The Orgasm Gap

Posted on March 11, 2019 by Lola Down

When Lola Goes on a Date and I’m Left Alone

Recently, a new phrase has been popping up in various articles on sex, relationships, and women: The Orgasm Gap. Sometimes it’s referred to as “The Gender Orgasm Gap.” It is the result of various studies’ data showing that women in heterosexual relationships have far fewer orgasms than their male partners. This gap disappears in gay relationships.

There’s plenty of literature out there for you to do your own reading into the matter, but what I would like to discuss here is the orgasm gap that exists between Lo and me. In our relationship there is undoubtedly an orgasm gap, but it is the inverse of the one referred to above.

I’ve conducted my own non-scientific study. One October a few years back (I deemed it “O-month,” for “Orgasm Month”) I did my best to count the number of orgasms achieved by Lola (either during coitus or on her own) and the number achieved by me, your faithful author. The results were 70+ for Lo (not exactly sure of the actual number because I was relying on her reportage of her solo sessions and often she lost count), to my 18. That’s approximately a 4:1 orgasm gap in favor of the female.

Now, in our relationship there are many “understandings.” I am not allowed to jack it unless specifically instructed by Lola. That usually means in her presence, so she can enjoy it. I am not allowed to have sex with anyone outside our relationship. Lo, on the other hand (so to speak), has no strings attached. Solo sex, sex with others, accidental orgasms – all are fair game for her.

But a while back, when Lo was cross with me about something and thus withholding her pleasures from me, I took matters into my own hands, literally. I got myself a Stoya Destroya Fleshlight. It served the purpose at the time. It also came in handy (can’t seem to get around that double-entendre) one night when Lola was too inebriated to give consent.

Lo doesn’t like my using Stoya’s pussy. Her jealousy reigns supreme. It matters not that it is literally just a pussy and not a person. But the other night. . . .

I had to work late. I was at the office around 7 pm and I got a text from Lo saying that she was going out to dinner with her friend Candice. Lo and Candice had become close friends over the past few months. Candice is a self-described “thick” woman. I would describe her as lusciously zaftig. She is heavier than Lo by at least fifty pounds. When they met, she was in a committed relationship, but that fell apart very suddenly. Lo became her go-to confidante and wing-woman. They went to clubs, bars, restaurants together about three or four times a week. I think Lo enjoyed the singles scene and having someone to share it with. Candice frequently found fuck-buddies, but was longing for a man who would be a dedicated daddy. She admired Lo and was particularly envious of our special relationship.

Candice would often come over for brunch after her one-night-stands and dish the details about it to both of us over mimosas.

And then the other night. . . .

As I was saying, Lo went out to dinner with Candice. I thought nothing of it since it had become part of their repertoire. I figured that Candice was horny and looking to find a cock to bring home for the night and Lo was going to help her, as usual.

(A little aside here: If I were granted permission to have sex with just one of Lo’s friends, it would be Candice. I find her voluptuousness very attractive. But, either out of respect for Lo or lack of interest, Candice has never reciprocated my flirtatious banter with her. Unless, of course, the juicy stories she tells us about her sexcapades are intended to rouse me, which they do.)

But when I got home, I found Lo in bed, jillin’ herself silly. She had all her toys on the bed and it looked like she had used each and every one. Currently she was banging with the largest of the bunch. It was stuck to the headboard and she was sliding her ass back, taking it all in, and then sliding forward. Back-and-forth, slapping her cheeks up against the wood and then easing off. She didn’t stop when she saw me enter the room. I sat and waited, patiently by the foot of the bed. She looked at me as she fucked her dildo. Our eyes were locked as I saw her desperately trying to get off. When she finally climaxed, slid off the dildo, and sprawled out in the sheets, legs spread and sloppy, I kissed her hello.

“Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

“Why should I be mad?” I responded.

“Get naked and I’ll tell you.”

I did as she requested, got in bed next to her, and listened as she told me the following story:

I went to the restaurant to meet Candice for dinner, but I was early and she was late. I sat at the bar and ordered a drink while I waited for her. As I waited, a handsome, young, black man came in and sat next to me. He was very good looking, very fit, and I suddenly found myself getting very wet.

Candice finally arrived and as I was finishing my drink, the young guy got up and went to the bathroom. I turned to Candice and told her how hot I thought he was. She admitted to me that she thought so too.

When he came back, he paid his tab and got up to go. But Candice immediately went after him. She told him what I had told her in confidence, and he returned to the bar and sat between us. He started up a conversation with me and I found out that he’s a football player for the college.

As we talked, he began rubbing my thigh and moving slowly further and further toward my crotch. I didn’t protest.

Eventually he came very close to me and kissed me. I reciprocated. But then I pulled away and told him that I was there for Candice – her wing-woman. She wasn’t supposed to be mine.

I think he liked that. He showed an interest in both of us and the thoughts that went through my mind. . . .

She didn’t elaborate, so I asked her, “What thoughts would those be?”

I was fully expecting her to say, “Get in me and I’ll tell you,” but she didn’t. After a pregnant pause, awaiting her command, I finally got between her legs, poised to strike, but she covered up her crotch with both hands and protested, “No, Daddy! I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” I asked, frustrated and eager.

“I did myself a little too much. I’m swollen and sore.”

Not only did I want her, badly, but I also wanted to hear the conclusion of her story just as badly. I asked her politely if I could use the Stoya Fleshlight.

She said, “Why don’t you just use your fist like a real man?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Instead of using your Hitachi, your 18” dildo, or your Remus, why don’t you just use your fist like a real slut?”

