Sweet Charity

Wedded Bliss

It was late and all through the house not a creature was stirring, only Lo, clicking her mouse.

I was on my side of the bed, facing away from Lo, but I could feel the side of her thigh up against my back and the gentle rocking of the bed.  I gave it a minute, or twenty.  But when the motions didn’t cease and the moans increased, I rolled over to face her.

She was sitting up in bed, naked, her legs bent at the knees, one of them had been resting against me.  Her computer was between her legs, as one of her hands manipulated it and the other manipulated her clit.  The thin white strings of her earbuds dangled over her bare breasts on their way to their hidden nooks under her thick dark hair.

“Daddy,” she complained, as if my rolling over interrupted her activities.

“You know I’m trying to sleep here, Lo, right?”

“Just a couple more minutes,” she said without taking her eyes away from the screen.  “I’m getting close.”  Her voice was unusually loud because of the sounds kept out by the earbuds and their volume in her ears.

“Your onanistic sessions are taking longer and longer,” I observed.

“Shhhh,” she hissed, unconsciously.  I don’t even know if she heard what I said.

I rolled back on my side, away from her in order to allow her her privacy while she finished.  She seemed put off by my lack of interest.

“Daddy.”

“What?”

“Don’t you want to know what I’m looking at?”

I was going to be informed either way I answered so I said, “Yes, Lo, what is it that has you all riled up?”

“My friend Sam.”

“Sam?  Who’s Sam?”
“I told you.  He and his wife are big fans.”

“OK.”

“Well, he just wrote to me.  You want to hear what he said?”

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“I’m on the edge too.”

“What did Sam say?”

“He said: ‘I had a sex dream about you the other night. We were having sex in my bed, next to Alia as she slept, and I came inside you four times before I woke up with a major hard-on and had to stroke to you until I came for real.’ And you know what I said?”

“What?”

“‘I’m so flattered!  It would feel soooo good to have you cum inside me four times!  I’d be oozing your cum all day.  Did you tell Alia about your dream?’”

“OK, and he said?”

“He said, ‘I didn’t tell Alia about the dream. It never came up.  I did use her as a cumdump last night though.  I was reading through your posts and got super horny, but she wasn’t in the mood for sex, so I asked her if she would mind if I came inside her pussy and she was fine with that.  I was so horny from reading about you that it only took maybe 30 seconds of pounding her before I blew my load deep inside her.  It was so hot using her as a cumdump.  I really enjoy giving women pleasure, but sometimes it’s nice to focus just on my own pleasure.’  Isn’t that hot?”

“Cumdump” Alia getting herself off to Match, Cinder & Spark

As she asked, her orgasm began to take over her body, causing her to twitch and convulse.  She moved her laptop just fast enough to avoid squirting on it.  I grabbed it from her and viewed the photos Sam had sent accompanying his little virtual postcard to Lo.

Alia

When Lo was done, she got up (and got me up) to change the soaking sheets.

“Sam says that Alia wants to be more like you.”

“I know!  Isn’t it flattering?”

“Lola Down – inspiring hotwives everywhere.”

“I like that.  Did you just think of it?”

Sam & Alia inspired by Lola

“A stroke of genius.”

“Did you say stroke?”

“I did, but not with the meaning that Sam has for stroke.”

“Can I stroke you, Daddy?” she asked, getting into the newly made bed with me and grabbing my cock.

“You still want more?”

“I’ve yet to find my upper limit when it comes to sex.”
“Fine.  Turn on your back and spread your legs.”

If there was a male equivalent to what Sam described his wife, Alia, as – a “cumdump” – then I was it.  I was a prop for Lo’s pussy to palpitate upon.

I was balls-deep into her soaked, sloppy pussy.  Her secretions slathered me from my crotch to my knees.  She was so slippery at this point that I could hardly feel anything as I repeated the motions that turned on her spigot.

“I want you to gift me,” she said, breathing heavily.

“What?” I asked, looking down at her face as it contorted with pleasure.  Her eyes were shut and she was clearly envisioning something with her imagination.

“Instead of just passively giving permission for me to fuck other people, I want you to give me —- as a gift.”

“To whom?”

“Anyone.”

She came yet again as she said it.

I pulled out, allowing her body to recover.  The sheets were drenched.  Her puss was gaped.  Her breaths were deep, long, and loud.

“Why’d you stop?” she eventually queried.

How to tell her that her extreme arousal made fucking her indistinguishable from dipping my cock in a widemouthed jar full of warm water?

“I’m old,” I said.  “I need a break.”  Not a lie, but maybe not the whole truth.

“That’s why I want you to gift me,” she replied.  “If you can’t handle me, then might as well give me to someone who can.”

“Can’t handle you, or can’t satisfy you?” I asked.

“A little from column A, a little from column B.”

“How about you gift me your ass and I’ll show you a column that will satisfy you, if you can handle it.”

“I thought you said you need a break.”

“Breaktime is over.  Show me the back door and I’ll get to it in the workroom.”

“Nah,” she said, nonchalantly.

“What do you mean, nah?”

“Not today, ole man.”

“But you ‘gift’ your ass to the brothers and they don’t ask, or even beg like I do.”

“I do that for you.”

“How is it for me?”

“It makes you jealous.  It’s practically the only thing I can do to make you jealous.  And when I don’t allow you to have my ass, it makes you even more jealous.”

“You know me too well.”

“Why do you want my ass so badly?”

Rather than tell her the actual reason – that her pussy had become too much of a bath for me, I said, “It’s like Peter Gabriel sings.”

“What?”

“Don’t you know the song?” I asked.  Her perplexed look indicated I had to recite it for her:

 

In your ass
The light, the heat
In your ass
I am complete
In your ass
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
In your ass
The resolution of all the fruitless searches
In your ass
I see the light and the heat
In your ass
Oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light
The heat I see in your ass

“I don’t think those are the lyrics,” she said, laughing.

“Close enough.  Now show me the doorway to a thousand churches.”

“Do you have the church key?”

“That I do!”

“Fine, but only because you’re such a fool.”

“If that’s what it takes to have your ass, then I’ll be the court jester!”

“Hurry up and use your bauble and jingle your bells,” she said, rolling on her tum and spreading her ass cheeks for me.

Lo’s Temple of Venus

I slid right in and she repeated, “I want you to gift me.”

“Give you away, like a father giving away his daughter, the bride.”

“Oh my God, that would be even better.”

“What would?”

“If I wore a white wedding gown.”

“Maybe I could give you away in a church.  We’d call it Christmas charity.”

“FUCK!!!  I’m cumming. . . in my ass!”

Unlike her pussy, which squeezes me out when she squirts, her ass clenches, but just enough to make it feel even better, but not evict me.  She sprayed the newly replaced sheets beneath her as I ejaculated deep in her orifice.

I slid out of her slowly, taking my sweet time.

Wedding Shower

She was lying in her own puddle, panting.

“Are you going to clean me off or. . .”

“Come here,” she said, not moving.

I put my cock in front of her open mouth.  She took it in and sucked it clean.

“That’s my good girl.”

She smiled.

Giving Away the Bride

COVID Birthday

“Happy birthday!” said Lo in a sing-song tone.

Lola’s Gifts

I rolled over.  It was early.  Earlier than Lo gets up in the morning.  She wanted to make the day special for me since she knew that we couldn’t have a party or celebrate in any way that resembled birthdays past.

“Wanna have birthday sexy?” she said, rubbing her large breasts up against my bare back in bed, swinging her right leg up and over my hip and sliding her pussy up and down my hip.

“Not now,” I said like a real ingrate.

“Oh, don’t be like that.  Let’s get it on.  You’ll be the oldest person I ever fucked.  Again.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah.  Why?”

“Just checking.”

I slid my legs over the side of the bed and sat up.  I sat for a while contemplating the day before me.  I’m not a very social or sociable person.  That’s Lo’s department.  But this COVID thing did drive home just how much I actually enjoy being with people.

This year there would be no party, no rowdy crowd, now carousing.  Just a few cards.  Maybe a phone call or two.  I had already told Lo, absolutely NO Zoom party.

I stood up slowly and made my way to the bathroom.

“Leave it open!” Lo called, as usual.  She has a fetish for seeing a man pee.

I shut the door behind me.

When I emerged from the privy, I found Lo on the bed, legs spread, finger placed between her labia.

“Ready Daddio?”

“Not now, Lo.”

She rolled over and stuck her bum in the air.  “Birthday spanking?”

I patted her behind gently as I walked by it, exiting the bedroom to go make my coffee.

It was a weekday and so I went through my usual morning routine to get ready for work.

Lo, to my surprise, got dressed and was ready to go out the door before I was.

“Forget to buy a card?” I asked sarcastically.  It was cruel.

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m going to buy a condolence card since you seem to be set on mourning everything you don’t have.”

She left and I suddenly felt very alone.  Having Lo around to spout off my spoiled whining to was better than having no one around.

I ate breakfast, got dressed, hopped in the car, and drove to the office.

There would be no one at the office, again, thanks to COVID.  Everyone was working remotely.

I climbed the stairs to the floor that my office is on and turned to walk down the long hall to it when, looking up, I saw that the door to my office was open and, sitting there, framed by the doorway, was a sexy blonde wearing, it appeared, nothing but her black facemask.

I practically rubbed my eyes thinking I was still dreaming.  Was this a femme fatale straight out of a fifties’ movie?  Was I going to walk up to my office and she’d sit there, light a long cigarette in an even longer black filter, and speak to me in a sultry voice?  “Mr. H.  I would like to hire you to sue my husband.  It’s a hard case.  Do you like it when it’s hard?  I know I do.”

I walked slowly down the silent hallway.  Her eyes were trained on mine.  I got to the doorway.  She uncrossed her legs and spread them wide.  I could see now she was wearing merely an extreme micro bikini.  I stopped at the threshold.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Happy birthday, Mr. H,” she replied.

Before I could ask how she knew it was my birthday, how she got into my office, or even who she was, she added, “Why don’t you come inside and shut the door behind you so we can have some privacy?”

I took a step in and closed the door.  It was then that I saw, inside my office, just out of sight from the doorway, was Lola, sitting in the waiting room chair.  Oh, thank God!

“Lola,” I said in my Ricky Ricardo voice.

“Hi Daddy!  Surprised?”

“What’s going on here?”

“This is Candie.  She’s a strip- er. . . exotic dancer, and she’s here to perform for you.”

“For me?”

“Well, for us.”

Candie stood up and just smiled.  She stood in the middle of the reception area on the hardwood floor in her tall stripper heels.

Lo turned on some music, Candie’s playlist, I imagine.

