“This is my body, given for you.”

“What are those for?”
“These are for later.”

 

Lo is naked in bed.  “Come, Daddy.  Fuck me.”

“No, I’m writing.”

“Oh, please!!!!”

“Later.  Not now.”

“Then be a doll and fetch me a cucumber.”

I get her the vegetable from the kitchen and bring it to her in the bedroom.

“Now give me a condom.”

“Why?”

“You know what sort of stuff they put on this thing?  Insecticides, wax, who knows what!  Put a condom over any phallic-shaped object and you’re good to go.”

“Thanks for the free advice,” I say as I pull a condom out from my nightstand drawer.

“You’re welcome.”

I begin to leave the room.

“You sure you don’t want to get in on this?” she asks as she spreads her legs and puts the cucumber in her hole.”

“I’ll pass on the salad.  I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

“Well, you’re missing out.  The dressing is homemade.”

I leave the room and return to my computer where I try to continue writing.  My thoughts are disturbed by the moans, groans, and then screams and sighs that I hear my little nymphet producing like a primitive mating call, signaling to all within earshot that she is eager for cock, or pussy, or something.  I believe I read about that as an actual scientific theory in the book Sex at Dawn.  Women are louder than men when it comes to sex because their sounds are an enticement for other men to fuck them, thus increasing the likelihood of fertilization.

Just a fun photo I found featuring Sex at Dawn

That morning I was able to prove the theory true through the scientific method of replication of results.  No sooner had Lola howled to the heavens about how filling and nutritionally valuable her ‘vagetable’ was, than there was a knocking at the door.

Annoyed, I get up from my computer, where I hadn’t been able to write more than a sentence, and I answer the door – Lola’s sex-singing still quite audible in the background.  Standing at the door is a FedEx delivery guy.  He seems to be in his fifties.  Old, tired, rundown.  However, he hears the post-self-coital cooing coming from the bedroom.

“I have a package for delivery.  It needs your signature.”

I look at the package.  I see Lo’s name on it.  “Oh, it’s not for me.  It’s for Lola,” I say, looking up at him.

“Whatever,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.  “I just need a signature.”

I’m feeling particularly wily that morning and so I insist that it be signed by Lola.

“Lo!” I call, “Oh Lo,” I repeat in a sing-song fashion.

“I’m busy!” I hear bellowing down the hall and I also just perceive the sound of her Hitachi Magic Wand buzzing in the background like a distant hedge trimmer.

“There’s a man here to see you,” I say in a loud voice.  I look at the delivery man and give him a knowing wink.

Lo comes stomping down the hallway, barefoot, naked, her inner thighs glistening with the glaze of her last orgasm, her breasts flailing from left to right with each deliberate footfall.

“What?  Who?”

She stands behind me and sees the delivery man.

“Signature, ma’am,” he says, unflustered.

Lo wedges herself in front of me and stands, stark naked in the doorway, grabbing the electronic signature board, scribbling her name and taking the package.

“It’s a big package” she says, not about what is in her hands, but about the delivery man.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says.

“You need something?” she asks.  “A drink?  You look parched.”

“No ma’am,” he says, so politely, “I must be going.”

“OK, too bad,” she says, licking her lips.

He turns and walks to his truck.

“What is that?” I ask Lo of the package.

“The latest from ErosettiPress.”

“Oh really?!” I say, excited.

“Yep,” she says, tearing open the package.

She pulls out the very handsome hardcover book: The Anthology of Erotic Narrative, Volume I: Fetish.  “Look!  Our story!”  She shows me the chapter, “Crisscross,” which includes a sexy illustration of Lola, on her back, as sushi is displayed upon her for a nyotaimori feast.

“Dante Remy, the editor, had to condense it from the original,” she adds by way of explanation.

“I frequently have that problem – too much length.”

“Not with me you don’t,” she says.  “Oh!  And look!  They even included a little blurb about us!”

She reads from the bio page:

 

H.H. & Lola, based in the US, push the boundaries of conventional relationships, captivating their readers and followers with their unapologetic exploration of desire and the endless possibilities of a love that knows no limits.  Their large erotic cult following includes tribute artwork and photos from readers, often displaying their books in explicit context.  These fan images and art are published along with the stories in their books, and on their active blog and social media presence.  They are at the center of a community of erotic art and expression.  You can engage with them on their blog site mysexlifewithlola.com and their X and Instagram social media.

