Tent Talk

Posted on April 26, 2019 by Lola Down

“No! No way! Uh-uh. I’m not going.”

“Please, Daddio.”

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

“It will be fun.”

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

“I don’t think so.”

“You think another wedding will be fun?”

“The last one was, remember?”

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

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

“That was its only redeeming feature.”

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

“You need a lot of redeeming, darling.”

“Suck it,” she commanded.

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

“Bite down.”

I followed her instruction.

“Harder.”

I did as she wished.

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

I pulled.

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

“A better idea than fucking?”

“Well, it involves fucking.”

“I see. What’s your idea?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’ll come?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, meaning that I’d cum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” I replied, neighborly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Twenty, twenty-two maybe.”

“Again, you’re close,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I feel tight or loose?”

“Tight.”

“Wet?”

“Very.”

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

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

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

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

“No one’s around,” said Sam.

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

“Then they’re not asleep.”

“Shhhh,” she said back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Living the Dream

Posted on March 25, 2019 by Lola Down

It was the first of the month. Lo and I have a little tradition of saying “Rabbit, rabbit,” to each other on the first of the month. I woke up next to her and I whispered it to her.

“More like ‘grab it, grab it,’” she replied.

“What? Why?”

“Because, you were clinging to me all night, grabbing my tits, stroking my puss.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be,” she retorted, “I liked it. But it gave me crazy dreams.”

“Like what?”

“I dreamed that we were on vacation in Hawaii with our friends. We had rented a minivan, but I just needed to get off. The minivan was old, loud, and rumbly. I pulled out my Hitachi from my suitcase and began using it. I was about to cum when someone noticed. So I put it away.”

“That’s not like you.”

“Yeah,” she said, “it was a dream. Next thing I knew, we were on the beach and my Hitachi was in my hand. I put it down my bikini bottoms.”

“There are no electrical outlets on the beach.”

“It was a dream.”

“Right.”

“And I was about to climax when I opened my eyes and suddenly saw that there was a crowd of people surrounding me, watching me. So I stopped again.”

“Again, not like you.”

“This starting and stopping, edging and trying again went on a lot.”

“Do you want to get off now?”

“So badly.”

“Do you want your Hitachi or me?”

“Tough question.”

“Which do you like more?”

“My Hitachi.”

“Really?”

“Then you.”

“Oh.”

“Then my Hitachi again.”

“I see.”

“My Hitachi is like icing on the cake. No matter how good the cake is, you always want icing after it.”

“But you said your Hitachi first.”

“Well, you always want icing. But just icing isn’t as good as icing with cake.”

“So, what do you want now? Do you want your Hitachi as I jack it over you?”

“That sounds good.”

She pulled out her Hitachi from under the bed. She turned it on. She spread her legs and placed it between them. I was on my knees over her, pulling at my long, hard shaft, watching her every move.

“You know,” I said, “I had a dream too.”

She didn’t reply.

“I dreamt that you were out on a date with a tall, think, dark Jamaican man with long dreadlocks. I found the two of you in the front row of a movie theater making out.”

“The front row?” she asked. “That’s a bit conspicuous.”

“It was a dream.”

“I like it.”

“And then I came home and found the two of you on the couch, still making out.”

“Were you jealous?”

“No, I was turned on.”

She came, squirting all over my knees.

“Come here,” she said, as she rolled over on her tum. “Get inside me.”

I slid right in with my tum pressed on her back.

“Do I feel tight or loose?”

“You feel loose and wet. Very wet.”

“Fuck me harder.”

I thrust with more force.

“Daddy, please, fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

“I would, but I’m afraid I’ll push you right into the headboard.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said, “Just fuck me with everything you got.”

I pushed into her repeatedly. As I predicted, her head was banging the headboard of the bed with a rhythmic pounding. She just called out, “Yeah, yeah, harder! Don’t stop. Fuck. I’m going to squirt. Stay in there. Don’t. . .”

She began squirting and her cunt convulsed on my cock, squeezing me right out. It’s damn near impossible to stay in her when she has an intense orgasm like that.