 

 

I smell sex and candy here
Who’s that lounging in my chair
Who’s that casting devious stares
In my direction

Mama this surely is a dream

Very appropriate, especially since her long blonde hair did smell like candy – cotton candy.  I sat down in the leather club chair where Lo had been and enjoyed the show.  She danced for a bit in her teeny-bikini, and then the top came off.  I saw her nipples were very hard.  That’s when I realized it was chilly in the office.  Lo had opened the windows to keep the air circulating.  Can’t be too careful.

To my surprise, Candie’s bottoms, what little there were of them, also came off.  As they did, Lo found her way to me and slid me out of my jeans.  She reached down to see how hard I was.  Very.  She got between my legs and went down on my rod like it was her candy.  I put up no resistance.

Lo looked up at me and said, “You like, Daddy?”

I looked down at her and said, “I do.  But I’d rather have you.”

That didn’t take much convincing.  Lo stood up and, as if she were on stage with Candie, removed her blouse, bra, skirt, and panties.  She kept her heels on.  Then she sat on my lubricated lingam and I eased into her dripping yoni.  She was facing away from me, toward Candie.  Lo put her right hand down to her crotch and made small circles on her clit while gently rising and lowering, as if riding a horse English style.  Candie was clearly performing for Lola and only secondarily for me.  She seemed to like what she saw and, judging from how wet Lo was, Lo enjoyed Candie’s performance just as much.

Candie sat on the floor and diddled her own pink parts.  Her breasts were small and perky.  She was probably Lo’s age or maybe a little younger.  She was confident in her performance.  I whispered in Lo’s ear, “Where’d you find her?”

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

“I am older, today!”

“Sit back and enjoy the show.”

I did just that.  I was too self-conscious to cum.  But Lo wasn’t.  Thank goodness the chair was leather and the floor hardwood.  Easy clean-up.

When her performance was over, Candie again wished me a happy birthday and thanked Lo.  She said, “I haven’t worked in months.  This was really helpful.  And I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

She got dressed as Lo used paper towels and all-purpose cleaner on the chair and floor.

Candie let herself out, wearing a long leather trench coat like a character out of The Matrix.

“Well, well, well,” I said to Lo.  “Do you have any more surprises up your sleeve for me today?”

“You’ll have to take off all my clothes again to find out.”

“All your clothes are off!!!”

“Does it look like I have anything up my sleeve?”

“I imagine you have more creative places to hide my birthday gifts.”

Abstract

I was sitting up in bed, my glasses on, reading silently.

Abstract painting

She was next to me, naked, legs spread, knees up in the air.  Her position reminded me of a frog stuck on its back, its vulnerable underbelly exposed.  Not a flattering juxtaposition, but that’s what went through my mind as I looked at her, caressing her spread, dewy pussy with her right hand, her left squeezing her left breast and then her right.  She was clearly trying to give herself the love and attention she wasn’t receiving from me.  Filling her pussy with her three fingers, pinching and pulling her nipples, rubbing her hand over her tum, licking her fingers.  Moaning.

“Don’t you ever tire of reading?” she finally asked, pouting.

“Don’t you ever tire of fucking yourself silly?” I retorted.

“Say what you will, I am a damn good fuck.  Better than most.”

“Present company excluded,” I added.

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

She was trying to get my ire up, or something up.

“What are you reading, anyhow?” she asked out of frustration.

“An abstract.”

“What?”

“An abstract.”

“Is that the title of the book?”

“No, but that would make a good title,” I said, pulling out my little notebook and writing the thought down.

nude

“Oh no, now you’re reading and writing!”

“An abstract is a summary of the contents of a book, a paper, a dissertation.”

“Then why don’t they call it a summary?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t make the rules.”

“Well, is that abstract so good that you wouldn’t have the full-color, complete package, right here in-the-flesh?”

“Darling. . .”

“You prefer the abstract over the real?”

“I. . .”

“Philosophers should come with a warning label!”

“And what, prey tell, would that warning be?”

“WARNING: Prefers to contemplate own navel over contemplating your anus!”

“You want me to contemplate your anus?”

Lo minimalism

“No, never mind.  I can do it myself,” she said, putting her knees behind her head and curving her torso forward while simultaneously grabbing her butt cheeks with her hands and pushing her ass toward her face.

“Nice parlor trick,” I said.  “You’ve been doing yoga while I’m at work?”

“No, I’ve been contemplating my anus.”

“And what have you discovered with all that contemplation?”

“That it is eminently fuckable and sublimely beautiful.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“May I fuck it?”

“Do you want it for real, or merely abstractly?”

“You know, there’s a branch of mathematics that is strictly theoretical.”

“Is there?”

“Yes.”

“So, what’s that have to do with my ass?”

Contemplation of the Anus

“I’m merely pointing out that even something as grounded and concrete as math can exist on a fictional plane.  People think that there is nothing more basic than one-plus-one equals two, that these numbers are based in empirical facts like stones or sticks.  But even the number one and the number two are abstractions.”

“I’m interested in making one and one equal one.”

It took me a while to understand her mathematical metaphor.

She was still twisted in her pretzel shape.

“Can you lick it?” I asked.

“I’m working on it since at this rate, it’s the only cunnilingus I’m going to get.”

“You remind me of the ouroboros now.”

“What is that?”

“It is the image of a snake eating its own tail.  It became the symbol for infinity because it never ends.”

“Appropriately symbolic, for you never stop talking and start fucking.”

“And your desire is infinite.”

“Everyone’s desire is infinite.”

“I’m afraid you are generalizing from the specific.  Quite the no-no in logic.”

“Do you want my ass, or don’t you?” she asked impatiently.

“If you’re offering it, then sure I do!”

She released from the yoganidrasana pose.  “Well, you’ll have to use your imagination because that’s something you’re only going to experience on a fictional plane.”

“But. . .”

“Imagine it vividly and then you can write all about it.”

“But Lo, you know that I’m not a fiction writer.  Our readers expect accounts of my sex life with Lola!”

“What sex life?  It’s more like Lola’s sex life with Lola as H.H. exists on the astral plane.”

“Have you ever had sex in the astral plane?”

“No, I’ve had cocks in my ass and it felt divine.  And I’ve had sex on a plane (with myself).  Maybe one day I’ll have anal sex on a plane and be transported to that heavenly realm again.”

“The astral plane?”

“No, the anal orgasm.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“To hell you will.  I want you in my cunt.”

“Why won’t you give me your ass?”

“Because you simply don’t deserve it.  Make me cum in my cunt and then we’ll see if you graduate to the advanced class.  If you can get it up for one, you can get it up for the other.”

“Isn’t it more like, if you can get it up for two?”

“You know what I mean.  Do you want to spend our time in bed discussing nomenclature and numbers, or do you want to ram your cock hard in my cunt?”

“You wax poetic when you’re horny, you know that?”

She was done with language and she reached down to grab my member.  I was very hard by this point.

“Looks like you are ready to give me what I want.  I know how to excite you.”

“Your intellectual conversation of theoretical planes of existence was a real turn-on.”

“I bet it was, now get behind me and show me how deeply you love me.”

She rolled onto her tum and put her ass in the air.   I mounted her from behind and pulled her hair.  She instantly gushed like an overripe fruit, sensitive to the touch.

“Yeah, Daddio, that’s it.”

I delved deep inside her.  I could feel the tip of my rod touching the target, tantalizing and teasing that tender tuft of nerves that turns on the tap, unleashing a torrent.

Within mere seconds, she was flooding the bed with her happiness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” she repeated again and again, grasping the sheets and holding on for dear life.

I don’t mean to give myself much credit for any special sexual talent.  It really wasn’t very difficult.  She was primed and ready before I even penetrated her.  The time it took to bring her to climax was approximately half the time of our conversation about it.

When she had recovered her senses, she looked over at me and smiled.

I picked up my book again and said, “I’m glad I could please you darling.  Had I known it would only be a matter of a moment, I wouldn’t have protested so much.”

She simply said, “It was the talk about abstractions that turned me on.  You know I’m a sapiosexual.”

“Indeed,” I replied.

“What’s the abstract about, anyhow?”

“Abstract art.”

“Of course it is.”

The End

Redoubled Effort

Lo’s Dinner

“Is that the doorbell?” I asked, just as I was sitting down to eat dinner.

“Oh!” said Lo, getting up quickly from the table and rushing to the door.

“Oh what?”

“It’s the boys.  They’re here to fix the leak.”

“What boys?  What leak?”

“You know, Roy and Gary.”

“Oh, the brothers.”

“Yes,” she said, opening the door, letting them in.

They waved awkwardly at me.

“What leak?” I asked again.

“Oh, it’s not leaking yet, but it will be.”

Lo led the boys down the hall to the bedroom.  I waited a couple of minutes.  When I heard the moans of pleasure, I decided I’m not waiting any longer.  I’m eating my dinner.

Suddenly I heard the Beatles playing, drowning out Lola’s voice.

About fifteen minutes later the boys were leaving.  As they left, I saw them adjusting the crotches of their pants.  They waved goodbye as awkwardly as they had greeted me.

Then Lola reentered the dining room, her face slathered in cum.

She sat down and looked at me, “Are you mad, Daddy?”

“I’m confused.  What leak?”

“Oh,” she said, “me.  I’m leaking, now.”

Lo Sprung a Leak

“I see.  Lo, what is this all about?”

“What Daddy?”

“Having them drop by like this.”

“Well, they need a release.  Their mom doesn’t let them see anyone.”

“So you let them in your bubble?”

“I sure did.”

“Lo, they’re so much younger than you.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I mean, I thought you liked older men.”

“I like to be their sweet release.”

“You’ll get them in trouble with their mother.  In fact, you might get in trouble with their mother.”

“She thinks that they’re just being handymen for me.”

“Very handy.”

“And the music?”

“I asked them both to ‘Cum together, right now, over me.’  And they did.”

“I thought you said you were leaking.”

“At that age, they’ve got such needs and. . .”

“And what?”

“And they’re so full!.  They both came twice in that short time!  Once over me, once in me.  And they could have gone for more, I’m sure!”

“Still hungry?”

“Seeing two brothers jackin’ it like that over my naked body. . . YES!  I’m soooo hungry!”

“I mean, for dinner.”

“Oh, no.  Was it good?”

“You could have told me they were coming over!” I blurted out, not realizing that I was inadvertently speaking a double entendre.

“I didn’t know until they did.”

“But you invited them.”

“Yes, but they both came much faster than I expected.”

“Are we talking about the same thing?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“How about some dessert?”

“Ok,” she said, “in the bedroom or here?”