 

“What do you think?” she asks me.

“You didn’t write that?” I ask her.

“No, silly!”

“Well, I like it.”  I take the book from her hands to read it over once again.  “I especially like the ‘unapologetic’ bit.”

“Yes, that describes you,” she said, not without a hint of irony.

“And the ‘large erotic cult following.’  That’s nice.”

“Yep – and true.”

“He says we are ‘the center of a community of erotic art and expression.’”

“Well, aren’t we?”

“I guess.  I just never thought of us like that.”

“I’ve thought of me like that,” she remarks.

“Of course you have.  Too bad we have since been banned from X and Instagram.  If the Marquis de Sade lived today, he wouldn’t be locked up in the Bastille, he’d be banished from social media!”

“You keep on having grandiose thoughts of you and Sade and the evil electronic geniuses aligned against you, I think I’ll go back to my regularly scheduled programming,” she says, taking the book and walking down the hall.

“Hey,” I call to her.

She stops and turns around.  “Yes?”
“What’s put you in this Saturday morning self-abuse mood?”

“Do I need a reason?”
“No, but you usually have one.”

“If you must know, I’ve been getting a lot of fan mail ever since we posted the interview with Hani Miletski.”

Totally Taboo?”
“Yeah, that one.”

“What sort of fan mail?”

“Why don’t you cum and read it with me?  I mean, wait, reverse that.”

“Very funny.”

I follow her down the hall to the bedroom where she has the cucumber, her Hitachi, and her laptop all spread out over the bed.

She turns the computer screen toward me and shows me an image from a female fan.  It is of a young, mid-thirties woman, in bed, a towel wrapped around her hair as if she had just got out of the shower, with her two children, a girl and a boy, suckling at her breasts.  Above and behind her, on the wall, are mounted two framed paintings from the blog.  One of MILF Meri and her son, the other of Lola as a little girl with her panties over her head, standing naked and defiant.  Both artworks were made by our dear Ukrainian friend Sergii.

Pam at home breastfeeding with art by Sergii above her

“And who is this?” I ask.

“Her name is Pam and she’s a housewife raising twins – a boy and a girl.  She doesn’t believe in setting an age for ending breastfeeding.  She told me she’s inspired by Sophie Rose.”

“Who?”

“Oh, never mind.  It’s a movement to breastfeed kids later into life.”

“That’s a movement?”

“Yeah, but she’s on the fringes of that movement?”

“What’s that mean?”

“She is advocating for breastfeeding-self-care.”

“Now you’ve lost me.”

“She enjoys a wank-spank under the covers while the twins are latched onto her tits.”

“And that’s a movement?!”

“Well, not yet, but she is hoping to make it one.”

“You find all kinds,” I said in astonishment.

“It’s not all that uncommon,” remarked Lo, rather clinical about it.  “Pam discovered, like a lot of women who breastfeed, that it is or can be stimulating.  Sexually stimulating.  She got all tingly between her legs.  One day, at the airport no less, she was breastfeeding and, to her complete and utter surprise. . .”

“You mean udder surprise,” I suggest.

“Just full of wit this morning, aren’t ya, ole man?  She suddenly squirted, right out of the blue, right there in public!  She realized later that it was probably a combination of being sexually frustrated – she was going to see her husband who was stationed across the country for work – and the excitement of having her breasts exposed in public where she was getting a lot of stares.”

“Don’t they have special rooms for that?”

“I don’t know,” says Lo, returning the cucumber to its holster inside her as she places the Hitachi on her clit and looks at the photo again.  “But now she does it all the time.  She says it creates the most intense orgasms and bonding experience she’s ever felt.  Now she’s trying to spread the word.  That’s why she wrote to me.  When she saw the interview with Melitski, she thought that our blog would be a good way to publicize the masturlactation method, as she calls it.”

“A portmanteau of ‘masturbation’ and ‘lactation’ I assume?”

She is too fully engaged in her own masturbation to answer me.