She laughed despite her anger as she threw a pillow at me.

“Fine, get her out,” she said.

“You’ll hold it for me?”

She didn’t answer. I rummaged through the back of the closet and pulled out Stoya. I grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer and I got both Stoya and me nice and slick. Lo took the hefty contraption in two hands and I slid right in.

“Comfortable?” she asked.

“Yes, very,” I said, making her more jealous. “Go on with your story.”

“You like fucking her, don’t you?” she asked.

“Not as much as fucking you.”

“You like fucking Stoya. You like that she’s a porn star. You like thinking about how many men have fucked that pussy already, how many men have cum in it.”

I was getting very turned on by her dirty words.

“Nothing would be hotter than seeing you make a porno,” I replied. “I would stand in the wings while the director, the lighting crew, the sound engineers, and of course, the four or five male porn stars stood around your naked body as two or three of them fucked you on camera.”

“Do you want me or do you want Stoya?”

At this point, I admit, in my mind, Lola and Stoya were fused into one person as I imagined the set of the film.

“Fuck her! Fuck her good and hard! Come on,” she demanded. “Fuck that used, slutty pussy. Cum in her. Cum deep in her,” she commanded. I can never resist her commands. I came and I came hard as Lo pressed the Fleshlight down on my shaft, licking her lips as she watched me crumble as if struck by an arrow of pure pleasure.

I never did get to the end of her story that night.

I have no idea how many times Lo came before I got home, but this is just one example of the so-called “Orgasm Gap” in our relationship.

Her Porn Addiction

Posted on January 3, 2019 by Lola Down

How deep, how dark, how degraded, just how far down the rabbit hole of porn do you go?

Lola and I had a wedding to attend. Yes, another wedding. I couldn’t find my nice black leather shoes. They weren’t in the closet. They weren’t under my side of the bed. So I looked under Lo’s side of the bed – yes, that side where she keeps her dildos, vibrators, anal beads, and other pornographic paraphernalia. I knew I was entering dangerous territory, but what choice did I have? So I began methodically opening all the brown shoeboxes, discovering that there were no shoes to be had, but only the mechanical instruments of female pleasure.

But then I came across it – the one box that was heavier than the others. In it was not a pair of men’s shoes, but rather four or five books – all related to sex. Among them, Erica Garza’s Getting Off. There wasn’t much time. I had to pack and be ready to go to the airport in a matter of minutes. I grabbed the small volume and resolved that I’d just have to wear my brown belt and brown shoes to the wedding.

The flight was five hours, coast-to-coast. Lo was exhausted because we flew the redeye after a long day at work. She fell asleep on my shoulder as I used the time to read the book cover-to-cover. There were certain pages marked with dog-ears and certain sentences underlined. Almost all of them had to do with becoming inured to “conventional” porn and seeking every more degrading and debased images and scenarios. One passage read:

My preferences were changing all the time. I loved ‘old and young’ clips. I’d also taken a liking to watching drunken girls get walked around on leashes or fucked by groups of men. . . . I’d discovered the category of ‘bukkake’ and felt simultaneously disgusted and excited every time I watched multiple men come all over a girl’s face. . . .

I wondered about Lo and her late-night phone usage. What depraved, debauched, dissolute, degenerate, dangerous and deviant electronic alleyways had my dear Lo followed that she should be so interested in these passages? I was well aware of her penchant for multiple penises, how pee piqued her curiosity, her prurient interest in punishment, her salacious soliloquies on slut faming (the opposite of “slut shaming”), not to mention her downright dirty devotion to diddling while dreaming of bestial bullocks. But had her fantasies, obsessions, and external stimuli ventured beyond these already extreme bounds? I was in the dark. I looked over at my delectable sleeping nymph by my side and pondered the extent of her perversity. I recalled how years ago on a similar redeye transpacific flight she had utilized a highlighting marker as a dildo and got herself off in the crowded cabin as most of the passengers slept. I would be fooling myself if I didn’t admit that these indiscretions were at least part of why I loved her so.

We suddenly hit some turbulence on our descent and Lo awoke from her slumber suddenly. She saw me reading her book and asked, “What’s that?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

She sat up. Recognizing the book, she asked, “Where’d you find that?”
“I’ll give you a hint, it wasn’t with my black shoes.”

Slowly an expression of cognition appeared on her face. “Oh,” she said, conveying everything.

I flipped through the pages showing her each and every passage that she underlined.

“That’s private!” she said as she pulled the book from my hands.

“Is that so?”

We landed and Lola tucked the book into her bag as we deplaned.

We walked through the busy terminal and I said, “It was quite a read. Did you like it?”

“Some parts,” she said. “What did you like about it?” she asked.

“I liked that it reminded me of you. Why didn’t you tell me you were reading it?”

“Because, you don’t need that book or any book like it,” she said, obviously referencing the other illicit tomes in the shoebox. “You have me,” she said, putting her thumb to her chest, “and I’m all the sex-addicted, porn-watching, nympho you can handle.”

“That’s true,” I said as I dodged people rushing for their departing flights. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” she asked, talking past all the commuters.

“What porn have you been using to get off lately?”

“Define lately?”

We were outside in the sunshine and we found the taxi stand. We hopped in and told the driver our destination. In the backseat we continued our conversation.

“Look,” I said, pulling the book out of her bag and opening to the passage quoted above, “why is this underlined? Have you been seeking out something. . .”