The Origins of the Mercy Fuck

A while ago, when Lo and I first met up with the protégés, Zach and I had a nice little chat about our sexual proclivities.  My theory was and is that the things we obsess about as adults have their origins in our formative sexual experiences.  While talking with Zach, I was reminiscing about the girl who stole my virginity and then proceeded to crush my loving heart.  (“Stole my virginity” is hardly an apt phrase.  I was eager to get rid of it!)  It had not occurred to me at the time that there may be other, more subtle seeds that were sown in my libido that blossomed into an infatuation with nymphomanical women drawn to living the lifestyle of a hotwife.

hotwife hotty

But then Lo took pity on our friend, Professor Smith.  One night, when I was making passionate love to Lo and she was whispering in my ear about helping dear Dr. Smith to find release from his long sexual frustration, an image and snippet of conversation buried deep in the recesses of my memory was triggered.

It was the same year I had lost my virginity.  There I was, fifteen, and out with my two buddies – Ryan and Peter.  They were both seniors and I was a sophomore.  I looked up to Ryan with unquestioning admiration.  Ever since I was a freshman, my first day of high school, he kindly took me under his wing and showed me the ropes.  He taught me how to cut class, the shortcut to the convenience store to grab a sandwich and smokes, he let me drive his car in the parking lot, instructing me in the basics.  When it snowed, he would take us out into the same parking lot and we’d do donuts for hours on the slippery surface, fishtailing and skidding around like kids in their big, motorized toboggan.

To this day, I have no idea why he was so kind to me.  He had a generous nature and there was no one in the school who had a bad thing to say about him.  His best friend since childhood was Peter – also a senior.  Peter was, in many respects, the opposite of Ryan.  Whereas Ryan was good looking and “cool” – whatever that meant to us back in high school – Peter was quite unattractive and a “nerd.”  Peter had some terrible acne, he was about forty pounds overweight.  He dressed slovenly, showed no personal attention to grooming, and, to complete the picture, he played the tuba.  He didn’t just play the tuba.  The tuba was his life.  He was an award winning tuba player.  Such accolades, however, didn’t make him any more attractive to anyone.

Yet Ryan, unfazed by the court of public opinion – even in that most harsh and unfair court called high school – stuck by his buddy and stuck up for him.  It was a true bromance that was lovely to see.  Somehow, for reasons unfathomable to me, these two seniors were more than happy to include me, a mere freshman, in their little club.

In addition to Ryan and Peter, by the time I came on the scene, there was also Jackie, Ryan’s girlfriend of about a year.  Jackie was a tough, rough, brunette who was the star of the girls’ soccer team.  She played trumpet and also was on a girls’ rugby team.  I’ll admit, I had a crush on this sexy senior.  I’m sure it showed.  But I wasn’t alone; Peter also had a crush on her.  She was, in so many ways, “one of the guys.”  She hung out with us and reveled in our adolescent humor and poor manners.  She accepted everyone for who they were, perhaps because her tomboy persona set her apart from the other preppy girls of the school.  She wasn’t going to be one to judge since she was frequently on the receiving end of judgment from her peers.

Now that I’ve introduced you to all the players of this stroll down memory lane, I shall relate the inciting moment.  It was a dreary autumn day.  Ryan, Peter, and I were in Ryan’s car, getting high in the parking lot of a state park.  Peter was monologing about his unpleasant family situation.  His parents would have been better off divorced and they treated him and his siblings as so much extra baggage.  As Peter’s rant continued, he touched upon all the other aspects of his life that sucked – his failing grades, his lack of money, his unseemly appearance, being overweight, being a virgin.

And that’s when Ryan said the words that I, a fifteen-year-old virgin myself at the time, could not believe I was hearing.  “Do you want to fuck Jackie?”

“What?” asked Peter.

“Do you want to fuck Jackie?”

“No.  I mean, yes, I do.  But, if you’re really asking, no.”

“I’m really asking.”

“Stop fucking with me.  I’m high and this is a mind trip.”

“No.  I talked to her about it.  And. . .”

“Talked to her about what?”

“About fucking you.”

“You what?!”

“Yeah, I asked her if she would fuck you.”

“Why the hell would you ask her that?!”

“Because, I think you need to pop your cherry and move on.  It would be a real confidence boost for you.  Plus, she’s fucking amazing in bed.”

“I’m sure she is – don’t think I haven’t imagined what she’s like in bed.”

“OK,” I said, “this is getting weird.”

“But she’s your girlfriend,” continued Peter.

“So?”

“So?!  Don’t you think that would, like, fuck everything up?”

“What would it fuck up?”

“Our friendship, your relationship with Jackie, I don’t know – those are the two biggies I can think of.”

“No,” said Ryan nonchalantly, “it wouldn’t fuck up anything.  It would unfuck you up.”

“Fucking your girlfriend would unfuck me up?  That’s the most nonsensical thing you’ve ever said, on so many levels.”

“All I’m saying is, if you want to, you can.”

“It is tempting,” said Peter.

“Then do it.  I’ll talk to her tonight and I’ll let you know when and where.”

“Fuck you!”

Well, I don’t remember the rest of that day, but the next weekend I was out with Peter and I asked him, “So, did you take Ryan up on his offer?”

Embarrassed, he said, “MmmmHmmm.”

“You did?!  Tell me about it!”

“He asked Jackie again and she said, ‘Sure.’  Ryan came back to me and told me that she’ll be at his house after school on Friday.  He’d go out for a couple of hours and she’s all mine if I want.  I was tortured by the choice.  He told me this on Wednesday.  I kept going back and forth in my mind.  Eventually Friday came around and I thought, ‘Well, I’ll just go over there and talk with her.’  I showed up at Ryan’s house and there she was, wearing only her panties and bra.  I tried to talk with her and she just led me into the bedroom and got on her knees.  She looked up at me and said, ‘I’ve always wanted to be the first with someone.’  When she pulled out my pud, she put it in her mouth.”

He stopped talking.

“And?” I asked, on the edge of my seat.

“And, with one lick I came all over her.”

“Oh my God!  No!”

“Yeah.  I couldn’t help it.  I’m lucky I didn’t cum in my pants before she undid them.”

“So, that was it?  You’re still a virgin?”

“No, that wasn’t it.  She was very good about it.  She smiled, licked what she could, cleaned up, and then we lay in bed.  It didn’t take long before I was hard again – especially because she got completely naked in bed – and, well, I had her.”

“You did?!”

“Yeah.  She was amazing!”

In retrospect, I probably could have had Jackie too, but at the time I was too proud for a pity fuck.  I wanted my first time to be with someone I loved.  Silly me.

All’s well that ends well – Jackie and Ryan continued dating until she went off to college.  Ryan and Peter remained the closest of friends.  And I found my first love and she ripped my loving heart right out of my chest, but that’s a tale I’ve already told you.

 

Grist for the Mill

Tanning while reading Match, Cinder & Spark

Strolling through the park on a bright summer’s afternoon.  “What a glorious day,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said lasciviously.

I looked at her eyes and followed her line of sight.  She was watching two sunbathers.

“Lo, what are you thinking about?”

“Nothing, Daddy, I just can’t wait to get home and bang you,” she said while biting her lower lip.

The female sunbather turned over, revealing that she was wearing merely a thong.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, accusatorily.

“Darling, the difference between you and I is that I am an aesthete.”

She rolled her eyes.  “This again?”

“And you are a hedonist.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  Quite so.”

“What makes me a hedonist for looking at the exact same thing you were looking at?”

“I was looking at the entire composition of the sun, the clouds, the green grass, the spatial relations of the various persons and trees upon the sward, the mathematical ratio of the low lying buildings to the rectangular outline of the park’s boundary.  I could go on.”

“I’m sure you could, you pompous ass-thete!”

“While you, my dear,” I continued, ignoring her invective interruption, “were simply thinking about the heat of the sun, the cool of the breeze, the tingling between your legs stimulated by the physical appearance of those two bodies over there, going home, fucking and eating.  That’s what makes you a hedonist and me an aesthete.”

“You are unbearable!”

“Why do you take such offense?”

“Because you’re basically saying that I’m a simpleton with animalistic cravings and you are a cerebral demigod!”

“Darling, but don’t you see – that’s why we’re are made for each other.  You admire that about me and I admire you for your primal desires.  You wish you could be more like me and I wish I could be more like you.  That is the law of attraction.”

“Primal desires?!”

“I don’t mean it in a value-laden sense.  It’s merely descriptive.  As the great philosophers of Utilitarianism – Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill. . .”

“Oh boy, here we go!”

“As the originators of that philosophy of pleasure, Bentham, in contrast to Mill, put no greater weight on the enjoyment derived from eating bonbons than that derived from reading Balzac.”

“If you could shut up for ten minutes, I’d love to eat your sword and fondle your ball sack.”

“Darling, when I said ‘sward’ earlier, it was with an ‘A,’ meaning a green pasture.  And the Balzac to which I just now referred was to the French author Honoré de. . .”

“Please, please give it a rest!”

“All I’m saying is that the utils that you get from. . .”

“The what?”

“Utils.  The unit of measurement of pleasure in Utilitarianism.”

“Oh, back to that are we?”

“The utils that you get from seeing a curvaceous and scantily clad female are no better or worse than the utils I derive from viewing a Kandinsky painting.  I’m much more sympathetic to Bentham’s egalitarian theory than Mill’s hierarchy of pleasures.”

“Really?  You?  Mr. aristocrat himself?”

“If, by ‘aristocrat,’ you mean that I subscribe to a ranking of merit, then guilty as charged.  But one can excel in merit while still deriving pleasure from the simplest of things.”

“You are such an asshole!”

“But if pressed,” I said, again overlooking her impulsive outburst, “I would have to admit that I do not subscribe to Utilitarianism at all.”

“OK, I’ll bite.  What do you subscribe to?”

“I think Nietzsche understood that humans are not such simplistic beings as brute beasts, merely out to diminish pain and increase pleasure.  Observation of any great artist shows that the highest exemplars of the human race make great sacrifices and endure terrible suffering for the sake of art.”

“Oh, and what sacrifices and sufferings have you had to endure?”

“The subheading of our blog is ‘the trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.’”

I am the source of your suffering?!”

“The source of my art, and thereby, the source of the suffering that I go through for it.”

“What suffering is that?  Having sex with a goddess multiple times a day?”

“No, no, no dear.  It’s the, the, um, creative process.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like this conversation, for instance.  It’s all just grist for the mill.”

“So, conversing with me is a source of suffering for you?”

“No, no.  You take my meaning all wrong.”

“I really don’t see another possible interpretation.”

At this point, we were at our front door.  Just as we arrived, a sun-shower began.

“What a weird season,” said Lo.  “It’s wet like spring, hot like summer, and beautiful like autumn.”

“You just described yourself: wet, hot, and beautiful.”