“Hurry up,” she said, “Get back in me!”

“I can’t,” I complained, “You’re all clenched up. Try to relax.”

She did, which unleashed a gush of more juice, soaking the sheets.

“I want you to cum,” she said as she backed her ass up and slid her puss over my pole again.

“You liked my dream?” I asked.

“Yes. Maybe you were holding me so tightly that our dreams were interwoven.”

“Are you cumming again?” I asked.

“No, not yet.”

“Good, don’t. Flip over,” I commanded.

She turned onto her back and spread her legs. I pulled out my dripping rod and stroked it back and forth.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Playing foosball. What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m stroking myself to your amazing body.”

She grabbed her Hitachi again and put it between her legs as she watched me. “Just like the guys on the beach,” she said.

With that thought, I began to cum. She saw what was happening, and like an acrobat, she swiveled her body around so that her face was now under my balls and she put out her tongue to catch might release.

When I was done and she had a grin on her face, I said, “A nutritious breakfast.”

“Yeah, but now I’m in the mood for cake with icing and pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

“Or at least pancake batter, cause that’s what your cum reminds me of.”

Cliterotica

Posted on March 15, 2019 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

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

Match, Vol. I – $35

Match, Vol. II – $20

Match, Vol. III – $20

Complementary with your purchase:

Squeeze

Tease

Pull

Paint

Draw

Write

Kiss

Suck

Cum

NOT ALLOWED:

Penetration of any sort

Photos

(Mild BDSM is ok)

All prices USD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ocean Spray

Posted on March 12, 2019 by Lola Down

Reality often is not the way you imagined it to be.

Lo and I had planned a winter getaway vacation for months. When the snow, wind, and cold was going to be bearing down on our little hamlet, we would be miles away shoveling sand on the beach into sand castles rather than snow from the driveway.

Part of this planning included a jaunt to a well-known nude beach close to our vacation bungalow. It also included many nights of whispered fantasies that concluded with climatic, powerful orgasms (both of the imaginary, young, well-hung men watching Lo and of Lo in the bed, her eyes closed, calling out swears to the Lord).

When the blessed day finally came and the sun was gloriously rising in the blue and pink sky, we set our course for the illusive oasis.

We got there at prime tanning time and Lo was eager to get her toes in the sand.

However, as we walked along the strand something strange occurred to us. Rather than the hunky hung men and the lovely, voluptuous ladies of our conjoined conjurings, what we found was mostly old people proudly baring all of their wrinkled, sagging, shrunken, small, grey body parts to the world. Maybe it was because it was a Wednesday and, other than vacationers like ourselves, the young folk were all at their day jobs.

Now, I’m no spring chicken myself, but I saw Lo’s eyes desperately scanning the vicinity for the tanned, trim, toned meat that she craved and growing more and more despondent as we progressed.

At the same time, I noticed among our septuagenarian and octogenarian observers a hunger for fresh meat, as one would see in the eyes of vultures in the desert at the sight of stray carrion.

“Lo,” I said.

“I know,” she said, totally aware of what I was thinking.

“How you feeling about this?” I asked.

“Whatever,” she said, disappointed.

Lo found a sunny spot close to the water, but still in sight of about three or four old men and their heavy-set wives.

Without a smidge of self-consciousness, Lo removed her sundress, then her bikini top, and finally she wriggled out of her bikini bottoms, giving the lurking voyeurs the glorious visage that they were waiting for.

Soon, about three or four other old men found their way to our vicinity, like sharks detecting the faintest drop of blood in the water from miles away. Lo lay on her tum and had me rub in the sunblock as I whispered to her my report of the surroundings. She seemed to soak it up just as she did the rays of sun.

When I had caressed her from toe to trapezius, she turned over and applied the sunblock to herself, slowly rubbing it into her feet, shins, thighs, tum, breasts, and a dab on her nose. She smiled as she did so.