“You know, already. I like bukkake, dirty old men like you fucking young beautiful women like me, facials, BDSM, female humiliation porn.”

I looked up and saw the taxi driver look at me and then at Lo through the rearview mirror.

“And?” I asked.

“And what?”

“Bestiality?” I whispered under my breath.

“Yeah, so what? You already knew that.”

“What else?”

“You know it all already.”

“Do I?”

“Well, I also like seeing big, hung men fucking fat women or big fat men fucking sexy thin women. I like cumming to gangbangs, machines fucking women incessantly, and also sensual massages.”

“So, basically everything you’ve ever done?”

“You could say that.”

We got to our destination and I paid the taxi driver in cash, giving him a generous tip on top of the juicy conversation he got to listen to on the way.

“You enjoyed that,” I said.

“Enjoyed what?” she asked coyly.

“You know what. Saying all those filthy things in front of complete strangers.”

“Did I embarrass you?”

“No, but you are a loose cannon.”

“I’m loose alright. And that reminds me, I also love to watch women with large labia and saggy tits.”

“I bet you do,” I said. “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t we go inside and fuck to my favorite porn.”

Her tongue licked her sparkling white teeth in anticipation and she asked, “What would that be?”

“I bet you could think of a few possibilities, but I’m not going to ask you to suggest anything and I’ll just come out with it.”

“I hope so,” she said, grabbing my crotch.

“My favorite porn is fucking you from behind as we both are looking at ourselves in a full-length mirror.”

“Mine too,” she said as we got in the hotel room.

Once we were in the room, we immediately stripped and I bent her over the dresser as we both looked into each other’s eyes reflected in the mirror above it. I pulled out my throbbing rod, what she once called a “Truth Stick,” and slid deep inside her as she moaned with pleasure. Once I had pinned her hips between my crotch and the corner of the dresser, I put her to the test.

“What else?”

“What else what?” she asked.

“What are the kinds of porn you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh, Daddy, please.”

I pulled back as her cunt squeezed my cock right out of her and she squirted on my bare feet. I thrusted forward again, mounting her.

“Tell me.”

“Daddy,” she pleaded.

“If you want this, then you’ll speak,” I threatened, temporarily removing my pleasure pole from her wet snatch.

“NO!” she said.

I was confused at first. No, I’m not telling or. . . .

“No, don’t pull out. Deep. Deep. Please,” she continued. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“What gets you off?”

She looked up at the mirror and into my eyes that were watching the expression on her face. She couldn’t tell me while our eyes were locked. She dropped her head and her thick mane of hair covered it as her tits flopped forward and back with each thrust of my cock.

“OK,” she said in a tone of defeat. “I like seeing my guy fans send pics of themselves to me wearing sexy women’s panties. I like to see them hard-up for me in those sheer lace panties. I like to see them cum in them. I like them to cum to me, to my pics, to your dirty stories of me.”

Saying this, she came.

“What else?” I knew she wasn’t done. Not by a longshot.

“I like seeing women diddle themselves to me.”

“I knew that.”

“I like to see pregnant women get fucked hard. I like to see women with giant bulging breasts and huge round nipples lactating. I like to see lesbians sucking those huge tits, sucking the milk out of them. I like to see women being milked like cows.”

She came a second time.

“Keep going,” I commanded.

“There’s not a deep, dark, dank corner of the internet I haven’t explored. I’ve searched it all. You name it: sex with aliens; gay men masturbating to my pics; couples having sex while watching me; teacher/student sex.”

I wanted her to continue, but at this point all her limbs went limp and she collapsed in the puddle she had made on the carpeted floor. The orgasm was still causing convulsions and tremors through her flesh.

I let her lay there on the ground like a limp, wet pile of towels as I sat on the bed, my cock in my hands. I watched her as she gradually regained consciousness. She crawled across the floor to the space between my knees. She looked up at me. Her lips quivered as she tried to speak.

“That,” she said in a raspy whisper, “was fucking a-mazing.”

The Many Moods of Monday Morning

Posted on December 28, 2018 by Lola Down

Monday morning. 4 am. Lo wakes me up by fucking herself with her glass dildo and Hitachi Magic Wand. “Must you do that now?” I ask, irritated.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to do it if you’d fuck me at night, but you just went to sleep after getting in bed – like sleep is what the bed is made for!”

“Don’t blame your nymphomania on me. You’re like Buzz Lightyear over there, masturbating to infinity and beyond!”

“Yeah, well, from the looks of things, you’re like Woody over there. What’s that popping up under the covers?”

It’s true, I often wake up with a raging hard-on.

“I had crazy sex dreams all night,” she says, more sweetly.

“Really?” I ask from my own dreamlike state. “Tell me about them.”

She tells me about how she dreamed about sex with a guy from work. “I told him I want him to be with me in the biblical sense.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“What’s not?”

“To ‘be’ together in the biblical sense. The saying is, ‘to know one another in the biblical sense.’”

“Well, I want to be together with him – in an existential sense.”

“Why do you think you were dreaming that?”

“Because you were groping me all night.”

“That’s impossible. I slept like I was hit by a bus.”

“Well, groping while sleeping is one of your natural talents.”

“I have many natural and unnatural talents.”

“What are you going to do with that?” she asks, looking down at my rock-hard shaft.

“I’m going to suffer with it. It’s my half-a-cross to bear.”

“Well, don’t get any ideas, I’m getting up,” she says as she pulls out her dildo and rests it on her nightstand.

“So am I,” I say, removing the covers, looking down at my phallus standing at attention.