Lola Down – Wet, Hot, and Beautiful

“What about smart?”

“Lo, you know how I admire your intelligence.”

“Do I?  You just performed an oral dissertation about how I am a hedonist given over to carnal desires.”

“There’s wisdom in that.”

“What does that mean?”

“You are wise beyond words.”

“I know what you’re saying.  You wish I’d shut up and you could simply enjoy my beauty without having to listen to me talk.  You think you’re so smart.”

“No.  I’m just wise beyond your years.”

“I don’t need your stamp of approval.  I know I’m smart,” she said with a grin indicating just how content she was with herself.

“Then why do you get so upset when I talk?”

“Because you say the dumbest things.”

I must have looked mortally wounded by her words because she followed that up with, “I mean that with love.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“The dumbest things for someone so intelligent.  That’s what I meant.”

Once we were inside, I sat down at my computer to transcribe this little conversation of ours.  She was in the bedroom, naked no doubt.  She hollered down the hall for me to join her.

“Can’t you see I’m writing?  Why do you keep distracting me?” I called back.

“You think that life is just writing and that everything else is a distraction.”

I heard the quiet purr of her Hitachi start up, followed by her moans of pleasure.

When I had completed the reporting of our peripatetic discourse, I sauntered down the hall to check on her, following the sounds of her self-copulatory female vocalizations.

Her right hand held the mechanism between her legs as her left held her phone and scrolled through various images.

Lo’s Little Friend

I turned to leave.

“Hey,” she called to me, “where are you going?”

“It seems that you have matters well in hand,” I said.  “You give no indication of needing assistance.”

“For many species, masturbation is the mating call,” she responded.

“Oh, so you want me?”

“If your superior intellect can deign to do me – a mere mortal full of base desires.”

“Like the immaterial Nous infusing the nether pleroma with its animating spirit.”

I had penetrated her as I spoke those words.

“You’re lucky I’m such a sapiosexual, or else I’d take offense at that,” she said, looking up at me.  “But the mere fact that you not only know what those terms mean, but can use them when fucking turns me on.  And, I might add, your emanation is hardly immaterial.”

Within moments she had reached the apogee of her venereal excitement.

I slowly removed my sword from her scabbard and stood over her recovering body.

“What?” she asked.  “You’re not going to cum?”

“That was strictly for your pleasure, my dear,” I said.

“You got nothing from it?” she asked, insulted.

“Your enjoyment gives me satisfaction.  Now, back to my writing.”

“Good grief!  You’re lucky you have me or you’d have nothing to write about except ideas!”

Cum-Covered

Later that day, a friend sent an email asking, “How are you two?”

Lo responded, “We’re doing fine.  HH is writing.  I’m masturbating.  Once in a while he puts down his pen and picks up his penis and gives it to me.  But mostly he gives me his stories to edit.”

I turned to her and said, “You know, my writing makes you immortal.”

“And my body makes you mortal.”

“Are you saying that without your body I’d live forever?”

“No, I’m saying that without my body, you wouldn’t even live once.”

Sound

[This story, in case you don’t pick up on it, is dedicated to the incomparable, Jupiter Grant. You can find her work here, here, here, here, and here.]

“In physics, sound is a vibration that propagates as an acoustic wave, through a transmission medium such as a gas, liquid or solid. In human physiology and psychology, sound is the reception of such waves and their perception by the brain.”

Lola’s Tum

 

It had been a wet month.  The typical English spring attempted to outdo itself with unrelenting grey skies, showers, and sopping English gardens.  Jupiter Grant, or Jupi, as she likes to be called by her friends, had not gone out for weeks.  Her groceries had been delivered and her supply of wine was dwindling.  It had been months since she had seen her ersatz lover, H.  She referred to him only as H and thought of him as “ersatz” because he was a Husband to another woman and had a family in London.  Jupi was the proverbial “other woman,” the “mistress,” the “seductress.”  At least that’s the way the judging world would see her.  The judging world being the monogamous, heteronormative world.  Between Jupi, H, and H’s wife, there was an open understanding.  Still, that cozy relationship was of no use during the long COVID lockdown.

From Jupi’s point of view, she was the guest always late to the party.  She and H had chemistry that they both acknowledged.  Not just sexual, but spiritual.  They knew they were meant to be together, but their paths had crossed many years too late in life.  As a compromise to life’s cruel humor, they connected when and how they could; neither one demanding more of the other or disappointed by the other since they both knew that this was the best arrangement for all parties involved.  Yet Jupi was not late to the poly-party.  Thank goodness, she thought, that she lived in and was a part of the polyamory zeitgeist.

A Happy Fan

Yet the knowledge that they were two lost souls doing what they could to find joy in a largely painful and sad world provided little relief for Jupi when her deepest needs swelled up to fill her entire being with desire – desire to be held, touched, caressed, kissed, fondled, spanked, sucked, filled, and fucked.  At those moments, a quick fap merely whet her ferocious appetite.  She needed more.  She craved the comfort of H’s strong, firm flesh pressing down on her own soft, welcoming, warm body.

Unrelieved in her needs, she turned to compensatory pleasures and perversions.  Much of her sexual energy, she found over the years, could be diverted into creative power.  Writing erotica was her main outlet.  But lately she discovered a new medium into which she channeled her plentiful reserves of poetic and prurient lust and her craving to perform: her voice.  Through a series of happy coincidences, she discovered that not only could she narrate literotica, she could nail it with every ounce of sexy she felt swirling through her sensual spirit and her beautiful body.

Volume I

A manuscript had arrived: Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl.  “Hmmmm,” she thought, “this could be interesting.  Or, it could be a colossal waste of time.  Thousands of words, hundreds of pages of driveling, second-rate, even third-rate pablum ‘poetry’ for pubescent boys.”  She poured a glass of red wine and opened up the document on her computer.  She began reading:

 

“Tell me,” she said, “tell me what I am.”

“You’re a slut.”

“Yes,” she said, encouragingly.

“A whore.  A fucking sexmaniac.”

“Go on,” she moaned, biting her lower lip.  But I was too occupied with banging her from behind.  I needed to catch my breath.

“Tell me,” she demanded, “tell me what I am.”

“A cum-bucket.  A little cum-hungry tramp.”

“Yes,” she screamed.

“A sex addict.  A nymphomaniac!”

I slapped her ass hard as she screamed with delight.  Her wet little snatch secreted her luscious, warm juices all over my hard cock.

After she collapsed into the bed of blankets, I reached around her from behind and whispered in her ear, “Good girl.  That’s my good girl.”  She purred like a little kitten.

 

Artistic Tribute Photo

She felt a tingling between her legs.  She kept reading, taking small sips of wine as she felt her mouth watering.  As she continued, she felt something else getting wet.  She tried reading the words aloud, just to hear how they would sound in her voice.  Could she do the male lines?  It was narrated by Lola Down’s lover, H.H.  Was she the right voice for that?  Wouldn’t a man’s voice be more appropriate?  She tried it out, experimenting with various octaves and tones.  Clearly these two characters were American.  Should I pronounce “ass” the American way, or as I would pronounce it – “arse”?  Technical questions like these kept appearing, but she liked what she read.  She liked it a lot.  To her surprise, she especially enjoyed embodying the male narrator’s role.  Yes, she thought, yes, I’ll take this on.

A week later she was in her tiny makeshift “recording studio” – actually a closet with a light, a microphone, and her computer.  It was the most soundproof room of her flat.  She was in the middle of recording a story, “NYC,” about Lo and her raconteur’s trip to a strip club in Manhattan:

 

She slowly eased her way down Lo’s body, pressing her perky breasts and nipples directly in Lo’s face.  She took Lo’s hands and encouraged Lo to apply them to her body, caressing the dancer’s ass and legs.  As she slithered over Lo, she inconspicuously pulled Lo’s strapless dress down over Lo’s breasts, exposing them so that they could rub up against her own.  She then got down between Lo’s legs and gracefully pulled the hem of Lo’s dress up and up, rubbing her soft hands over Lo’s thighs and then sitting on Lo’s lap and rubbing her ass deep into Lo’s crotch.  All the while, Lo licked her lips and ran her tongue over her teeth in that sumptuous way that indicates that Lo is hungry.

 

 

Jupi found herself breathless.  She couldn’t continue with the narration.  There in the narrow confines of the darkened closet, she reached down under her skirt and panties and her fingers fondled the fount of her effulgent creativity.  She read the lines again and again in her mind and switched roles in her mind from being Lo to being the stripper to being H.H. observing it all.  The dance of subjectivity stimulated her mind as much as her digits released her pent-up puissance by penetrating her pulsating pink pussy.

Browsing the Literotica section

Wave after wave of relief and gratitude poured over her as her legs gave out and she slowly crumpled onto the now wet wooden floor of the closet, panting and heaving.  She opened the door to let in more air.  She desperately needed more air.

Eventually, she was able to finish recording the story.  She liked it so much that she wanted to share it, prematurely, with someone.  No, not with someone.  Not with anyone.  With H.  She needed to know his opinion of it.  Was it any good?  Was she any good as a narrator?  But there were so many doubts that accompanied her wish.  What if he didn’t like it?  What if he thought she was weird for even producing it?  What if he was turned on by Lola?

Ultimately her desire for validation and attention outweighed her insecurities and she hit “SEND” and immediately wished she could unsend it.

An excruciating day, then two days, then three days went by without a word from H.  She couldn’t record another page before hearing back from him.  She was in a frenzied state.  Why hadn’t he called, texted, emailed, something???

But, just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, there was an unexpected knock at her door.

A visitor?  No.  Couldn’t be.  Probably just a grocery delivery.  She hastily put on her robe and furtively opened the door.  There he was.  H.  Unannounced.  Unexpected.  Un-fuckig-believable!  She was ecstatic.  Jupi threw the door open wide and let him in.  But then she remembered the recording.  Was he here to break things off?

“Hi,” she said shyly, her nerves shot.

“Hi.”

“I wish I knew you were coming.  I would have. . .”

“I didn’t even know I was coming.  But I’ve been. . . I’ve wanted to. . . I just started driving and I found myself here.  I’ve been listening to your recording on repeat.”

“And?”

“Your voice is so fucking sexy.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.  I’ve been hard-up for days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to.  But I wanted to see you and tell you.”

“Way to drive a woman crazy!”

“Who wrote this?  Who is this Lola?”

Suddenly Jupi felt nervous again.  She felt butterflies in her stomach.  “What if?” questions started forming in her mind like they did before.  Incessant, annoying, pervasive questions filled with self-doubt and fear.  Her anxiety ramping up again.  She needed to get grounded.

“Come on in,” she said, taking his coat.  “Want a drink?”