As I scanned the surreptitious watchers in the cheap seats, I noticed that some of them had gotten their ancient organs up and hard. Lo noticed as well. She turned to me and asked, “You think they want me, Daddy?”

“Of course they do,” I said flatly.

Her tongue ran over her sparkly white teeth.

“Really?” I asked. “You really are turned on?” I couldn’t disguise my disbelief.

“Well, you know that I like older men.”

“I know you like them older, but I didn’t know you liked them one heartbeat away from room temperature!”

“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, squeezing her breasts with both hands and looking at the men as they watched her.

Two or three of them sat in the sand not far off from Lo and me.

“It’s hot,” I said, “care to go in?”

“Oh no, Daddio,” she replied, “I just got myself all covered.”

“Covered? Ha! You’re the furthest from covered.”

“You go,” she encouraged. “I’ll watch you.”

“You mean I should go and watch you.”

She smiled.

I went into the water. It was warm but still refreshing. I swam a bit. Then I floated for a while and watched as the men kept a close eye on Lo. Soon enough I was out of their sight and mind. I could see them move in to make small talk with Lo and Lo was all smiles and sweetness to them. I couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, but they were keeping up a long conversation. At one point I think Lo pointed in my direction. The men looked, but only for a second. Then, one-by-one, they started playing with their junk. Three of them pulling and tugging on their little puds next to Lo. The other old men, the ones with their wives, watched the scene unfold just as I did, from afar. Lo watched from point-blank range. I couldn’t hear her, but I saw her lips moving. I’m certain she was encouraging them. “Come on. You can do it. Cum. Don’t you want to cum?” Her words apparently weren’t enough. She began to push up her tits, suck on her nips, and play with her pussy. The guys moved so they could have a better look.

Treading water, I began to wonder how long this was going to take. I didn’t want to get out and disturb everyone’s fun. Luckily for me, it was only about four or five more minutes before the first guy came, dripping his cum into the sand. Then the second guy. The third was not able to cum, but I saw Lo move her hand to rub his arms and his side with her hand. He reached down to caress the instep of her foot. She didn’t move away. He rubbed her foot more and then she lifted her foot to his cock and put his little nub between her toes and stroked him. Within mere moments he ejaculated, dripping his jizz over her toes.

The three men said some pleasantries to Lo. She buried her foot in the sand for a moment and then Lo got up and came into the water and swam to me.

“Did you enjoy that?” she asked.

“Funny,” I said, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“No, I didn’t enjoy it!” she protested.

“Then why’d you do it?”

“For you.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well, for them too.”

“Altruism abounds!”

“Oh, shut up and fuck me.”

“What?”

“You heard me, ole man.”

I swam to her and entered her from behind, under water. She moaned. We swam as one. She came within seconds as the waves crested and fell, lifting us and gently descending.

When she was done, she disengaged and swam back to shore.

“Hey,” I called out to her, “What about me?!”

“Come on!” she called back.

I swam and then walked out of the water, my manhood hard as a rock pointing right at her.

“Mmmmm, Daddy!” she said as she licked her lips.

She got on her knees in the churning surf and she didn’t even have to take my cock in her mouth. Just seeing her in that position, thinking about what she just did, I came all over her face and tits.

Sherry Rain

Posted on December 9, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?” I asked.

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

“I am not!” the first protested.

“Whatever,” said the second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She always this friendly?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo and Rain came back from the dance floor.

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

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

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

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

“Deal!” she said.

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

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

Sherry looked relieved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“I have to pee. So bad.”

“Well, let’s go back. You can. . .”

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

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

“Are you peeing?” I asked in disbelief.

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

“Lo,” I gasped, “you’re bad!”

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

She wasn’t wrong.

“OK,” she said, “let’s go.”

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

“Feel better, dear?”

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

She wasn’t wrong.

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

“What?”

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

“Here? On the street?”

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

“Like what, Daddy?” she asked innocently.

“Drenched in pee.”

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

“Your little trinkle on the beach.”

“What?”

“You honestly don’t remember?”