A good erection is not to be wasted, I suppose, so instead of getting out of bed, she climbs up on my morning wood and eases herself down onto it.

When I don’t meet her descending motion with a thrust upward, she asks, “What’s the matter?”

“You’re using me,” I respond.

“Only for your body.”

“Oh, well, in that case then it’s ok.”

Within seconds she is gushing all over my hips. She climbs off my body and collapses into the bed, eyes closed.

“Are you sleeping?” I ask, incredulously.

“Shhhhh,” is all she manages to respond as she drifts off back to dreamland leaving me hard-up at 4:10 in the a.m.

There’s no going back to sleep for me and I look at her peaceful face.

“Just jack it like any other guy would,” she mutters.

I get out of bed and do what I always do with my sexual energy – channel it into a good story.

A couple of hours later my phone buzzes. “Come,” she texts from the bedroom.

I follow her command.

As I enter the bedroom, I find her naked, legs spread, fingers caressing between her glistening pussy lips. I sit down gingerly beside her. She looks up at me. Her hair is a mess.

“What time did you come to bed?” she asks.

“When?”

“Whenever you came to bed.”

Not knowing if she was speaking about last night or this morning, I reply, “Just now.”

“Did I give you a handjob?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Why?” I ask, curious.

“I had a dream that I did.”

Her left hand is already fondling my hard cock over my pj bottoms.

“Take it out,” she commands.

I take it out for her to hold. “Do you want to make your dream come true?” I ask.

She doesn’t bother to answer. She is already stroking it with her left hand and stroking herself with her right. Her eyes are closed as if continuing her dream. Within mere moments she cums again, and falls back to sleep, leaving me hard-up for a second time.

I hop in the shower and then get dressed for work figuring that it’s just not my morning.

A few minutes after I leave the bedroom to have a cup of coffee, Lola walks into the kitchen. I can tell just by her footfall that she’s upset. Without a “hello” or “good morning,” she launches into a tirade.

“I’m so pissed,” she says.

“Why?”
“I just am. My computer sucks, my schedule sucks, everything just sucks.”

“Do you want to go fuck it out?” I ask, hoping that I might finally release the tension between my legs.

“I thought you’d never ask!”

We return to the bedroom to have sex. I slip out of my pants, but leave on my shirt. I’m still horny from not cumming earlier in the morning and I figure this will be quick and fun. But this time, she isn’t reaching orgasm like she did earlier. She takes out her Hitachi and puts it on her clit and it vibrates between our bodies. After only a few minutes she switches it off and stops her motions. “It’s not working. I think I’m broken.”

“What?”

“I’m not cumming. I think I’m broken.”

“Lo, you had at least two or three orgasms already this morning!”

“Orgasms are like football, it doesn’t matter if you won your last ten games, the only game that matters is this one.”

“You don’t even like football.”

“So? It still holds true.”

“You’re just thinking about all you have to do today.”

“Yeah, but I always cum.”

I get up.

“Where are you going?”

“To make breakfast. Do you want some?’

“No. I’m going to keep trying ʼtil I cum. Everyone has to have goals.”

Two minutes later she’s walking naked into the kitchen.

“That was fast.”

“And how! What’s for breakfast?”

After breakfast I say, “Well, Darlin’, I have to go to work.”

“You’re not wearing any pants!”

“It’s underwear Wednesday.”

“It’s not Wednesday, it’s Monday,” she corrects me.

“I plan my outfits ahead of time.”

“And don’t you mean Wonderwear Wednsday, as in, I wonder where my pants are?”

“Yeah.”

I go to the bedroom and put on my pants. She follows me.

“You can’t go out in those pants!” she gasps.

“I could take them off, but I’d catch a breeze.”

“No no no. I mean, I can see every line and curve of your cock clear as day through those.”

“Well, that never stopped you from wearing your yoga pants in public, now did it?”

“What are you talking about?” she asks defensively.

“As if you were unaware of your camel-toe.”

“Phhh,” she says, dismissively while staring at my crotch. “That thing is huge in there! Sheesh, you’ll scare your secretary.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of, or are you afraid she’ll get the same look in her eye that you have now?”

“Shut up. You cannot go to work like that. It’s bad enough that you have a young female secretary. Now pull it out.”

“But Lo, I have only like three minutes to get going!”

She gets on her knees and unzips my fly, pulling out my cock. But she also continues her rant. “I’m just doing a public service. If you go to work like this, then you’re just contributing to the misogynistic, patriarchal, intersectional systems of oppression.”

“Wow, that’s a mouthful.”

“You’re also a mouthful,” she says as she goes down on me.

“Are you doing a public service or do you wish to service the public?”

She pauses in her fellatio and looks to say, “Please don’t make bad puns while I have your cock in my mouth.”

With merely the gentle touch of her lips on the tip of my cock and the beautiful view of her on her knees, I finally cum. So quick, so unexpected, and so much that it spews all over her face, neck, and tits. She looks up at me and says in astonishment, “That was a hot surprise!”

“Sounds like a special in a restaurant.”

“It’s a plate best served horny.”

“So,” I ask, “what do you want to do with the remaining two and a half minutes I have?”

Suddenly she notices something and looks up at me with a scowl. “You came all over my hair! How did you do that?”

“That’s one of my natural talents.”

“And you came in like five seconds.”

“That’s one of my unnatural talents.”

“Did you like it?” she asks.

“I loved it,” I say, “but I’m so sleepy now.”

“Yeah, because you were groping me all night.”

“Impossible! I slept like a rock.”

