knees and motioned for me to stand.  The waves were washing up between her legs, splashing on her pink pussy lips.  She pulled down my bathing suit and pulled out my hard rod.  She kissed it and caressed it, licked it and devoured it with her open mouth.  In and out she bobbed it as one hand held it firm and the other rubbed her pussy.  She continued until I came on her, raining down white froth like the white foam of the sea that was between her legs.  On her face, lips, tongue, tits, tum, and legs it poured forth.  She loved it.

“Come here,” she said.  I crouched down next to her.  “Kiss me,” she commanded.

I leaned in and kissed her with an open mouth.  As our tongues twirled, she pulled my naked body close to hers, pulling us both down into the water.

Then she released me.  Her hands were between her legs and she was fondling herself.  She quickly diddled and fingered herself until she came, squirting into the churning sea.

The two of us took a quick swim in the ocean to wash off.  She held me close as we swam and she said, “I’m your slut, Daddio, and don’t you forget it.”

“Lo, you’re the only slut for me and don’t you forget it.”

When we walked back to the beach blanket and chair we had set up, the group of gals saw us walking hand-in-hand.  Had they seen what had transpired not long ago?  Who knows.  But they looked on Lo admiringly and with jealousy.  She was dismissive of their gaze.  I had my right hand down her bikini bottoms, holding her ass as we passed the gaggle of girls.  I could practically hear their judgments, “What an old perv.  What a little slut.  Why the hell is she with him?  He’s old enough to be her father.”  Never mind that they all were vying for my attention only a little while earlier.

The girls pulled out their Kindles and other devices and were reading quietly as I sat there reading my book, looking over at them every once-in-a-while.  Lo drifted off to sleep.  The girls had all gone down to the water for a dip.  Lo woke up and said she was famished and wanted to get lunch.  I was all for that.  We packed up our stuff and we were about to walk back to the car when I said, “Wait just a minute,” to Lo.  I put the chair and blankets I was carrying down and ran over to the girls’ abandoned camp.  I found one of the devices.  No password.  Great!

After a moment or two, I returned to Lo.

“What did you do?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’ll tell you later.”

At lunch, she said to me, “OK, it’s later.  What did you do?”

“You might be mad.”

“I’ll definitely be mad if you don’t tell me.”

“Well, in that case,” I said, enjoying the suspense.

“Out with it!”

“It wasn’t anything too bad.  I simply went on her iPad and directed it to a certain website.”

“Which website?” Lo asked, already knowing the answer.

“One that will teach them what love is.”

“Which one would that be?”

“One that will show them what true beauty is.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Just a good erotic read.”

“Let me guess: mysexlifewithlola.com.”

I put my index finger to the tip of my nose.

“You didn’t!”

“I most certainly did.  Are you upset?”

“Yes.”

“I knew you would be.”

“I’m upset because I wish we could have been there to see the look on their faces when they scroll through all that smut.”

“You wicked vixen!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re coming after us right now.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were cumming to us right now.”

“You’re probably right.”

 

 

My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.

Your weakness is me.”

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

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

“Stop it!  You know I hate that!”

“But I love it.  It’s so sexy.”

“I have to work on my beach body.”

“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”

“We both should exercise.”

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

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

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

“That’s not proof.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luckily, Lo was impressed.

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

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

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

“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.

“I want to know.”

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

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

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

“Where would you like to go?”

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

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

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

“Lo, you’re doing it again?”

“Doing what, Daddio?”

“Flashing in public.”

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

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

“You like, Daddio?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Why not, Daddy?”

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

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

“You should write adult fortune cookies.”

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

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

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

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

“But you want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like how your entire outfit matches.”

“I’m good like that.”

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

“Lo!” I scolded.

“She laughed.”

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

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

“Like a ruler,” I said.

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

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

“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.

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

“Rosebud.”

“What about it?”

“That was the last word he said.”

“And the name of his sled.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.

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

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

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

He simply said, “Whiskey.”

“Straight?” she asked.

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

Obviously she didn’t know his name.

“Ron,” he said.

“Hi, Ron,” I said.

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

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

Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo’s drink came.

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

“It’s wet.”

“Your drink?”

“That too.”

Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.

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

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

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

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

“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.