She took out the wine and two glasses.  She let her robe drop, revealing her bare body just beneath the sheer negligée she was wearing under the robe.  It was sexy, but it was also comfy.  He looked at her, soaking in her visage.  She was a shy hermit full of inner life – sensual, spontaneous, artistic, creative, smart, witty, emotional, and most of all, madly in love with him.  Seeing her filled him with passion, just as the sound of her voice speaking those salacious sentences had made him crazed for three days.  Her flesh.  He wanted it.

She sat down next to him at the small kitchen table and opened her laptop.  She clicked on mysexlifewithlola.com and scrolled through the plethora of Lola’s porno pictures.

“Oh. . . oh. . . my,” he said slowly with long pauses in between exclamations.  “Um, wow!”  Images of Lola naked were replete on the screen.  But not just naked – naked with her 12 inch dildo, with her princess plug, with pearls on a string streaming from her ass, with her man, H.H., sucking his cock, filled with his cum, overflowing with the cum of other men, and stretching herself wide with one of the largest replicas of a horse cock H had ever seen!

“Yeah, she’s a handful,” said Jupi, resigned to sharing H’s attention with Lola.

“She reminds me of you,” he said, looking up at her downcast eyes.

“What?  Really?”

“Yes, if I had met you ten years ago.  I think she’s the spitting image of you.”

“Ten years ago?” Jupi echoed.

“Oh, no.  Come on.  I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You sure you don’t want some young sexy thing like Lo?”

“No, Jupi, I want you.”  He leaned in to kiss her.  Her stomach’s butterflies flew in a flutter, suddenly startled by the unexpected availability of his lips and everything else he brought to the table.

“I was just about to record another chapter.”

“Really?  Can I listen?”

“I don’t think you’ll hear much.  I record it in the closet,” she said.

“Which closet?”

“In the bedroom.”

“Oh.  Well, go right ahead.  I’ll just be lying on the bed.  Maybe I’ll hear something.”

They got up to go to the bedroom.  She took the computer and disappeared into the walk-in studio.  “Wait here quietly,” she said before shutting the door behind her.

She was just finishing up the story, “Horsing Around.”  She read loud enough for H to hear:

 

I was in jeans and I could feel my cunt getting totally saturated, soaking my panties through and through.  I spread my legs and rubbed his cock back and forth until finally he exploded.  It was a ginormous shot of cum over my head, but, as his cock slackened, he dripped some remaining cum down into my hair and on my face.  I had to unbutton my jeans and pull them and my panties down as I got on my knees.  As I sat under his dangling cock, I stroked my pussy till I too came in a giant puddle on the cement floor.

 

 

When Jupi was done with the story, she emerged from the closet.  She found H lying on his back, his trousers down around his ankles, his massive hard-on clenched in his right fist which stroked up and down from tip-to-base and back again.

“Could you hear?” she asked, astonished.

“MmmmmmGrrrrrrrrrAaaaaahhhhhhh,” was all he could say as his member erupted like a spewing volcano sending its warm lava all over the surrounding countryside and dribbling down its sheer cliffs, covering his hand in goo.  “Fuuuuck!”

“Did I do that?” asked Jupi innocently.

“You have the most sexy voice,” he answered.

Though flattered by his visceral standing ovation, Jupi was at least slightly disappointed that she wasn’t going to get any of her man’s patronage that day.  Never one to miss an opportunity, she got between his legs and licked up the mess he had made.

“Can I get an advance copy of that audiobook?” he asked.

Jupi smiled, looking up at H from between his legs.  “Of course,” she said.

After he left, she sent the audio files to him via email.

A few days later he texted her and said, “Jupi, you have no idea how happy you have made me.  I know that we can’t see each other, but I’ve been listening to your recording in the car every chance I get.  It’s incredible.”

“Glad you like it.”

“I’ve even started listening to it in bed.  I told my wife that it’s just a guided meditation to help me sleep, but, in fact, it has the opposite effect.  After she falls asleep, I pull out my cock and stroke to your voice.”

A week later he was at Jupi’s flat again.  This time they had an actual date planned.  After a small meal, they went into the bedroom and, lying down on the bed, he asked, “Can we, uh, listen to the audiobook?”

“But I’m right here,” Jupi replied.

“I know, but it turns me on.”

She agreed.

He had another request.  “Can I have you doggy style?”

“Yes.”

“And. . .”

“And what?”

“Never mind,” he said as she got on all fours on the bed and he stood next to it, ready to enter her from behind.

“What?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Can I put your laptop here?”

“Really?”

“I mean, I won’t if you. . .”

“No, go ahead.”

He placed the computer on her back, opened it up to Lola’s photos, and, listening to Jupi’s narration, entered her wet and waiting pussy.

Not Jupi, but a fan photo

 

Lo picked up her head and said, “Stroke it again as I rub my pussy.”  Lo leaned back across from Bill in the back seat and spread her legs wide.  Her right leg was lying on top of Bill’s knee.  She still had her cute little heels on.  Bill stroked his cock as he looked on, salivating, at Lo’s spread pussy.  With her left hand, Lo spread her pussy lips wide and with her right hand she was fingering her clit and her cunt.

Bill was treated to a feast for the eyes.  Lo came and came again to her own digital manipulation.  She so love’s to see men jerk off, but the only thing she loves more than that is to see them jerking off to her.  This Bill did with enthusiasm and then he started asking Lo, “I bet you want me to cum on your pussy, don’t you, you whore?”

“Oh yeah,” responded Lo in her low, deep, sexy, guttural voice.

“You want me to shoot my load all over that hot pussy, don’t you?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, do it,” she said in response as she continued to spread her legs and finger-fuck her pussy.

He got up from the seat and almost stood over her, frantically yanking at his cock.

“Come on, come on,” Lo encouraged, “cum on my pussy.  Come on.”  And then finally, in an explosion of cum that fell like rain all over Lo and her dress and her stomach and her pussy, he came and came and came and came some more.  Lo was shocked by how much he came on her.  She had never been drenched that much by a guy in her life. . . and she loved it.

 

As they listened to the story, they too came together. . . and loved it.

Lying next to each other, sprawled out on the mess of a bed, the computer screen still displaying Lo’s cum-covered body, H said, “You know, my wife has been listening to the stories as well.”

Lo Bathes in Beauty

“No,” Jupi said incredulously.

“Yes.  She found me out.  She discovered it wasn’t a ‘guided meditation.’  And so now, whenever she’s in the mood, she puts in her earbuds and listens with her computer open in front of her, while I go at her.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Jupi.

“I’m sorry.  Does that upset you?  I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“No, I can’t believe that little trollop.”

“Who?”

“You know who: Lola Down.  She’ll be getting off all of London before long.”

“No, dear, you’ll be getting them off with your voice.”

Thank you Lola.  Thank you Jupiter Grant.  Thank you H.  Thank you everyone who reads, listens, and gets off to these words dripping with love and lust, jizz and juices.  Thank you.

The End

The Body Politic

[An excerpt of the following appeared today in Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine, November, 2020 issue.  Waring, political stuff ahead.]

It’s November of an election year.  And not just any election year, but perhaps the most vitriolic, divisive, and ugly election year ever.  Well, except for 2016.  As I’ve stated before, this sacred, sexy space of ours, this small column in the vast expanse of contemporary writing, steers clear of politics, except for the fact that nothing is a-political anymore.  Writing about sex, celebrating sexuality, and depicting a strong, independent, sexually explicit woman like Lola Down is itself a political act.

Lola as depicted by Roman Doodle

But in this very politicized climate, it is nearly impossible to provide a playground where the ubiquitous partisan battles don’t bleed over the boundaries we have created.  People on the right have appropriated the term “cuck” as a pejorative for the left.  Queer men on the left have appropriated “Proud Boys,” to the consternation of that far-right group.  Just beneath the surface of these slogans and slurs is a swirl of sexual energy, frustration, confusion, and subliminal eroticism misdirected and perverted into hatred and violence.

Misogyny, racism, sexism, gender identity politics, transphobia, homophobia, xenophobia, and politization of polyamory are all interrelated issues, impossible to easily separate into isolated questions.

We live in strange times; times I never thought I’d see.  The President of the United States is a man married (his third marriage, mind you) to a woman born in a different country who had a career as a model, occasionally posing nude and with other nude women in homoerotic images.  And yet, he’s not a radical leftist liberal, but embraced by the conservative Christian right!  He has had numerous affairs with porn stars and other women, yet that hasn’t prevented him from gaining the backing of the Bible Belt.  But his exoneration by the religious right has not been equally applied.  Those who work in the sex industry were not similarly embraced or given the same shame-free-pass as the President.

In 2016 the first female presidential candidate was eviscerated, mainly for wearing a pantsuit.  Yet, in 2020, between Hope Hicks, Kayleigh McEnany, Ivanka Trump, Omarosa Manigault Newman, Mercedes Schlapp, Lindsay Walters, Zina Bash, the First Lady, and others, it is sometimes difficult to tell the difference between the White House and the Playboy Mansion.  Perhaps that is Trump’s appeal to many; he fills the void left by the death of Hugh Hefner.

Hope Hicks (Sorry Hope It's A Gentleman's Club) | Valentino gowns, Beauty, Hair

Hope Hicks gender bending at the W.H.

And all of this tumult and turmoil, not coincidentally, floats to the surface in the wake of eight years of an African American man occupying the White House.

I mention our current and past political theater as a preamble to confronting a porn/erotica trope as ubiquitous and with as long a history as that of the “Lolita” nymphomaniac figure.  I speak of the so-called “Mandingo Myth.”  This deep-seated belief, whose pedigree can be traced as far back as Ancient Greece and Egypt, holds that African men wield sexual appendages that dwarf those of fair-skinned Europeans.  Throughout the ages, the image of the hugely hung black man has been perpetuated as well as perverted in order to promote a racist agenda: The longer the penis, the more bestial the sex-drive, the less human the man and thus the greater the threat to white society, especially its womenfolk.  (See A Mind of Its Own: A Cultural History of the Penis, by David M. Friedman, chapter III, “The Measuring Stick.”)

Lo’s idea of a perfect date

Over the centuries, the long black appendage has been compared to a Priapus (that is, the male fertility god), a donkey, stallion, buck, and even a pre-Adam serpent of the Garden of Eden responsible for Eve’s seduction and the Fall.  Throughout the ages, but most prominently in America from Reconstruction onward, this archetype of the African American man’s exceptional endowment has been the focus of white fear and fetish, engendering multiple myths, none of them ending well for the African American man.  This theme is almost comically depicted in the various King Kong films, but most explicitly in the 1976 version.  Plot: The Petrox Oil Company seeks to plunder a remote island of its oil.  They find no natural resources to make their venture profitable, but they do find and trap King Kong, a preternaturally large black ape.  They return to the U.S. with their unusual cargo.  However, Kong has fallen in love with Dwan (a scantily clad, blonde woman played by Jessica Lange).  Unable to allow such an unfathomable relationship, Kong is killed.  (In the original 1933 version, he climbs the giant phallus, the Empire State Building.  In the ’76 remake, he climbs the World Trade Center buildings, thus doubling the phalli.)  The allegory is quite transparent: white colonialists set out for raw materials, they return with slaves from Africa whose unusual size threatens their white women and must be killed.