“You said you slept like you were hit by a bus.”

“Like a rock that was hit by a bus.”

“Where are you going all dressed up?” she asks after I zip up.

“I have a date.”

“With whom?”

“With destiny.”

“Who is she, I’ll tear her apart!”

“She’s a fickle woman who always gets her way.”

A few moments later, Lola appears in the living room, miraculously all dressed and ready to go to work. She’s wearing a pearl necklace.

“That’s pretty I say.”

“This?” she asks, holding the necklace. “It’s my second pearl necklace of the day!”

“Very funny,” I say.

She leans in to kiss me goodbye before we both leave. “You’ll be home at 11:00 to fuck?” I ask.

“Yeah. Will you be here?”

“Let me check my schedule to see if you can fit me in,” I reply.

“Darling, I could fit way more than you in.”

“Then I’ll bring a few friends.”

“Just be here at eleven. I’ll supply the extras.”

[Art by JoKoss)

Sherry Rain

Posted on December 9, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?” I asked.

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

“I am not!” the first protested.

“Whatever,” said the second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She always this friendly?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo and Rain came back from the dance floor.

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

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

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

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

“Deal!” she said.

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

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

Sherry looked relieved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“I have to pee. So bad.”

“Well, let’s go back. You can. . .”

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

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

“Are you peeing?” I asked in disbelief.

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

“Lo,” I gasped, “you’re bad!”

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

She wasn’t wrong.

“OK,” she said, “let’s go.”

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

“Feel better, dear?”

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

She wasn’t wrong.

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

“What?”

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

“Here? On the street?”

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

“Like what, Daddy?” she asked innocently.

“Drenched in pee.”

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

“Your little trinkle on the beach.”

“What?”

“You honestly don’t remember?”

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

“Yes. So strip.”

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

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

“No, Lo, I’m driving home.”

“Can I blow you?”

“No.”

“Hand job?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please?”

“No.”

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

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

I rummaged through the closet and found my Stoya Fleshlight.

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

“Lo, I’m not having you.”

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

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

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

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

“You like fingering her?” I asked.

No response.

“Are you thinking of Rain right now?”

“How’d you know?” she asked.

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

“You like that, Daddy?”

Now I didn’t answer.

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

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

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

Inveterate Masturbator

Posted on October 30, 2018 by Lola Down

It’s almost 9:00 a.m. and Lo hasn’t emerged from the bedroom yet. I walk into the bedroom and as I open the door I find her lying on the bed, tum down, ass up, in her left hand she holds her phone and she is staring at it intently as her right hand manipulates a dildo in her puss and another in her ass. She looks up briefly, caught in the act.

“I would join you, but I see you’re full up,” I say snidely.

“You can be next. Just give me about ten more minutes.”

“You realize, it’s a quarter-to-nine, right?”

She waves me off, resentful of the interruption, concerned about the distraction.

When I walk in again at five-to-nine, she’s already in her tight pants, her pumps, and blouse, ready to go to work.

“What happened to my turn?” I inquire.

“Sorry Daddio, but I only had room for three this morning.”

“What do you mean, room for three?”

“I mean, three orgasms.”

“I didn’t even hear you.”

She shrugs her shoulders and walks into the bathroom to fix her hair. When she does, I take a surreptitious glance at her phone. I see that she had made a phone call at 8:47 to Brian. I guess that’s why she was so quiet.

“You know,” I call to her from the bed, “you’re an inveterate masturbator.”

“What’s ‘inveterate’ mean, Daddy?” she asks in her little-girl voice.

“Chronic, confirmed, hardened, incurable, incorrigible, habitual, unrepentant.”

“Yep, that sounds like me. I like it: Inveterate Masturbator. It could be my superhero name.”

“And your superpower would be. . . making yourself cum?”

“That and the power to make others cum. You want to cum, Daddio?” she asks teasingly.

“Yes, yes I do!”

“Tell me more.”

“I want to cum. Isn’t that enough?”

“Tell me how you want to cum,” she says, walking over to me and putting her hand on my crotch.

“I want to cum in you, on you, for you, under you – choose your preposition.”

“Do you want me to tug your cock and jack you off or do you want me to suck it or do you want to fuck my puss or do you want to fuck my ass?”

“Preferably, a little of each, you know, like tapas.”

“Hmmm,” she hums, “I like that.” Then, abruptly, she turns and walks out of the bedroom. “Too bad I have to go to work,” she calls over her shoulder. “I guess you’ll just have to be hard-up for me all day.”

That is too much. All niceties are off. “What about your friend?” I call back to her.

“My friend?” she asks as she slips into her heels.

“Yeah, Brian, who you had phone sex with this morning.”

“Daddy,” she says, stopping in her tracks, “you were snooping.”

“Yeah, so. It doesn’t change the fact.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to be really hard-up all day until I get home and have the time to tell you about it. Kisses,” she says as she puckers up. I am in no mood to kiss her after that torture. She waits with her eyes closed. When she feels nothing on her lips, she opens one eye and then the other. “Fine,” she says, “if you don’t want to kiss me, I’ll find someone who does.”

With that she walks out the door.

Writing Nude

Posted on September 25, 2018 by Lola Down

I write erotica. No. Scratch that. What I really write is love poems to Lola. Really, really, really long love poems. So long that, to the untrained eye, they read like prose.