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

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

“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she said enigmatically.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can it charm the pants off of you?”

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

“Take your cock out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean I got us into?!”

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

“Not a problem.”

“Really?”

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

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

“Sort of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome?!  I saved you!”

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck Noir

It was one of those weeks when I was feeling low rather than feeling Lo.  A depression had settled in and, too depressed to do anything, I felt like trying to shake it was as futile as anything else I had tried to do in my life.  Dark thoughts.

Lo had been trying to seduce me all week.  “Fuck it out,” she’d say, “you’ll feel better after.”

“Lo,” I’d reply, “you know that depleting my Chi energy through ejaculation is a certain method for moving my mood from the ground floor into the basement.”

“Well, then just don’t cum.  I’ll cum enough for the both of us!”

Though I found her determination amusing, it did little more than evoke a wry smile from my lips.

As a direct result of my lack of amorous affection for her, Lo felt no desire to keep herself primed and ready for a good romp – with me or anyone – and she let her hair-down-there grow out.

Coming to bed one night, I saw her lying naked over the covers.  “Wow,” I remarked, unaware of the words escaping my mouth, “you’re looking very 1970’s!”

She immediately pulled the blanket up and over herself, saying, “I suddenly feel a cold draft.”

I can be cruel when in the throes of depression and so I responded with, “You shouldn’t be cold, you have a warm fleece.”

I climbed into bed and opened a book.  Beginning to read next to her, she turned to me and said, “With that facial hair you look like a movie villain.”

“You know, don’t you, that the villain of every story is the hero of his own story?”

“Yeah, well you’re the villain – even in your own story.”

“I can live with that.  You know that Milton’s great dilemma when writing Paradise Lost was that he had drawn the Devil in such a villainous way that he became the most compelling and interesting character.  God didn’t have a chance when the Devil was on stage.”

“Really?  Milton?  Really?  You are the most literary narcissist I ever did meet!”

“I take that as a compliment,” I said to her.

She reached over, more lovingly this time, and she said, “Daddy, you really do need to trim your beard.”  She rubbed my rough beard with her hand and tugged a little on it.

“When did you masturbate?” I asked.

She looked guilty and then said, “A little while ago.”

“When?”

“Just before you came into the bedroom.  How did you know?”

“I can smell you on your fingertips.”

“Well,” she replied, “if you’re not going to finger me, then someone has to.”  As she said this, she moved her hand down to my crotch.

Never one to miss a moment to spoil the mood when my mood is foul, I called out, “Why are your hands so cold?!  Were you giving the Ice Man a handjob before he cometh?”

She wrapped her legs around my bare legs and I felt her feet on my feet.  I followed my first question with another, “A foot job too?”

“The Ice Man has a warmer heart (and bigger dick) than you!” she said, rolling away from me and grabbing her phone.

I fell asleep to the tap-tap-tap of her texting with someone.

The next day was Saturday and it was a beautiful spring day.  Lo was up and about and I was lying on the couch in the living room.  Lola approached me like a puppy and said, “Come outside with me!”

“No.”

“Yes.  It’s so bright out there.”
“But it’s so dark in here.”

“Look,” she said, opening the blinds, “it’s the first beautiful day of spring!  Let’s get out and enjoy it!”  She proceeded to open all of the blinds and the windows to let the warm breeze flow through the room.

Like a vampire mortally injured by the light, I got up to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Are you going to come in the bedroom? – Because I’m going to take a nap.”

“I’ll probably cum several times. . . anywhere.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I said, as I went to the bedroom and locked the door.  She followed and was nonplused at finding the door locked.

“Let me come in!”

“No, no!  Go, go!”

“I’ll come in, you’ll cum in.  It will be even!”

“No.”

“Then at least come out.  Look, to get out of this depression you need to do something.”

“Well, I’m not doing you.”

“That was my first suggestion, but I’ll settle for going for a walk or to the gym.  Physical activity will help.”

I unlocked the door.  She entered the bedroom.  “Fine,” I said.

Getting ready for the gym, I put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“You’re not really going to wear that, are you?” she asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like a senior-citizen mall-walker.”

“And?  I’m just going to the gym, not a cocktail party.”

“And won’t you be hot?  Aren’t you going to break a sweat in that?”