Without looking at me, she simply says, “Suck my tits, Daddy.”

I comply, leaning over to latch onto her left breast while my right hand fondles and pulls on her right nipple.  She instantly climaxes – her clenching pussy shooting the cucumber straight out of her pussy like a torpedo!  That is followed by a tsunami of squirt.

“Holy FUCK!” she says, as she apparently surprised even herself.

“Feel better, Love?” I ask.

She laughs to herself.

“What?” I ask.

“As I was cumming, I had the weirdest thought.”

“What was that?” I ask, realizing that we have been in the realm of weird for quite some time.

“I wondered if all those millions of images of the Madonna and Child – you know, of the Virgin Mary and Jesus as an infant at her breast – I wondered if in all of them, if the Holy Mother is in the state of orgasmic bliss.  Isn’t that weird?  I mean, wouldn’t that be something?”

Mary and Baby Jesus

“Only you could have a theophany to put you over the edge.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to write.”

“What are you going to write?” she asks, skimming through images of the Madonna and Child.

“All about you.”

Caravaggio – Madonna and Child with St. Anne

Fan Photo

Protected: Putting the “Fun” back in “Fundamentalism”: Part 1, Sex Sounds Good

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I Need a Dirty Woman, I Need a Dirty Girl

We were into December.  It had been almost a month since our last “drive-in” date with Ron and Nicole.  In the meantime, they kept up an intense correspondence with us through email.  Turns out that they have three kids, all under ten, and she has been dealing with some health issues that have impaired her energy and libido.  He is an avid nudist and exhibitionist who loves to go to clothing optional beaches and bare it all!  Although he doesn’t have that much to bare.  Not to worry, Lo is always intrigued by different shapes and sizes.

Ron

Poor Ron was eager to please – his wife and anyone who would have him.  Nicole, however, was not so keen on sex.  Even before her medical problems dampened her desire, she was not enthusiastic about her sex life with Ron.  They had dated since high school.  They were raised as good Catholic kids and told not to have sex before marriage.  They got married in their early twenties and that’s when Nicole was disabused of the adage “size doesn’t matter.”  No.  It really did matter for her.  But, due to her upbringing, she wasn’t able to think about alternatives.  Masturbation, sex toys, other partners were all off the table.  She wasn’t even comfortable with having sex in any other position than missionary.

Nicole

After the birth of their third child and the onset of medical issues, she not only couldn’t feel Ron’s cock, but wasn’t interested in it anymore either.

They had tried a couples’ counselor, a marriage therapist, and now were working with a sex coach.  They went to a woman Ron had found on the internet who specializes in Catholic sexuality.  She had suggested that they both explore their own bodies alone, with porn, erotica, or whatever excited them.  For Ron, that was easy – nude beaches, exposing himself, and being seen, even if only virtually were already in his wheelhouse.  He had discovered a number of websites where he could hang-out as much as he wished and no one would be offended.

Ron & Nicole – the happy couple

For Nicole, this was much more difficult because her sexual desire was directly related to her guilt.  She required multiple special sessions, one-on-one, with the sexologist.  Through the coaching, she slowly learned to appreciate sex and sexuality in a new way.  Rather than think of it as a necessary bodily function that had to be endured in order to achieve a certain result, much like relieving oneself in the privy, she was opened up to the idea that sex was sacred, divine, and a sacrament.  The Church doesn’t often promote this aspect of sex.  Why would they?  The officers of the institution are all celibate!  It would be like college professors encouraging students to get an education outside of academia.

Nicole

Slowly, Nicole came round to the notion of at least accepting her sexuality rather than being ashamed of it.  And that went for Ron’s sexuality as well – if Nicole could accept that she is a sexual being, then this was the first step to accepting that Ron is also a sexual being.  The next step was to realize that sexuality is not experienced or expressed uniformly.  It is like the sun – its origin is the same, but how it illuminates various objects depends on the individual make-up of each object.  Some are square and green.  Others are round and pink and white stripes.  Similarly, we all feel sexual urges, but they manifest differently for each of us.  For some that means hetero, monogamous, vaginal intercourse.  But for others, it can be expressed in a myriad of ways – from men wearing woman’s panties, to women donning strap-ons.