King Kong Jessica Lange 8x10 HD Aluminum Wall Art at Amazon's Entertainment Collectibles Store

Jessica Lange in King Kong 1976

A year earlier, in 1975, the same myth was played out, only without the allegorical trappings, in the film Mandingo, based on the 1957 novel by the same name, from which the “Mandingo Myth” gets its label, though its predecessors in white Western mythology predate it by millennia.

Lo and an admirer in the park

How do you measure up?

Unfortunately, today we still find this trope used as both the focus of taboo fetishes (“Blacked” porn, which fetishizes both black men with large cocks and white, usually blonde and petit, women) and phobias for political ends.  For instance, in 2017, Enrique Tarrio, the leader of the Proud Boys, posted a tweet in which he asked if white women would be more willing to donate $20 to Trump’s campaign or walk past a group of black men while wearing a sundress.  (The Daily Mail, 10/1/2020, “Leader of the Proud Boys is the State Director of Latinos for Trump”)

Lola’s fan

In today’s tribal public sphere, there is little we can agree upon, but one thing that is unimpeachable is, as David Friedman says, the one place where race and sex (and we can add politics) converge is the black penis.

Lola’s COVID Gang-Bang Datenight

The long black dong is the symbol of white, male fragility.  It signifies the fear of masculine inadequacy and the homoerotic desire for sexual prowess.  Both symbol and signifier are pointers and the thick, strong, dark schlong is frequently depicted as pointing at the helpless, weak, innocent white blonde.  Copulation by contrast.  This ubiquitous trope penetrates deep in the psyche of our culture.

Just as black men are often reduced to their primal virility as exemplified by the penis, so too women are subtly and explicitly made into a medium for the message communicated by the patriarchal culture.  In recent memory, the collective unconscious probably recalls images from silent black-and-white films of a damsel-in-distress tied to the railroad tracks by the sinister mustachioed villain.  This image is emblematic of an archetype that transcends time and space: the bound female.  Ancient stories span the globe of women tied up – as sacrificial victims, concubines, slaves – from the abduction of Sita in the Ramayana to the afore mentioned Dwan of King Kong and, of course, Princess Leia in her famous Jabba the Hut scene in Return of the Jedi (1983) – project and perpetuate the idea of women as victims in need of a hero.

Lola’s Sexy Shoes

From nude or nearly nude women dancing in cages at clubs, raves, and music concerts, to Taylor Swift reenacting the railroad scene in “Mean,” this trope is conspicuously depicted and sexualized, but there are far more nuanced ways of sending the same message.  What is the message?  Women are weak, needy, helpless, and their power, like Prometheus (an example of gender inversion of the architype) is under wraps.  Notice, if you will, women’s fashion, from undergarments to gowns.  What is a recurring theme?  Straps, bows, knots, strings, and all manner of imagery suggesting restraint while simultaneously revealing skin.  Beyond that, almost every article of clothing is designed to depict weakness, vulnerability, and impotence.  Watch your local or national news, for instance.  How are the men dressed?  Buttoned up shirts, ties, long sleeve jackets revealing the least skin possible.  They are formidable, as if wearing body armor.  And the women?  Blouses cut at the shoulder, plunging necklines, form-fitting soft colored tops.  Imagine for a moment what you would think of a male news anchor reporting in a halter-top made of thin, silky material.

Lola Upskirt

Beyond the blouses, there are the skirts.  Dresses were, perhaps, originally designed to conceal the shape of the woman hidden beneath all the folds and flourishes.  But today, dresses and skirts are designed to inhibit freedom of movement, conceal as little as possible, and leave the woman wearing them vulnerable to the inadvertent upskirt.

Lola in a cute little bow

Working our way down, we next arrive at women’s footwear.  High heels keep a woman off balance.  Not only do they prevent any aggressive action, they inhibit flight.  Women’s dress shoes, for the most part, make them a helpless victim in the face of any danger.  Beyond that, they continue the ligature leitmotif.  Straps, bows, chords, all depict the female foot in a shibari shoe.

Tied Up

It’s important to recall that liberating oneself from the cultural baggage one inherits by virtue of merely being born into a particular time and place is not accomplished by merely adopting the opposite position.  In the dialectical structure, inhabiting the antithesis merely reaffirms the thesis.  It does nothing to diminish the power of the thesis.  Rather, twisting free of the rigid and possibly oppressive cultural constraints is a tricky and subtle art.  It requires first understanding the nature of one’s servitude and then becoming master of it.

Lola is by no means exempt from our culture’s conventions any more than you or I.  However, she does like to play with the tropes and taboos just the way that a good composer doesn’t merely adhere to the rules of the times, but will surprise and delight by contorting them in unexpected patterns.

Lola’s Cock

Of course, in our relationship there is the patent hotwife – cuck/stag – bull roles to be played.  But we emphasize the play of that is inherent in any roleplaying.  Lo has her soft spot for knots (of all variety) and strappy heels, dresses, bras, panties, and even corsets.  She also has her wet spot for BBC.  But it also delights her to wear her strap-on, to wield her cock, and to fuck like a man.  Call her a switch if you wish.  She also oogles and drools over the many fan photos she gets from black bulls endowed with length, girth, and heft she has rarely met in the flesh.  But she also loves her male trans fans who send photos of themselves in their wives’ panties or cumming in their pantyhose.  For, when it comes to sex, the one rule that holds is that nothing is essentially anything.  Existence precedes essence, as the Existentialists mantra goes, meaning, before we had determined male/female, man/woman, straight/queer, black/white, there were just people doing stuff.  Their names, definitions, categories, and expectations of norms all came later.

TV fan of Lola

 

 

 

These observations are meant neither to condemn nor condone the complex cultural code with regard to BBC or BDSM as it manifests in veiled, seemingly innocuous symbols such as popular movies and fashion.  Rather, this thought piece is more along the lines of semiotics (the study of signs and symbols in culture) than a cultural critique.  Signs and symbols perform a function; they point at something.  In this piece, the sign/symbol with which we began was the black penis, which is, innately and ironically, also a pointer.  Perhaps it is pointing at our radical possibility for the future.  I simply wanted to point that out.

Smaller Big Fan of Lola

Lola Down, Putting the Cum back in Community

Hello Friends!

This post will be heavy on the images, light on the writing. I just wanted to let you all know that I, HH, am in the midst of writing a long-form (novelesque?) piece that I hope to be done with by late November. It’s called “Rogue’s Gallery.”  Here are some pre-views.

 

 

Also, in our kink news, as many of you know, we have just published our latest book, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume VI, SlutLife.  It was supposed to come out in time for summer reading by the beach, but due to some production hiccups, it didn’t get released until September.

SlutLife

At the same time, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume III: Writing Under Cover, has come out on audio book, narrated by the amazing Jupiter Grant.

Today’s post is to reach out to everyone in our extended virtual kink community and give a shout out to those of you who have supported us in so many ways, especially during these difficult times of limited social connection due to COVID.  We want to hear from all of you, to know how you’re doing and, also, to know if our posts here and our books, have helped you during these very trying times.

 

We have been so blessed by enthusiastic kinksters showing and telling us about their enjoyment of our blog, books, and audio books. We wanted to share with you the people who make this “work” worth it.

We would be remiss if we didn’t give our first shout out to the voice of MySexLifeWithLola, Miss Jupiter Grant. She is a talented narrator (understatement), author, and a sex goddess in her own right.

Jupiter Grant

Next, we recently received this lovely tribute photo from the seductive and interesting Lilith Avair.  She and her Daddy Dom, Michael, (in the second photo) have been crucial to our success. Without Michael’s technical help, this blog wouldn’t exist.

Lilith, Michael, Lola

We also want to give a warm shout out to Lil Gem and her man from PurplesGem. They have been enjoying the books and all of their fans have been enjoying them.

Lil Gem

Lil Gem

Lil Gem

 

 

 

 

Artistic photo of LilGem

Illustration of HH and Lo by LittleGem of purplesgem.com

LilGem’s Daddy has a happy read.

Lil Gem in B&W

Glad Lilgem didn’t get lil’ jealous about this sexy photo.

LittleGem of PurpleGem reads about Lola Down

 

 

 

Nikki reaching for her Lo fetish

In addition to Lil’Gem, we have also had some fun with Darling Nikki of Love Is a Fetish fame. Ain’t it tho?

Nikki and Lola

More of the sexy Nikki from Love is a Fetish.

Fun Fetish Nikki and Lo

More of Nikki

Nikki Nude

We also have been big fans of Floss (as in Floss Does Life)!  And she has shown us some lovin’ too!

Floss of FlossDoesLife
and Match, Cinder & Spark

Floss enjoys her reading.

Floss lets it all hang out.

Floss and Lola illustrated

MORE of Floss:

Beautiful Floss

From Floss’ Review

While this lovely hotwife is out having fun with a bull, her hubby is getting of to Lo.

Karla takes a selfie

 

Karla, the day she became a hotwife.

Karla and Chris

 

10 Years of Carla

Karla and her Bull

Evolution of Karla

Meanwhile, Chris, her hubby, printed out Lola’s photos to enjoy.

Chris Cums on Lo’s Pics

The real you is sexy!

That photo above is from an ad campaign, we just replaced the models with pics of Lola. However, the sentiment is the same – you, all of you, in your different shapes and sizes, are sexy as you are! Nothing is more sexy than feeling yourself to be sexy.

This couple have been enthusiastic fans of ours for a long time, though they don’t have their own blog. He is a professor. She is thinking about getting into the OnlyFans biz. Sam & Alia.

Sam and Alia read Match, Cinder & Spark together.

Our favorite fans are fans who get off to us together.

Alia seems more interested in the book than her hubby’s pud.

One thing leads to another.

But sometimes Sam has to take matters into his own hands.

Alia

Alia & Sam

And then there’s a beautiful blogger who has been creating poetry with the speed and power of lightning. The Lustful Empress.

The Lustful Empress with Lola

Collage of TLE getting off to Lola

Isn’t she just beautifully lustful?

We hope you’ve enjoyed this little tour of some of our friends in the bloggosphere. If you would like a free copy of one of our books in exchange for a sexy photo of you with it and some free publicity from us, just ask.

Of course, back when travel was a thing we did, when HH was apart from Lola, he would send her cumtributes as a token of his love & lust.

Portrait of the author as a horny man.

Stay sexy y’all!

Compersion Perversion

[As published in the October issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine, Lola goes on a date with MILF Meri.]

Lo Casually Masturbating

It was a Thursday.  I was at the office.  All alone again.  During this pandemic and sweltering heatwaves of the summer, working from the office alone actually provided both cool central air (as opposed to our poorly air conditioned apartment) and much valued quiet, alone time, conducive to creativity and, if necessary, work.  Ms. Gale was working from home.  My other employees were working remotely as well.  I was under the impression that Lo, too, was working from home.  That is, until I received an email from her.

It’s unusual for me to get an email from Lo.  Text, phone call, even the unexpected in-person appearance for a booty-call are all to be expected.  But rarely an email.  Unless something is wrong, or the landlady has written to her demanding the rent, asking for a favor, or passing along complaints from the neighbors about the volume levels, frequency, and inconvenient late hours of Lo’s orgasmic operatic arias.

But this email was different.

“Guess where I am,” it read, enigmatically.

“At home, doing work,” I replied, unimaginatively.

“Nope.”

“Is this Twenty Questions, or can I just ask, where are you?”

“I’m in the park.”

It was another sunny, hot as hell day in the city.

“OK.” I wrote back.

“I have my computer.  I’m ‘working remotely’ from here.  That’s why I’m using my email.”

“Why do you put ‘working remotely’ in quotes?”

“Guess who I’m with.”

“Bill Murray.”

“No silly!  Meri!!!”

“Oh, that’s why you put ‘working remotely’ in quotes.”

“Yeah.  She wrote to me this morning and said that she told her husband she can’t take being cooped up in the house with the kids any longer.  She’s going to the park to get away and work.  But she had invited me and so we’re both here, pretending to work, but doing a lot more suntanning than working.”

“Which park?” I asked.

“Guess.”

“Lo,” I wrote, in the tone of voice I take with her when she’s being naughty, “I actually have work to do.”  These multiple, terse emails were not conducive to getting anything done.

“Fine,” she replied, “the park next to your office.”

My office faces out onto the street, but my employee’s office, in the back of the building, looks out onto a small oval park in the midst of the other businesses.

“Do you want to come by the window and see what I’m wearing, or not wearing?”

How could I resist?

I walked across the reception room area where Ms. Gale has her desk, into the back office.  I glanced out the window and sure enough I saw my little Lo, ass up, her computer in front of her, her admirer behind her, seated about ten feet away.  There were streets hemming in the small sward, but full sun upon my nymph and her MILF.

Allow me to paint the scene for you.  Unlike the last time these two met in the park, this time Lo came prepared to bask in the sun.  She was lying on her tum, her legs bent at the knee and her feet dangling in the air.  She had her computer in front of her.

Behind her, sitting in a beach chair, was Meri, watching.  She sat, ostensibly reading a book, but she was really just spying on Lo.  The way the two of them were in relation to each other, it did not appear that they were together or knew one another.  And I was spying on both of them.  I don’t know if Lo or anyone could see me watching from above.  If Lo noticed my presence, she made no sign of it.

Lo was wearing nothing but a very tiny bikini top and a pink thong bikini bottom.  It literally was no more than a spaghetti strap covering basically none of her ass.  I was familiar with it because she had bought it on sale last fall and was so eager to wear it that she tried it on for me at home, pretending to be on the beach showing off.  A fun little game for both of us!

Lo’s Thong Askew

It wrapped around from her crotch and, when placed just so, concealed only the bare essentials of her letter ‘i’ – if you know what I mean.  From a distance, it looked as if she was wearing nothing at all on the bottom.  And I was not the only one to think that.  Sitting around the two of them on the shaded park benches were old ladies and moms with strollers and the occasional businessman out for air or a stolen glance of Lo’s delectable derrière.  I could tell that the lecherous men interspersed with a few lascivious women were all trying their utmost best to give the appearance of doing something, anything else besides what they were doing – watching Lo.  It takes one to know one, I thought.

Lo was keenly aware of her audience, but she was performing for only one.  Meri, for her part, sat slightly askew to Lo.  She wore heels, a pink skirt that stopped just short of her knees, and a grey tank-top that accentuated her large breasts, revealing lots of cleavage and that she was wearing no bra.  She wore a baseball cap and dark sunglasses in addition to her mask, as if she were a movie star trying to stay incognito.

Lo’s performance was exquisite.  Every once in a while she would reach back behind her and ‘adjust’ her bikini bottom, as if it was riding up her ass uncomfortably.  She would pull at it so nothing was concealed, at least not to Meri, and then let it go again with an audible snap.  Occasionally she would put sunscreen in her hand and run her index finger from her pussy over her balloon knot, as if to insure that those delicate parts wouldn’t burn.

From my vantagepoint, I couldn’t help but think that the sun shines from 94 million miles away for one reason only: to illuminate, warm, and tan Lo’s perfectly spherical double-orbed bronzed rear.  It was as if Helios himself was looking down intently upon Lo’s sexy little ass and the oppressive, powerful rays of light were his enormous erection aching to feel the pleasure of that posterior, but burning hotter because infinitely frustrated by the impossibility of a non-material substance’s concupiscence being quenched by the corporeal object of its affection.

Lo pretended to be oblivious to it all, typing away on her computer as if deeply engrossed by her work emails.

Even in my airconditioned office, I was growing warm from the sight.  Since no one is allowed to come to my office due to the pandemic, I don’t even bother putting on a suit anymore.  It’s strictly t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops for me this summer.  That’s not my office attire, that’s my everything attire.

I also was growing hard in my khaki shorts.  Seeing Lo nearly nude in the middle of the pedestrian and otherwise non-nude plaza, literally the center of attention in the circle of voyeurs, and me, up there, voyeuristically observing from on high, with who-knows-how-many-others lurking in the windows, was appealing to my compersion perversion.

Just when I thought the scene could not get any better, an older gentleman (I use the term loosely) wearing slacks and a button-down sky-blue casual long-sleeve shirt walked over the green grass directly towards Lo.  He squatted down to talk to her.  She turned her head toward him and then rolled over on her back, propping herself up with her elbows.  Then, for the first time I saw that she had on the bikini top with adjustable cups and she had adjusted them to a very narrow setting, exposing most of her breasts, her side-boobs bulging out.

She looked up at the man and struck up a conversation with him.  I could see practically her entire chest falling out from where I sat and I’m sure that that man had a close-up view of it.  I could see Lo smiling at him in her flirtatious way as he continued to engage her in whatever small talk they were pursuing.

I’m sure this gave Lo the triple pleasure of teasing the man while simultaneously making Meri jealous and me mad with admiration of her hotwife hospitality.  I could see Lo glance from her interlocutor to Meri, making sure that the latter was catching it all.  And I could see Meri watching with great interest.

As Lo continued to talk to the man, she seemingly absentmindedly spread her legs, revealing the tiny triangle of material covering her smooth mons pubis, and she thoughtlessly placed her hand down there as if adjusting the bathing suit or scratching an itch.  This allowed Meri a direct line of sight into Lo’s labial lodestar.

I guess Lo’s male conversationalist eventually ran out of things to say.  I saw him pass Lo something that looked like a business card and then say his adieu.  He walked away and I saw Lo smile like the scapegrace she is at Meri and Meri smiled back.  They were like two schoolgirls pulling one over the teacher.

Lo reached down between her legs and quickly pulled back the bikini bottoms for Meri to get an unobstructed view for a brief moment of bliss.  In return, Meri spread her legs and, though I couldn’t see it, flashed Lo a glimpse of her crotch, unadorned by any panties.  (I did later confirm this with Lo.)

From my perch I could comfortably enjoy all of the sexual psychological angles: between Lo and Meri; the older women on the periphery and Lo; the younger women on the sidelines and Lo, the men and Lo; as well as Lo’s basking in the attention of all of them just as she basked in the bright sunlight as if it were her spotlight on the stage.

HH – Hot & Hard

The psycho-sexual dynamics had me rock hard in my shorts and just as I was contemplating relieving the tension, I heard the faint sound of keys and then the turning of the lock on the office door.  Before I could scramble to see who was there (especially when no one was supposed to be there), in walked Ms. Gale wearing denim shorts and a gingham button down shirt, tied up in the middle to reveal her midriff.  It covered only her shoulders and breasts, though it was unbuttoned enough to reveal much cleavage.

“Ms. Gale?” I almost shouted in shock.

“Mr. H?!” she shot back.

I was keenly aware that I had a huge erection in my shorts and that Lo and her special lady friend were frolicking outside the window by which I sat.

“Why are you here?” we both asked simultaneously.

“This is my office,” I said, authoritatively.  Though, actually, I wasn’t in my office.

“I thought you put on the calendar that you were on vacation this week.”

“Oh, I had, that’s true,” I said, “but COVID put an end to our travel plans.  So, here I am.  And you?”

“It was too hot in my apartment to work.  I only have one window unit and with the temperatures in the hundreds, it doesn’t get much colder than about eighty-seven.  I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I thought that, since you were away, I’d work in the office and utilize the central air.”

“I see,” I said, still too hard to stand up.

“Why aren’t you in your office?” she asked.

“Well, I, uh,” I stumbled for a plausible answer.  “I got bored of the view,” I said.

“Oh, is the view from that window better?  I thought it just looked out onto the park,” she said as she moved toward the window to look out.  I desperately didn’t want her to do that!

She did and we both looked outside.  To my great surprise, there was no sign of Lo and Meri!!!

“It’s just a different view,” I said casually.

She looked out the window, bending over, displaying her round rear to me in the tight shorts.

“You like the view?” she asked, enigmatically.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.  “I rarely see it like this,” I said, looking at her ass.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.  “You should take more time to smell the roses.  You’re always working,” she added as she returned to standing in front of me.  Little does she know that more often than not, when she thinks I’m assiduously working on a legal brief, I’m actually writing this torrid encomium to Lola.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I said like a judge.  “But for now, I’ll let you have the office to yourself.  You know, we must be socially distant.”  I said it as if I were explaining to her that we need to be sexually distant.

“You don’t have to go,” she said.  “I mean, you could just work in a separate office.  I don’t mean to push you out.”

I was eager to catch up with Lola.

I put away the files I had been working on before Lo’s email and headed toward where I thought I’d find Lo and Meri.  Five minutes into my walk, I was already drenched in sweat.  I felt like I was suffocating due to the high temperatures and humidity.  Making matters worse, I had to wear that asphyxiating mask!  But I was determined.