“Oh, gosh, I certainly hope not!”

She was naked and sitting on the edge of the bed.  “Come here,” she asked seductively, spreading her legs and putting her hand between them, using her fingers to spread her pussy lips.

“No.”

“Don’t you want it, Daddy?”

“No.”

“But I want you.  I can see the outline of your big, thick dick in those sweatpants.”

“Lo, what are you going to wear to the gym?”

“Come here and I’ll tell you.”

“No.”

“Please.”

I gave in and walked over to her, convinced she wouldn’t succeed in her seduction.  As soon as I was between her legs, her knees clamped on my legs, capturing me and holding me tightly.

“Lo, you’re a human Penis Flytrap!”

“I think you must have Adult ADD.  One of the symptoms is relentless bad puns.”

“You’re saying I have AADD?”
“If you want to put it that way.”

“Sounds like my report card from high school.”

“You see, perfect example!”

“I heard once that among entrepreneurs there is an inordinate proportion of people with Adult ADD.  I heard that those entrepreneurs are good at multitasking and that they surround themselves with lots of competent people who stay on task.  That’s what I do.  I’m a captain and I have a lot of first mates.”

“Oh really?”

“Well,” I said more kindly, “my dear, you’re my first first mate.”

“I’m my own captain.  I’m no one’s first mate,” she said, putting her thumb to her sternum, pointing to herself proudly.

“Captain, eh?”

“That’s right, and I like to be surrounded by lots of semen.”

“And you say I have bad puns.”

“Give me some semen, Daddy, please,” she asked, pulling my cock out from my sweatpants and putting it in her mouth, to no avail.  Having failed in her attempt, she then got on the bed on all fours, flaunting her ass in front of me.  “What do you think?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Booty-full,” I said.

“Punny,” she said sardonically.

“Honestly, Lo,” I said, “I wish that I felt well enough to put my penis in your vagina.”

“Daddy!” she exclaimed, feigning shock.

“I’m sorry dear, I couldn’t think of a more poetic way of phrasing that.”

“That’s ok.  I like the direct route.”

“Are we going to the gym or what?”

“Yes,” she said, “because if we’re going to go to a nude beach this year, then we have to get in shape.”

We?” I asked.

“Yes, we.  Us.”

“I’m in a shape.  In fact, I think I look flabulous.”

“Flabulous?”

“Yeah.  I might not have abs.  I might have flabs, but they look flabulous.”

“Well, then,” she said, “at least I feel like I have to get in shape.  I think I gained four pounds this winter.  Does it show?”

“Lo, you know that I would be happy if you gained forty pounds!”

“That’s nice of you to say but. . .”

“You know, there’s a kink out there called feederism, or something like that, where gaining weight is considered sexually arousing?”

“So, I have to get fat in order to get you up?”

“I’m not saying that.  I’m just saying all bodies are beautiful bodies.”

She rolled over on her tum and asked, “All?”

“Well, dear,” I corrected myself, “yours most of all.”

“That’s more like it.”

On the way to the gym, I remarked to her, “I was listening to Billy Joel the other day.  Some of his lyrics are just brilliant.”

“Like, ‘I heard about sex but not enough’?”

“Of all his lyrics, that’s the one lyric that you remember?”

“It speaks to me.”

“Well, I was thinking about the song, ‘I Go to Extremes.’”

“What about it?”

“It speaks to me.”

When we got to the gym, Lo wanted to start in the weight room.  Our gym is co-ed, obviously, and in the weight room there are lots of big, burly men who love to look at themselves in the full-length mirrors that surround the room on all the walls.  Lots of mirrors.  There are, of course, some women who, truth be told, also like to look at themselves in the mirrors.  They just don’t make as big a show of it as the guys do.

Lo likes looking at everybody, including herself, and, this particular morning, I found out in the worst of ways, she liked to be looked at as well.  She went right for the bench press and, asking me to spot her, she got on her back under the bar, her feet flat on the floor, her legs spread, and she asked with great deference, for my advice on lifting the twenty pounds (plus the weight of the bar, of course).