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

“Yes. So strip.”

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

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

“No, Lo, I’m driving home.”

“Can I blow you?”

“No.”

“Hand job?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please?”

“No.”

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

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

I rummaged through the closet and found my Stoya Fleshlight.

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

“Lo, I’m not having you.”

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

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

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

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

“You like fingering her?” I asked.

No response.

“Are you thinking of Rain right now?”

“How’d you know?” she asked.

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

“You like that, Daddy?”

Now I didn’t answer.

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

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

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

Slap Shot

Posted on July 25, 2018 by Lola Down

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

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I follow instructions.

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

“Off the elevator?”

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

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

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

“But you wanted more.”

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

“You did what?”

“You heard me. A select five.”

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

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

“You did not!”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“I bet.”

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

“They were so kind and considerate.”

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

“And you loved it, I bet.”

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

“Loving?”

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

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

“Right? Win-win!”

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

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

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

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

Pride Day

Posted on June 9, 2018 by Lola Down

Lola and I happened to be in the nation’s capital for Gay Pride Day. It was a perfect sunny June day and we had just had brunch in our little B&B in the center of the city. We looked over the events listed in the LGBTQ paper and had forged a rough plan for the day. We began at Dupont Circle watching the crowd of ebulliently self-proclaimed “fags,” “dykes,” and “traps” congregate. We wandered along with the flow of folks until the stream we were in grew to a mighty river of revelers. The party and parade were in full swing and we were cheering on the costumed and carousing throng.

After a while of this, we grew thirsty and hungry and we wondered off the main route to some smaller streets to find someplace to replenish our energy. As we walked about in a neighborhood we didn’t know, we saw two guys, obviously a couple, in their mid-forties or so and we asked them for a recommendation. They stopped just long enough for one of them to say, “If you turn right down this alleyway, there’s a small bar with good food and cold drinks at the very end. But,” he looked us over quickly and immediately concluded that we were a straight couple, “it probably isn’t for you.”

I took great offense at that, but Lo brushed it off or, more accurately, she took it as a personal challenge.

We followed his instructions and sure enough down a long alleyway, just wide enough for us to walk single file, we found a door. There was no name. There was nothing to announce that this was any sort of dining establishment. Just a door. There was nowhere else for us to go, so we went in.

On the other side of that mysterious door was a dark room full of men of all ages. There were no windows so not even a hint of the glorious day filtered into this shady hole in the wall. Guys were playing pool, others were sitting around the bar drinking beers, and some others, but very few, were at tables having lunch.

Instead of sports games on the various TVs in the bar as you would see elsewhere, there was a seemingly endless slideshow of naked and semi-naked men projected on every screen. Each man was buff, handsome, and totally gay. Lo was practically drooling looking at them.

“Hungry?” I asked her.

“You have no idea,” she said before snapping out of it and asking, “You mean, for lunch?”

“Lunch, or whatever,” I said back.

“I could do whatever.”

We sat at the bar and got a few odd looks from the patrons. She was the only women in there and the fact that I was with her made it even more of a spectacle.

We ordered some food and two cold beers. We were parched.

As we waited for the food to come, one affable fellow with less xenophobia than the rest started up a conversation with us. He asked us where we were from, what brought us to D.C., how we were liking it, and our experience of the Pride Parade. He was tall, about six feet, and easy going, as if from the south – or further south than D.C. He had a moustache and a chiseled jawline. He made us feel at ease and the fact that he was talking to us was a sign to the rest of the guys that it was ok.

After we ate and had about three beers, Lo was feeling like playing pool and so she challenged this gent to a game. He laughed, as if Lo couldn’t possibly beat him, and accepted her offer. Lo’s pride was at stake and she marched up to the table and racked up the balls. She picked up the cue ball and said, “Do you want to break or shall I?”

“You can,” he said with a chuckle.

“What?” asked Lo, “You think I don’t know how to handle some heavy balls and a long stick?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, amused.

Lo bent over the table, revealing a bit under her denim skirt, and took her shot. Nothing went in.