Niel Gaiman once said, “If you’re only going to write when you’re inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet, but you will never be a novelist — because you’re going to have to make your word count today, and those words aren’t going to wait for you, whether you’re inspired or not. So you have to write when you’re not inspired.” I don’t have a problem with this advice in general, but part of the problem is that when I’m not inspired, a certain detached, disinterested, distant feeling comes over me with regard to my writing. I hesitate to say “objective,” because that implies a truth to the judgment and, for the life of me, I pray that that cold view of my writing is not true.

I struggle to capture exactly the feeling I get at these moments of disenchantment, but there are a few readily available examples of how I feel about my work that I can offer. If you’ve ever seen The Big Lebowski, then you may recall the “modern interpretive dance” scene where The Dude watches his landlord, Marty, perform. It is painful and comic to watch. But it means so much to Marty. That’s certainly part of it – if Marty was an author and not a dancer.

Another analogy is thinking thoughts when very stoned as compared to reading those thoughts when sober; some crucial élan vital is missing. A third analogy is that of being naked. One can be nude with one’s lover and that can be magnificent, or one can get caught naked in public, as often happens in humiliation dreams. The difference between nude and naked is as great as the difference between consent and coercion.

Being nude is easy. Writing is not.

But then there are also times like now. Last night Lola and I went out to a party with some friends. She wore her jack-pot top that prominently displays her cleavage and she wore her tight jeans with heels. She looked good and I wasn’t the only one to notice. Most of the evening her eyes sparkled and her teeth twinkled as she chatted and laughed, throwing back her long hair and touching the arms of those she liked. She flirts. And I love seeing it. I watched her from afar and occasionally I sidled up next to her sliding my right hand over her round butt. I wanted her all evening and the longer we stayed the more I wanted her. But I’m not as young as I used to be. The witching hour approached and my energy for performance and social settings dwindled. I felt fatigued on the ride home. Lo and I were traveling in the back of a cab and she was clearly not ready for the night to end. She kissed me and reached down between my legs. She reached between her legs and she enjoyed the thrill of being just out of sight from the driver as she made small-talk with him.

We got home and I got in bed, loving her, but needing sleep. She joined me, naked, and feeling dejected by my drowsiness, pulled out her Hitachi, phone, dildo, and began her nightly bedtime ritual of self-pleasure.

In the morning I awoke before she. She was curled in the fetal position facing away from me. I was wrapped around her, holding her tightly for it was a chilly morning and we needed each other for warmth. My hand roamed over her soft skin from her shoulder down to her breast, feeling the flesh of her tum and over her round hips. I wanted her. My rod was stiff between my legs, protruding into her. She was down for the count.

Desirous of her, but respectful of her sleep, I snuck out of bed, washed up, made my coffee, and set up my little writing nest on the couch and began to compose this lustful literary tribute to her, my muse. I know that when she wakes she will be full of passion for me as I will be for her. And when I read these words to her, she will find them flattering, beautiful, and inspired. That will make up for all the disenchanted moments when I look upon this massive encomium to Lola as if written by someone else. My love, my longing, my lusty imaginings and my self-critical eye will all be aligned. All shall be well, at least until the next wave of despair, alienation, and disenchantment plumes within me. But, until then, I’ll take what I can get – of Lo and of writing.

Bimbos, Bubble-butts, and Blowjobs

Posted on September 2, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Word.”

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

“You said to. . .”

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

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

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

“Then why do you look at those floozies?”

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

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

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a moment or two, I returned to Lo.

“What did you do?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’ll tell you later.”

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

“You might be mad.”

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

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

“Out with it!”

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

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

“One that will teach them what love is.”

“Which one would that be?”

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

“I’m waiting.”

“Just a good erotic read.”

“Let me guess: mysexlifewithlola.com.”

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

“You didn’t!”

“I most certainly did. Are you upset?”

“Yes.”

“I knew you would be.”

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

“You wicked vixen!”

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

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

“You’re probably right.”

Slap Shot

Posted on July 25, 2018 by Lola Down

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

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I follow instructions.

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

“Off the elevator?”

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

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

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

“But you wanted more.”

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

“You did what?”

“You heard me. A select five.”

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

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

“You did not!”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“I bet.”

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

“They were so kind and considerate.”

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

“And you loved it, I bet.”

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

“Loving?”

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

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

“Right? Win-win!”

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

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

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

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

“Naked Brunch”

Posted on April 22, 2018 by Lola Down

“Lo!” I called from the bedroom into the bathroom through the closed door. “LO! What are you doing in there?!” As if there were any question, really.

“Grrrrr, you’re not helping, you know!” came the response. “This water pressure sucks!”

“Jim will be here in fifteen – no, ten minutes.”

You see Jim, of the “doppelganger” couple, was to come over for brunch that Sunday morning. Lilly, his girlfriend, was out of town for a week and he had called me and asked if I would have time to talk. When I told him that Lo and I were free Sunday morning, he clumsily apologized and said, “Oh, I meant just you and me. I’m going through something and I. . .”

He was clearly uncomfortable and I felt bad for my assumption. I didn’t put him through having to explain it all on the phone, so I simply said, “No worries. Come on over at eleven and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Well, now it was ten to eleven Sunday morning and Lo had been in the shower, no doubt sitting on the tub’s floor with the showerhead between her legs, for the better part of half an hour. She was supposed to be out of the house by now and I was getting irritated by the lack of consideration. When I presented the plans to her, in typical Lola fashion she took umbrage at not being the center of attention. “What could he possibly have to say to you that I can’t hear? Do you think he’s breaking up with Lilly? Do you think she left him?”

“Lo,” I said, “I don’t know. But I do know that he’s a friend in need and I will find out the whole story on Sunday.”