I gave her a few pointers and then stood behind her head, my hands cupped under the bar just in case she needed a little boost.  She looked up from the bench where her head was perched perfectly between my legs.  Had we been alone at home, she would have had a perfect angle for some fun play.  Her tongue ran across her sparkling white teeth and she mouthed the words, “Oh, Daddy!” as her eyes roamed to my crotch.

I rolled my eyes, but soon saw that some of the guys in the gym were stealing glances our way.  “Lo, try to get it up, will you?”  I honestly didn’t mean to say that.  I was talking about the bar, but it just came out that way.

“I’ve been trying all week,” she said.  “I think that with this good, hard, steel rod, I can make some progress.”  She went to lift the bar and lower it to her chest.  With a controlled exhale, she pushed the bar back up.  “That was good, right?!”  She was very excited by her accomplishment.

“Excellent!” I said, trying to be encouraging.  I looked up and noticed more guys’ eyes looking at her.  Was it that her legs were spread?  Was it that her face was down by my crotch?  Was it her breasts heaving as she lay flat on the bench?  I couldn’t tell what the interest was, but across the room the guys doing curls with free-weights, causing their already large biceps to bulge, were looking right at Lo.  It seemed like she was giving them inspiration.

After bench pressing, we did a few other strength exercises and we didn’t exact quite as much attention.  She told me that at the top of the hour a yoga class was starting and she encouraged me to join her in it.  “Yoga will be good for you.  It’s known to reduce depression.”  Reluctantly, I agreed.

In the yoga studio, the mats were arranged in five rows of four deep.  People gradually entered and chose their spots and began stretching out.  Lola took the front-center mat in the room and told me to take the spot behind her.  I did so.  I tried stretching.  Touching my toes was a challenge.  When the room was full, the instructor came in and she stood right in front of Lo.  We began easily enough and all was fine, until “Downward Dog.”  That’s when I figured out what the guys in the gym were looking at – Lo wasn’t wearing any panties!  Here little green yoga shorts were loose-fitting enough for her pussy to peek out when doing the bench press and now at yoga.  She looked over her shoulder at me when she came out of the pose and she knew that I knew what a bad girl she was.  Needless to say, part of my body was not as limber as it should be for yoga after that.  I think that I wasn’t the only one to notice my little slut’s slutty ways.  I played it off like I wasn’t with Lo.  Who?  Her?  That one in the front row showing her joie de vivre to the class?  Nope, don’t know her at all.  I’m just right behind her for the best view.

When the hour was over, Lo made it clear to the class that I was her man and she was my hotwife by grabbing my arm and congratulating me on getting through the entire class.  She looked down at the protrusion in my sweatpants and said, “I think you need to walk that off.”

I gave her a deriding look.

All the way home, she walked in front of me wiggling her little ass.

When we got home she said, “I’m so wet from working out.”

“I bet you are,” I replied.

“I’m going to take a shower.  Care to join?”

“No.  I’ll take one later.”
“Fine,” she said in a huff, “I was going to masturbate in there anyhow.”

“I figured.”

She was in there almost an hour.  When she was done, she walked stark naked into the kitchen and began slicing a tomato.

Hearing her futzing about, I came into the kitchen and asked, “Did you take a shower?”

“Yes.”

“Did you jill it?”

“No.  I made myself smooth.” She turned from the counter toward me and displayed her silky white skin of her mons pubis to me.

“Then why aren’t you bent over the bed?”

“Because I’m making you dinner.”

“Can’t I have an appetizer first?”

“Oh, now you want it?  What happened to your depression?”

“I’m just asking for a small taste to whet my appetite.”

“Just a taste?” she asked, incredulously.

“Yes.  April is abstinence month.”

“Really?  Since when?”

“I just proclaimed it such.”

“Well, this month sure won’t last long.”

“I’m telling you Lo, it’s Celibate City for me.”

“Forget it, Daddio, it’s Vaginatown.”

Pound

Pound

 

“Don’t hug her, hug me!” Lola demands, picking up my pillow and chucking it across the room.

“Jealous much?  It’s a pillow, not a mistress.”

“Yeah, well, hug me, damn it.”

I cuddle up with her naked body.  I grab her by the curves just under her bellybutton and just above her puss.  I squeeze it.

“Stop,” she says.

“I love this part of you.  It’s my favorite.”

“Is it a FUPA?”