“You might be able to handle balls and a stick, but getting it in the pocket is the trick,” he said.

“Trust me,” said Lo, “I know how to get it in the hole.”

He laughed again as he took his shot. It was an easy shot but he did it with the cool and confidence of a pro. I was worried for Lo’s pride.

The game went on with his taking five shots to every one of Lo’s. He quickly vanquished her. But he was kind about it. He offered to buy us both a drink to show no hard feelings.

“No hard feelings,” said Lo, as she took a sip of her beer, cheersing him, “but is anything else hard?” she asked.

“You got yourself a woman who really likes a challenge,” he said to me with a playful wink of his eye. Then to her, “If you want to find out, follow me.”

He put down his drink and started to walk off toward an even darker corner of the bar. Lo looked at me as her tongue ran its way over her lips, and she followed him. They sat at a small, private round table in the shadows and from where I stood at the bar I could see them making out. His big hands found their way up her skirt and I could see her convulsing. She then repositioned herself, straddling her legs over his knee as she sat looking at him and kissing him, her right thigh rubbing up against his crotch. I saw her right hand reach down between his legs and rub his cock while he buried his face in her breasts.

Though the others in the bar could see it if they chose to look, they simply ignored it. Lo’s left hand was rubbing up and down the man’s right bicep. Knowing Lo, I was sure that she was squirting all over the guy’s jeans. Then there was a moment when they both froze, as if the movie was on pause. Then they moved really slowly. The guy went to the bathroom. Lo sauntered proudly back to me at the bar.

“Did you pay the tab?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good, let’s go.”

“But you didn’t say goodbye to your new friend.”

“That’s ok. He’s going to be a while cleaning up.”

And just like that we walked out, down the long alley, and back into the sunlit celebration of sexuality.

“Do you know what made me cum?” Lo asked.

“Rubbing his strong arms?”

“Well, yes, that, but also he said to me that he wished you would join in and he could suck your cock while I sucked his.”

“Did he now?”

“Yeah. How do you feel about that?”

“Well, it’s too bad you didn’t tell me earlier.”

“Would you do it?”

“I guess we’ll never know since you took care of him all by yourself.”

“Well, why didn’t you follow me to the table?”

“You looked like you had things well in hand.”

“But you could have joined.”

“I guess,” I said, “but I like to be asked. It’s a matter of personal pride.”

My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

Posted on February 14, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.

“Your weakness is me.”

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

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

“Stop it! You know I hate that!”

“But I love it. It’s so sexy.”

“I have to work on my beach body.”

“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”

“We both should exercise.”

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

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

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

“That’s not proof.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luckily, Lo was impressed.

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

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

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

“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.

“I want to know.”

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

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

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

“Where would you like to go?”

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

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

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

“Lo, you’re doing it again?”

“Doing what, Daddio?”

“Flashing in public.”

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

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

“You like, Daddio?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Why not, Daddy?”

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

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

“You should write adult fortune cookies.”

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

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

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

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

“But you want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like how your entire outfit matches.”

“I’m good like that.”

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

“Lo!” I scolded.

“She laughed.”

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

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

“Like a ruler,” I said.

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

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

“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.

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

“Rosebud.”

“What about it?”

“That was the last word he said.”

“And the name of his sled.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.

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

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

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

He simply said, “Whiskey.”

“Straight?” she asked.

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

Obviously she didn’t know his name.

“Ron,” he said.

“Hi, Ron,” I said.

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

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

Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo’s drink came.

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

“It’s wet.”

“Your drink?”

“That too.”

Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.

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

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

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

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

“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.

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

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

“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she said enigmatically.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can it charm the pants off of you?”

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

“Take your cock out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean I got us into?!”

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

“Not a problem.”

“Really?”

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

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

“Sort of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome?! I saved you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truth Stick

Posted on October 24, 2017 by Lola Down

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

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

“What about it?”

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

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

“Oh boy.”

“Hopefully many boys!”

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

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

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

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

“Lo, wait till we get home, ok?”

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

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

“Undoing what effort?”

“My diet. Losing weight.”

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

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

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

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

“Lo, it’s already ten o’clock.”

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

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

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

Silence.

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

Silence.

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

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

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

“That’s it, Daddio.”

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

“Watch it!” she yelled at me.

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

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

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

“Not so fast, Daddio.”

“We’re home.”

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

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

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

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

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

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

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

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

“Are we discussing romance or. . .”

“Just shut up and keep kissing me.”

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

“How about we take this inside?”

“OK, pull down your pants.”

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

“Oh, right.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No it’s not.”

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

“I should beat you with my Truth Stick!”

“Yes! That’s all I want!”

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

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

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

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

Game Time

Posted on September 10, 2017 by Lola Down

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

“Daddio?” she said Thursday night.

“What?” I replied in a raspy whisper.

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

“Lo, don’t tell me you want to fuck.”

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

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

“Daddio, it’s been days!”

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

“Yes! You see – two days!”

“Living room.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s my ‘to do’ list.”

“Oh yeah? Whose names are on it?”

“Funny. Do you need anything?”

“Some more orange juice and throat lozenges.”

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

“I still have a 102 temperature.”

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

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

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

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

“Where are you and what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant my used panties,” she responded.

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

“I’m coming,” she texted.

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

“I mean, I’m coming home now.”

“Oh.” Phew.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I made myself lunch.”

“What did you have?”

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

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

“Are you implying that I’m average?”

“Ugh. Are you hungry?”

“No dear.”

“You should eat.”

“No thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“Lola, your omelet is ready.”

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

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

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

“You already did – virtually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OK.”

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

“Uh oh,” she said.

“What?”

“Too high, too long.”

“What?”

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

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

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

“No, I can go,” I protested.

“You rest. I’ll go in.”

“Why can’t we both go in?”

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

“You are incorrigible.”

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

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

“That’s quite a behind too,” I said.

“And it’s all yours, Daddio.”

“Let’s not exaggerate. All?”

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

“At least you’re more accurate now.”

“Well?”

“Not now darling.”

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

“Fine.”

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

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

“I look like a little sailor!”

“Trying to find semen.”

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

“It’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

I heard nothing from her the rest of the night.

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

“Did you have a good time, darling?”

“Frustrating,” she whispered.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“We went to a gay bar.”

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

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

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

“Let me have it.”

“No,” I said.

“Let me suck it.”

“No.”

“Please. Let me just hold it.”

“Lo, I’m still sick.”

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

“Lo.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

“Just the same, I still want you.”

“I’m flattered,” I said flatly.

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

Cock substitutes are no substitute for cock according to Lo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you really rallied for tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, nothing.” She dismissed her comment.

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

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

“Yes, please do,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll just be a minute,” Lo said.

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to get home and do you!”

“What happened out there?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dreamy,” I said sarcastically.

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

“And everyone else.”

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

“Never you mind and continue with your story.”

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

“You’re bad.”

“I couldn’t help it, Daddy.”

“Did anyone notice?”

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

“And what?”

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

“You came.”

“I’m cumming.”

“I mean then.”

“Yes. And now.”

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

“Right.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I’m going to shovel.”

“What should I do?”

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

“I don’t want to catch a cold.”

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

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

“What’s all this for?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lo?”

“Yes, Daddio?”

“What are you doing?”

“Do you like?”

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a hand-job.”

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

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

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

“What did you want to tell me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“So, you had that all planned out?”

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

“A woman, or a slut like you?”

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

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

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

“How do you want it?”

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

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

“Put a condom on me,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not like you, Daddio.”

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

“It’s true. You’re the one for me.”

“But he turns you on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew that already.”

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

“She said that?!”

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

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

“Maybe you should clue him into the blog?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You what?!”

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

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

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

“No! Of course not.”

She gave me a quizzical look.

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

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

“And what did he say?”

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

“And what did you say?”

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

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

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

Category Archives: Public Sex

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