Nicole

This was a great hurdle for Nicole to overcome.  But, along the way, she was willing to try new things for the sake of the relationship.  Through Ron’s explorations of the interweb, he found Lola, struck up a correspondence, included Nicole, and eventually we had our first “date,” which I already described for you.  Through our correspondence, it became clear that Ron desperately wanted Lo and Nicole desperately wanted to be like Lo.

Nicole

Lola in her thong

They were eager to have a second date.  Due to COVID, we had to take the same precautions, but we arranged to meet in a remote spot, far outside of our city, so that the experience wouldn’t be foiled again.

Ron hanging out

Nicole’s medical issues had done things to her body that caused her even more shame.  She didn’t want us to be shocked so, in preparation for our second date and to help her become more comfortable with her body (that Ron, incidentally, found very desirable) she posed for some boudoir photos taken by her husband.  They emailed them to us.

“Do you still want to do this?” she asked, afraid we’d be turned off by how gravity distorted her once toned and tight flesh.

“Yes!” replied Lo, enthusiastically.  “Every body is beautiful in its own way.”

Much was the same on our second date as it was on the first.  Cold.  Late night.  Dark, vacant parking lot.  The two cars parked next to each other.  But this time Lo had put some thought into the “performance” she wished to put on for the struggling couple.  She stripped naked and danced seductively in front of their headlights.  They had on their high-beams and, thanks to the chill, Lo’s were on too!

Lo sauntered up to the passenger side window where Nicole sat and pressed her tits up against the glass.  Nicole and Ron had removed their clothing too and Lo could get an imperfect view of them behind the frosted glass and through the round figure eight where her tits had melted the icy coating.

Nicole

Lo returned to the car where we had the heat blasting and took out her phone.  She called Ron.  Their phone was on speaker, as was ours.

“Did you like what you saw?” Lo asked.

“Very much,” replied Ron.

“Are you hard?” asked Lo.

“As hard as I can get,” he said.

“Yeah, I saw.  Two inches?”

“Slightly longer than that, when I’m hard.”

“I’m stroking him,” chimed in Nicole.

“Suck him,” commanded Lo.

“Can we watch you suck off HH?” she asked.

Lo looked up at me.  “Will you stay hard if we go outside?”

“For you, darling, anything.”

First she warmed me up in the car with her mouth, the wetness of which only made the shock of the cold air even more acute.

We got in front of the headlights and Lo got on her knees, taking me in her mouth.

We lasted like that for about a minute or so, but then hopped back into the heated car.

Nicole said that Ron had cum already.

“What about you?”

“I haven’t cum in ages,” she said with a certain sadness in her voice.  She also sounded resigned to this fact.

“HH is going to suck on my hard nipples,” said Lo, taking me to her chest.  “I can cum through nipple stimulation alone.”  She didn’t mean to sound as if she was bragging, but wanted to inform them why she’d soon be moaning and even calling out that she’s cumming.

Lo’s Orgasmic Nipples

“I wish I could,” said Nicole.

As I sucked, bit, stretched, nibbled, and tongued Lo’s nipples, we could hear Ron and Nicole getting their clothes back on.  They drove away as Lo climaxed, but they left the phone on to hear it.

When Lo regained her composure, she went down on me as I put the car in reverse and drove home.

Truthfully, I forgot that Lo’s phone was still on as I commented about how hot Lo was and what a show she put on for the couple.

Lo occasionally took her lips off of my cock to remark about how she wished we weren’t in COVID times so she could have let Nicole suck her tits through the window or so she could have gone over to the driver’s side, reached down between Ron’s legs and give him a handjob.

She resumed sucking as I drove the abandoned streets.  She said she wished that Nicole would wear a strap-on and fuck her over the hood of the car.

Suddenly, through Lo’s phone, we heard moaning and heavy breathing.  It was loud – loud enough for us to hear it over my own heavy breathing and Lo’s slurping.  It was Nicole.  She was cumming.

Ron informed us after the peak had subsided that Nicole masturbated (for the first time!) in the car on the ride home, listening to us and the dirty things Lo was saying and she managed to bring herself to a clitoral climax.

Mission accomplished.