I walked up the busy street from my office and was about to despair of my loss, but then I spied the two women sitting in front of the ice cream shop.  They each were seductively eating their treats from cups.  I took a seat not too far away from my nymph.  I didn’t worry about being discovered.  I had on dark sunglasses and my bandana mask.  Very little of my face could be seen and, as an added benefit, Meri had never met me.  To the best of my knowledge, she had no idea what I looked like.

The two of them were engrossed in conversation.  I watched for as long as I could, but the sun was baking me.  Eventually, convinced that I wasn’t missing anything of great import, I decided to return home, take a cool shower, and await Lo’s return.

I was on the couch in the living room when I heard the front door abruptly open and close.  I heard Lo scamper down the hall to the bedroom and master bath.  She too hopped in the shower first thing, but not to engage in the usual self-pleasure that she frequently enjoys in there.  No, it was a quick rinse and then, from the living room I heard her masturbatory moans.

I quietly walked down the hall.  The AC was on in the bedroom and so Lo didn’t hear me.  I slowly opened the bedroom door and couldn’t believe my eyes!  Instead of pounding her pussy with a dildo of enormous magnitude, she was sliding my Stoya Fleshlight up and down her lower lips, pressing Stoya’s labia into her own, dripping her wetness all over the prosthetic pussy.  Her eyes were closed and with her free hand she was plucking her nipples.

“Lo,” I said in a gentle tone.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” she screamed as she jumped a mile.  “What the hell are you doing home?!”  It was almost an accusation.

“I’m sorry, Darling,” I said before explaining the surprise visit by Ms. Gale and then asking her, “What the hell are you doing with my Fleshlight?”

“I hate the COVID bullshit!” she lamented.  “I want a pussy.  I want Meri’s pussy.  I want to fuck someone who is not you.  No offence,” she said after realizing what she had said.  “I just want. . .”

“No offence taken,” I said sarcastically.  “How could that possibly be offensive?”

“You know what I mean.  Of course I want to fuck you too, but I also want to be able to fuck others as well.”

“You have,” I reminded her.  “The brothers.  Remember?”

Stoya Licking her own Pussy

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, putting Stoya back on her cunt.  “That’s for them, not for me.  They’re young men, full of testosterone and they need my sweet release, especially in this pandemic.  I spread my legs, they slip in my honeypot and unload.  That’s all for them.”

“Oh, you get nothing out of it?” I asked sarcastically.  “You’re just a simple orgasm donor?”

She laughed, “I get something out of it.  I mean, I cum, yes.  And it pleases me to be their goto girl, their flesh-and-blood Fleshlight.  I won’t deny, that turns me on.  I like being their easy access.  Their cum dump.  The thought of guys’ balls aching for my cunt and unloading into me because I can provide for them what they so desperately need is an incredible turn-on.  But I want a woman.  I want someone who will take time to pleasure me, give me what I want, know what I want.  Not just ram it in deep and hard to prove how big and strong they are.  I want Meri.”

She returned to sliding and pressing the Fleshlight’s lithe labia up against her own swollen and supple lips, causing a suction sound as her own secretions lubricated the point of contact.  She reached down with her free hand and began circling her clit with her index finger.  She did all this as if I wasn’t even there.  Oblivious to me and all else but her imagination and the feel of her pussy slip-sliding against another pussy, she was soon squirting a stream of climactic juices directly into the parted prosthetic pussy.  The receptacle, upside down, simply dribbled out the contents back onto and into Lo’s already soaked and dilated source.

She took a few deep breaths.  I stood silently awaiting her command, request, or even insinuation to fill her with my meat.  But, instead she reached for her phone.  She made a call and said, “Hi.  Yeah.  Another leak.  Can you come over and fix it right away?”

She turned to me and asked, “Will you let them in?”

“Who?”

Then the doorbell rang.

I walked down the hall and admitted the two brothers.  It was the same uncomfortable silence between us as it had been before.  Merely sheepish grins and a little nod of the head as they walked toward their destination.  They no longer needed to be shown the way.

They walked into the bedroom, saw Lola splayed out on the bed naked, Fleshlight beside her body, sheets soaked, and they immediately dropped their pants.  They didn’t even bother to take off their shoes or their shirts.  Kids these days.

Lola: “Fuck me.”

“Fill me, fuck me, pump me, pound me, use me, abuse me, whip me, worship me,” said Lo, spreading her legs further, bending her knees and slapping her cum-slathered pussy.

One of the boys pulled her to the edge of the bed and penetrated her.  She briefly looked up at me, her head upside-down, from the bed, before her eyes rolled back.  The boy was rock hard and eager.  His brother stood by the bed watching, cock in hand, stroking, and patient.  Within moments, the first reached his climax inside her.

Pulling out, he stepped aside for his brother to have his chance.  Lo rolled over onto her hands and knees, raising her ass for him to have her.  He easily slid into her soaking holes.  I saw her wince just a little as he entered the tighter of the two.  But soon he was alternating back-and-forth at whim.  Now the other brother watched and, to my amazement, grew hard as he did so.  What amazing recovery time!

Lola: “Fill me.”

After the more active brother drove his point home in Lo’s rear, he pulled out and they both watched as Lo oozed, cooed, and creamed.

Then the first returned to the pole position.

I could see that Lo, by this point, was almost bored.  Her head was resting on her hands and she looked up at me, unconcerned about what was happening beyond her shoulders.

“Daddio,” she said, “will you pass me my phone?”

Her phone was on her nightstand on the other side of the bed, by the boys.  I walked around the bed, past the brother who was slamming his shaft deep into my hotwife’s pussy at the time, past the other brother who was eagerly awaiting his chance for another deep dive in her, and grabbed the phone.  I walked back around to the side of the bed by the door and passed it to Lo.

She pressed some buttons, preoccupied with the phone and not at all occupied with the activities behind her, and looked up at me again.  “If I order a pizza, what would you like on it?” she asked in a quiet voice, as if the boys and her bum were in another room and she didn’t want to disturb them.

It seemed a most unusual question for the moment.  I must have looked puzzled.  “I’m hungry,” she added by way of explanation.

“Mushrooms and onions,” I said unthinkingly.

“Oh, hi,” Lo said into her phone.  At the very same time, the first brother finished, ejaculating in long shots on Lo’s back.  I guess Lo was put on hold briefly because she was quiet for a moment.

The second brother asked Lo, “Do you want more?”  He was clearly confused by Lo’s phone call.

Lo turned her head over her shoulder and said, “Go ahead.  You can have it.  Try to be quick.”

I heard a voice from the phone ask, “Yes, can I help you?”

Lo’s attention was back to her pizza order as the boy behind her grabbed her hips and pulled them towards his erect phallus.  “Yeah, could I get one sausage pizza and one with onions and mushrooms?”

Lo Placing an Order for Pizza

The boy behind her returned to his favorite alternating ass/puss, ass/puss plunging.  I could see him spreading her cheeks with both hands as he pulled out and pressed in.

“Medium,” said Lo into the phone and then looking up at me she asked, “Medium big enough for you?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, two mediums,” she said into the phone again.  “OK.  Yes.  Delivery please.  Great.  Thank you.”  She hung up and put the phone by her side.

Allowing her head to fall into the pillow, she reached back and pulled her ass cheeks apart, allowing her paramour to use his hands in other ways.  He reached under her and grabbed her doughy tum and squeezed.

“You going to cum?” Lo asked.

He grunted.

I guess she could feel him building.  “Come on.  You got two in you, don’t you?  You like my ass?  You like it,” she said.  She moved her fingers to her ass and felt him sliding in and out of her.  He was ready.  She was giving him a hand-job as he entered and exited her posterior.  Lo’s instincts kicked in and she turned abruptly and opened her mouth to receive his fill.  He grabbed his cock with one hand and her head with the other, pulling her mouth onto his shaft.  He began to cum and then pulled out of her mouth and sprayed the rest on her face.  She was drenched.

She looked up at him and asked, “Feeling better?”

The first brother already had his pants on.  The second, who had just finished, reached down to pull up his from around his ankles.

“Thanks Lo,” he said.

“Say hi to your mom,” Lo said.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he replied.

They let themselves out.

Lo fell backwards and, lying on the bed, she looked up at me and asked, “Will you get the pizza and tip the delivery guy?”

“Maybe you should.”

She contemplated that idea.  “Like I am?”

“Exactly.”

Lola Filled, but not full

When the bell rang, she walked to the door, dripping from the boys’ icing on her face and shoulders, and, opening the door, took the two pizzas in hand and gave a few dollars in tip.

I awaited her return in the dining room.

“What was his reaction?” I asked as she placed the pizzas on the table.

She laughed.

“What?” I asked.

“It was a woman.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“What was her reaction?”

“A cross between shock and disgust.”

“Too bad.”

“Why?”

“I thought you were going for shock, awe, and arousal.”

“I’ll take disgust.”

She grabbed a slice of pizza.  No plate.  She didn’t even sit down.  She stood by the table, naked, and ate it with fervor.  “Sorry, Daddy,” she said, mouth full.

“Sorry for what?”

“What I said before.  You understand, though, don’t you?”

“Yes Lo,” I said, sincerely, not sarcastically.  I felt love, compassion, and patience.  “But,” I added, “you need to clean up Stoya and the sheets.”

“I will,” she said, obediently.

I had a slice of pizza and cracked open a beer.

“Is there a reason you had the boys rather than me?” I finally asked.

“Yes,” she said, with no explanation.  She continued eating.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“I like to be used.”

“You didn’t even cum.”

“No, because I wanted Meri.  But, I’ll cum later to the thought of them and this afternoon.”

“With me or without me?”

“If you’re lucky, both.”

After dinner, she strutted to the bedroom to clean up.  I followed.

“What a mess!” she said at the sight.  “Isn’t it wonderful?!”  She dove into the bed.  “It smells like sex.”

“Just like you,” I said sarcastically.

When she got up to strip (the bed that is, since she already was naked as the day she was born) I asked her, “Who was that man talking to you in the park?”

“Oh, him?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Just a creep.  He just wanted a closer look at me.”

“You sure gave it to him.”

“You saw?” she asked, flattered that I took in her stunning act.

“Yes, I saw.  What did he give you?”

“His business card.”

“What sort of business is he in?”

“He says he’s a photographer and he asked if I would be interested in any boudoir photography done of me.”

“Really?  Where’s his card?”

She bent over by the side of the bed and dug through her little beach bag.  “Here it is.”

She gave it to me.

“I see,” I said, reading it.  “You going to take him up on it?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to?”

“Let me think about it.  Did you and Meri have a good time?”

“What do you think?”

“I think she’s at home doing exactly what you just did.”

“Eating pizza?”