“Well,” she said, insulted, “I have two ears just like you do. I’m a good listener. I can dole out advice. I’m a comforting soul.”

“All of that is true, Lo,” I said, “but, hard as it is to believe, maybe he needs to talk man-to-man.”

“Harrumph!” she said, dramatically, “I could have a penis too, if I wanted one. I’ve got like four or five different strap-ons under the bed. Maybe if I had a penis he’d want to talk to me.”

“Lo, most men want to talk to you most of the time – penis or no penis. Can’t you accept that this one time a guy wants to talk to me. . . alone?”

I got her to promise that she’d let us alone for a few hours so that I could hear whatever it was that Jim had to say to me. But now she was dangerously close to intruding upon that precious one-on-one time.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a plume of steam into the bedroom. From within the cloud, the naked body of Lola appeared like the epiphany of a goddess out of heaven. Under normal circumstances, this would be the perfect opportunity to bend her over the edge of the bed and get on my knees to worship her posterior. But we had a guest – no, correction, I had a guest – scheduled to arrive in mere moments.

“You like, Daddy?” she asked, seeing me soak her visage in with my eyes.

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

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a jiffy!”

I took her word for it and went into the kitchen to take out the ingredients for the brunch I was preparing. The doorbell rang and I welcomed Jim in, explaining that Lo is just getting a bit of a late start. He greeted me with a smile and a bottle of champagne, “For mimosas,” he said.

“Wonderful idea! Shall I pour two now?”

“It is brunch time,” he said.

I went into the kitchen and popped the cork and poured the bubbly in two long-stem glasses with OJ. The kitchen is half-way between the living room and the bedroom. From where I was in there, I could hear Lo beginning to moan. I hastily grabbed the two glasses and returned to the living room where I said, “Some music?” I turned on a Sunday blues station louder than was necessary, exclaiming, “I love this song!”

“Oh, who is it?” asked Jim.

Truth be told, I had no idea. I just wanted something to drown out the inevitable cries of pleasure that would reverberate down the hallway. “I forget, but I haven’t heard it in a long time,” I said as I felt beads of sweat on my brow.

We sat in the living room talking in raised voices over the music, just catching up with each other since it had been a while since we last spoke in person.

“Refill?” I asked when I saw his glass was empty.

He passed me his glass and I went to the kitchen. I went to refill his glass and quickly darted over to the bedroom where I peered in the door. Lo was naked on the bed, Hitachi between her legs. She looked over at me and whispered, “Sorry.”

“Are you done?” I whispered back, accusingly.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I closed the door and brought out the mimosas to the living room, turning down the music now. We chatted some more and then Lola walked into the room wearing her thin, tight, black yoga pants and a crop top, exposing her midriff.

“Hi Jim,” she said, flirtatiously.

“Hi Lola!”

“Don’t mind me. I’m just on my way to the gym for a yoga class. I know you boys want your time alone. I just have to get my gym bag.” Though her gym bag was in the hall leading to the living room and she could have simply picked it up, she made a production of turning around, bending over, protruding her tail in the air and then picking it up. It was a classic stripper move designed to provide the best view for Jim.

“Doesn’t that class start at eleven?” I asked facetiously. “You’d better get a move-on.”

“I’ll hightail it there, D—” She almost said “Daddio,” but stopped herself mid-consonant. “Don’t worry about me,” she stammered. She gave me a kiss goodbye and was finally out the door.

I observed with keen interest how Jim’s eyes followed Lo’s ass as she sauntered away.

When she was definitively gone, I got up and said, “Want to accompany me as I prepare the brunch?”

He followed me into the kitchen where I sliced and diced, fried and prepared the meal as he made some small talk. We sat down, ate, drank some more mimosas, and then, finally, he got to that which was on his mind.

“You know that Lilly is in Miami now,” he said.

“Yeah, how’s that going?”

“Well, she’s been away for four days and. . .”

I thought he was going to tell me that they had broken up and she wasn’t returning back, even though – or perhaps because – they had just moved in together. But that’s not where he was going with this.

“Well, you might not know this,” he continued, “but she and I are in an ‘open’ relationship.” He made air-quotes around “open.” No. No, I had not known that. Does he know about Lo and me? I hadn’t told him. Had Lo? Why bring this up with me? Had he found our blog? So many things ran through my mind at that moment.

“Until now,” he continued, “it really was an understanding between us, an operating principle, but it wasn’t put into practice.”

“Ah ha,” I nodded, indicating my understanding.

“But she called the other night – it was the first night she was down there – and she asked if she could sleep with a guy she met at the bar.”

“Oh,” I said. “And?”

“That’s just the thing – I was already asleep. I didn’t get the message until the next morning and by then it was too late.”

“Too late?” I didn’t know if he meant the opportunity had come and gone or if the opportunity had cum and stayed.

“Yeah.”

“What happened? Did she?”

He swallowed hard and admitted, “Yes. She didn’t hear back from me and, operating on our understanding, she slept with him. She did try to ask permission and she waited for a reply,” he said in defense of her before I even had a chance to react.

“How are you doing with that?”

“That’s just the thing, I’m doing horrible with it.” The distress was clear on his face.

I still hadn’t figured out why he had chosen to confide in me about this.

“What, exactly, is upsetting you about it?”

Let’s be clear here, in most situations if a fella came to his friend’s house and told him that he just found out that his girlfriend had slept with another man, there wouldn’t be any question as to what, exactly, was upsetting about it. But this wasn’t most situations. He got that and I did too.