“A what?”

“Fat Upper Pussy Area?”

“If you want to call it that.”

“No, I don’t want to call it that!”

“You brought it up.”

“Cause you’re kneading me like dough.”

“Cause I knead you.  Get it?  I ‘knead’ you?”

“Yeah, I get it.  I still don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“I put on a pound or two.”

“And, if you ask me, you could put on a pound or two more.  I find you incredibly sexy!”

“You find my fat incredibly sexy.”

“I find all of you incredibly sexy.  What difference does it make what turns me on?”

She reaches down to feel me between my legs.

“Also, your pecker here was protruding into me all night,” she says.

“I know,” I say, “I was hard all night.”

“Then why didn’t you fuck me?”

“Because you were asleep.”

“First, so?  And second, it would have been preferable to this –”  She demonstrates by rubbing her hands up and down my chest rapidly.

“I did not do that to you all night.”

“Wanna bet?”

“I was asleep.”

“Well, I have come to the conclusion that the only reason you have such strong biceps is from all of this motion you do all night long.”  She performs the curling motion of her arm going up and down my chest.

“You may be right,” I humbly admit.

She reaches down between my legs again.  “Feels like that must hurt.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Well, what are you waiting for?  Fuck me.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.  Use me.  Go on.  Get your rocks off.  Get it all out of your system.”

She spreads her legs and reaches down with two hands and spreads something even more intimate.

“You look good.”

“Fuck me,” she commands.

I slide into her wet and waiting hole.  It didn’t take long before I pull out and, grabbing my cock, cum on her face.

“Feel better?” she asks, looking up at me.

“Much.”

I get up and clean up.  I eat breakfast and after breakfast I hear Lo calling me from the bedroom.  “Come!”

“Are you summoning me or giving me a real-time account of your activities?”

“Come!” is all I hear in response.  I follow the sounds and find her as I left her – naked and spread on the bed.

“Cuddle me, Daddy,” she says in her little-girl voice.

“Lo, I have to. . .”

“Just get into bed and hold me while I use my Hitachi.”

I climb into bed next to her, fully clothed, and hold her.  She puts the machine between her legs.

“I’m sorry you didn’t cum earlier,” I whisper to her.

“Oh, I did.”

“Really?  I didn’t even hear you.”  That was unusual.

“Yeah, well, I held it in because I was mad at you.  I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”

“Why?”

“Cause I was mad at you.”

“I can’t believe you came.  I was so fast.”

“It turns me on when you pound me furiously, using me to get your rocks off.  I like being your fuck-toy.”

“Mine and everyone else’s.”

“Now shut up.  I’m trying to masturbate.”

“You know what I was thinking about when I came?”  No answer.  All I hear is the soothing hum of her Hitachi.  “I was thinking about you and me going on our vacation next month, finding that nude beach and walking down it together.  All the guys would see you in your birthday-bathing-suit and you’d lead them on.  They’d follow us and, as you’re lying on your blanket, you’d encourage them to jack it over you.  There’d be about six of them and they’d be jackin’ it to your naked body.  All of them would cum on you.  Some two at a time, some taking turns.  You’d be covered in jizz and then you’d proudly get up and walk slowly across the sand into the water to wash off.”

She clicks the Magic Wand into high gear and says, “Shhhhh.  No talking.  No talking while masturbating.”  And then she cums and cums hard.  Her knees shoot up into the air and she squeezes her legs together tightly.

I hold her as her whole body convulses and she lets out a stream of expletives.  Then I get naked and push her knees apart.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to fuck you,” I say.

“But. . .”

“But what?”

“But I just came.”

“I know that.  That’s why I’m going to fuck you.”

She no longer resists.  I try to penetrate her, but find I can’t.  “Is that the right spot?” I ask.

“Yeah.  Why?”

“You’re so tight.  I thought it was your ass.”

“I’m tight because I stopped my squirting.  I didn’t want to squirt.  I just changed the sheets.”

“Well, let me in.”

“Push and push hard,” she says.

I do as she commands and cannot believe the resistance I’m met with.  Once I am fully enveloped by her, I say, “That’s better.”  It’s as if a switch had gone off and she went from snug and still to stretched and swashing.  She cums again, harder than before.  I pull out, dripping wet from her.

“Aren’t you going to cum?” she asks, perplexed.

“No, darling.  That was all for you.”

“Please,” she begs.  “Cum on me just like you described those guys on the beach cumming on me.  Stand over me, you letch, and jack off hard to my naked body.”

I stand up on the bed and grab my manhood and stroke it furiously.  Her natural lubricant is all I need.  Her fingers are pulling at her pussy lips as she says salacious things to me.  “You like?  You like my pussy?  You want it old man?  You think you could satisfy me?”

I see her looking up at me, enjoying what she sees.  She continues to talk dirty.

“You know what I was thinking about when I came?” she asks.  “I was thinking that I wish that there was a way to go to the local animal shelter and say, ‘Do you have any unneutered dogs that need to get their rocks off?’  They’d lead me to a special room where women can go to be mounted.  They’d let in one, two, ten dogs, depending on how much I want to volunteer.  I’d get naked and on my knees and. . .”

Before her words form images in my mind, I cum like rain down on her tits, her chest, her neck, her face.  Just the sound of her words are enough.

“That’s it,” she says as her hand reaches up to touch my balls, feeling them as I ejaculate.  “That’s it.  Unload.  Feel better?  Good dog.  Now get back to the pound where you belong.”

Sexy Shorts: Scores

Scores

 

Lying in bed at night, I’m sitting up reading a book.  She’s on her back, playing with her tits – pushing them up, pulling on the nipples, looking down at them.  She says, “Do you think my breasts are pretty?”

I look over at her.  “Yes.  Very much.”  I go back to reading.

She continues contorting her boobs.  “No, I mean, do you think they’re attractive?”

“Of course I do, Lo,” I say, without losing my spot on the page.

“Do you think people find them attractive?”

“What people?”

“People?”

“Like who?  The people who fuck you?  The people who look at you on the internet?  People you meet in the street?  What people are we talking about?”

“Yeah, all those people.”

“Well, Lo, judging from the number of men and women who write to you every day and send in dick picks and photos of themselves jackin’ and jillin’ to your lovely images, I think the answer has to be ‘Yes.’  Anymore questions?”

I looked back down at her – she was jillin’ it to the thought of all those people cumming to her.  Not satisfied with the thought, she rolled over on her tum, pulled out her phone, and began flipping through the scores of photos sent to her by her fans until she hit on one that did the trick.  She came.

“Daddy?”

“Yes Lo?”

“Don’t you want to get behind me while I do this?”

“Didn’t you already do it?”

“Don’t you want to get behind me while I do this again?”

I put down my book, got up and out of my pj bottoms, and mounted her round ass as she, on her hands and knees, looked through the fan photos again.  I thought to myself, “This could go on all night.”

Her tits were hanging down, rocking forward and back with each thrust.  She held herself up with her left hand as she held her right hand, palm open just below her nipples so that they’d graze against her palm as they went back and forth.  She liked feeling the fullness of her breasts as they hung there.  “Do you think they are saggy?” she asked me over her shoulder as she scrolled through some more pics.

“What?” I asked.

“My tits – do you think they’re sagging?”

“No, Lo.  You’re on all fours, like a bitch in heat, and gravity will do its thing, you know.”

She flipped through the photos on her phone and she said, “Look, this couple here – she has very big, very saggy tits.”

Glancing over her shoulder, I could just make out what it was I saw.  Luckily, I still had my reading glasses on.  “They’re in their forties or fifties Lo.  You’re in your twenties.”

I kept going at her as her fingers kept working their magic between her legs.  “Do you think they’re attractive?” she asked.

“Who?  The couple?”

“No, her tits?”

“Yes, Lo, they’re attractive,” I said.

“Saggy tits can be attractive, right?”

 

I gave up on answering and focused on hitting hard at the target.  Apparently that took Lo’s mind off of her tits for a while because she found a photo that she stared at intently and she began convulsing on my cock, cumming hard.

When she was done, she pulled off of me and rolled on her back, phone still in hand, looking at the photos submitted by fans to her.  I asked her, “Lo, what do they all do for you?”

“It’s not what they do for me that turns me on, it’s what I do for them.”

 

[All photos were submitted to loladown.tumblr.com]