“When I agreed to an open relationship, I did so because I knew that that was what she was used to and what she wanted. It was at the beginning of our relationship when you feel like nothing could derail the connection. But. . .” He took a deep drink of mimosa and I refilled his glass. “But since then we’ve had some issues. . .” Long pause again. “Intimacy. She says that we don’t connect sexually and spiritually. She says she loves me in every other way, but. . . and this is really hard to admit, she’s just not satisfied with my performance in bed. So, to hear about her with another man, it’s driving me nuts!”

I thought to myself, “You can either let it get to you or embrace your inner cuck and love your hotwife for who she is.” I didn’t say that to him, of course. I just lent a compassionate ear to his tale of woe. I gave some worldly advice, perhaps revealing more about myself and my relationship with Lola than I had intended, but not stating anything explicit about my relationship with her. I was eager to find out the root of their sexual disconnect, but careful not to pry. I knew that, had Lo been there – had she been the Lady Confessor – she would have been able to coax it out of him.

No sooner had I thought this than in the door appeared Lo. Jim put on his best smile and greeted her. “How was the yoga class?”

“So good,” said Lola. “How was your brunch?”

“We’re just finishing up,” said Jim as he cleared his plate and, as it seemed to me, hastily began to say goodbye.

As soon as he was out the door, Lo looked at me and said, “Did I scare him off?”

“I think you did,” I said, as surprised as she by the abrupt departure.

“Good,” she said, “now we’re alone. Tell me everything!”

“First, young lady,” I said in a scolding manner, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Hearing my rebuking tone, she turned tail and said, “I’m sorry, Daddy, spank me!” She bent over in her yoga pants and put her bum in the air. I gave her a good, hard, thrashing with my flat, open hand. It was clearly having an arousing effect upon her.

“Why are you spanking me, Daddy?”

“First,” I said, giving her bum a whack, “for jilling it in the shower. Second” and another whack, “for being late out the door. Third,” Whack! “for jilling it in bed. Fourth,” Whap! “for walking out in those yoga pants.”

“You noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“I think you know.”

“Your cameltoe?”

“So you did notice? I didn’t wear any panties under the yoga pants. I pulled them up tight so that when I walked out my pussy, with all its clearly outlined folds, would be eye-level with Jim as he sat in the living room.”

WHACK!

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, licking her lips at the pain and pleasure. “I was bad. I purposely teased him. Did you like that?”

I pulled down her yoga pants and spanked her bare bottom now. “Fifth, for returning so early and teasing him again!”

“Take me in the bedroom and tell me what happened.”

I took her and told her the whole story. She masturbated to each detail and then said, “Do you think he came to you because he suspects I’m a hotwife?”

“Yes,” I said, “and not only that, but I think that what’s really going on is he’s feeling threatened that Lilly will get all the action and he’ll get none. I think his coming to me was his way of asking permission if it would be ok to fuck you, just so he can play too.”

“Really?!” asked Lo, very excited. “What makes you think that?”

“Just my gut. But I think he’s way too shy or uptight to actually come out and say it.”

“Do you think he has a small cock? Or trouble getting it up? Or. . .”

“Lo, I really don’t know. I haven’t put too much thought to it, but I’m sure you could be the cure to whatever ails him.”

“Oh, Daddy, hurry up and get in me!”

As soon as I had penetrated her puss to the hilt, she came in waves, gushing all over me. It took nothing more than that initial lance before she was convulsing upon my hard shaft. When she was done, she asked, “Did he like your brunch?”

“I think he would have preferred to have your naked peaches and cream.”

Original art by Jo Koss

My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

Posted on February 14, 2018 by Lola Down

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.

“Your weakness is me.”

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

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

“Stop it! You know I hate that!”

“But I love it. It’s so sexy.”

“I have to work on my beach body.”

“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”

“We both should exercise.”

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

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

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

“That’s not proof.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luckily, Lo was impressed.

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

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

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

“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.

“I want to know.”

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

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

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

“Where would you like to go?”

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

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

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

“Lo, you’re doing it again?”

“Doing what, Daddio?”

“Flashing in public.”

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

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

“You like, Daddio?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Why not, Daddy?”

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

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

“You should write adult fortune cookies.”

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

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

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

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

“But you want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like how your entire outfit matches.”

“I’m good like that.”

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

“Lo!” I scolded.

“She laughed.”

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

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

“Like a ruler,” I said.

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

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

“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.

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

“Rosebud.”

“What about it?”

“That was the last word he said.”

“And the name of his sled.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.

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

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

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

He simply said, “Whiskey.”

“Straight?” she asked.

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

Obviously she didn’t know his name.

“Ron,” he said.

“Hi, Ron,” I said.

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

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

Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo’s drink came.

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

“It’s wet.”

“Your drink?”

“That too.”

Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.

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

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

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

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

“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.

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

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

“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she said enigmatically.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can it charm the pants off of you?”

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

“Take your cock out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean I got us into?!”

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

“Not a problem.”

“Really?”

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

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

“Sort of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome?! I saved you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mysexlifewithlola

The trials and tribulations of dating a nymphomaniac.

Category Archives: Sex

The Orgasm Gap

Like this:

Her Porn Addiction

Like this:

The Many Moods of Monday Morning

Like this:

Sherry Rain

Like this:

Inveterate Masturbator

Like this:

Writing Nude

Like this:

Bimbos, Bubble-butts, and Blowjobs

Like this:

Slap Shot

Like this:

“Naked Brunch”

Like this:

My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this: