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The Body Politic

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[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

Quick Anal Hookups

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Quick Anal Hookups

[The mini-series “Mount Bliss” continues from “Alliterative Agony.”]

The next morning, Sunday, Lo was very slow to wake up.  I, like clockwork, was up with the sunrise at around 5:30.  Very gently and stealthily, I extricated myself from her naked embrace and found some clothes to slip into before sneaking out of the room in search of coffee.  Lo is my drug of choice, but caffeine is my drug of necessity.  Without it first thing in the morning, I develop a terrible headache, become susceptible to intrusive thoughts, and can be very unpleasant company.

In those newly minted minutes of the morning, the sun from yonder horizon streamed into the various windows of the “cottage,” designed perfectly to catch that brisk, new day aura.  I was glad to have my alone time and, even better, I had discovered Collin’s very fancy, very expensive Italian espresso, cappuccino, and coffee brewing machine.

I made myself a steaming mug and went outside to take in the fresh air comingled with the aroma of the rich, calming coffee.  A deep breath in and a long exhale out.  For a moment, all the drama of the previous night seemed as unreal as a dream.  I looked out over the light shimmering on the waves of the lake and felt as if everything was reborn that morning.

Just as I was taking it all in, feeling good about myself and my choice to join Lo and company up in this retreat, I heard the sliding door behind me open and, as I looked, there I saw Lilly, barefoot, in her panties and a tank-top, no bra, slip outside with me.  She too was holding a mug of hot coffee.

“Can I join you?”

“Sure,” I said, concealing the pang of resentment I always feel when my morning solitude is interrupted, no matter by whom.

Lilly stood next to me and, for a brief moment, we both enjoyed the near silence of the breeze blowing the leaves, the birds singing their praise to the day, and the dance of the sun’s rays on the little waves.  I could see her erect nipples reacting to the mountain morning air.

She broke the spell of the meditative moment by turning toward me and saying, “I don’t know what you’ve heard from Lola, but I want you to know that I never meant any harm.”

I had heard only small fragments at that point since my communication with Lo was so infrequent due to all the entertainment Collin was providing for her and Lilly.

“I don’t know much,” I said, but you can be sure that I was curious to know more.  And, not only that, I wanted to hear it from Lilly’s lips so that I could later, in bed, compare it with Lo’s version.  “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve missed.”

We sat on the lounge chairs and Lilly began from the beginning.

She recounted for me how Uncle Collin had always been for her almost a mythical figure.  He was bold, daring, full of stories of his adventures, wealthy and generous, lavishing gifts on her and her family.  Ever since she could remember, she adored him and looked at him with stars in her eyes.

She, so far as she could tell, was his favorite niece and he and Suzanne, having no children of their own, treated her as if she was his own daughter.  He took her on vacations to France and Algeria, Italy and Spain.  He spoiled her.  He indulged her every whim with an amused satisfaction at the simplicity of her pleasures.

Just around the time she hit adolescence, he had his equestrian accident.  She informed me about his injury and the damage it did to him.  As she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes.  After that, she recalled that Suzanne’s attitude toward her changed.  She was cold.  Aloof.  She attended fewer and fewer family gatherings.  She and Collin grew further and further apart.

She told me about going to Catholic school, wearing the school uniform and picking up on Uncle Collin’s subtle, yet perceptible interest in her girlfriends.  In an offhand way, she mentioned that it was around this time, her freshmen year in high school, that she discovered the “A.O.L. alternative,” as she put it.

I played dumb, as if Lo hadn’t mentioned it to me.  “A.O.L.?”

“Anal Only Lifestyle.”

“Is that a Catholic girl thing?”

“It was my thing.  And, I guess, a lot of the girls I knew.  But none of them took it as far or as frequently as I did.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but was curious to find out.  I guess I raised my eyebrows, expressing my interest and so she continued, “I was into quick anal hookup.”

“What’s that mean?” I ventured.  I knew from our previous private conversations that she enjoyed bragging and showing off her slutty side.  Maybe there was some competitiveness she felt with Lo, but I was confident I wouldn’t have to pry this information from her.

“You know, just the one-night-stand thing.  Or, later in high school, as my reputation spread, well. . .” she feigned being coy and blushing, “on a couple of occasions guys lined up outside in the backyard.  We lived in a modified ranch and my bedroom was on the ground floor.  I’d open the window, put my lubed butt out, and the guys would line up, one-by-one, for a chance at my ass.”

Sounded to me like her reputation wasn’t the only thing to spread.

“They wore condoms, I hope.”

She laughed.

“No?”

“We were in high school.  They had like zero sexual experience.  And. . .”

“And what?”

“I liked being filled up.”  As she said this, she rolled over on her tum and added, “Oh, the sun’s just high enough to tan.”  She clearly wanted me to look at her ass in those panties and imagine the backyard line-up.

She saw me eyeing her and said, “How did we get onto this topic?”

I had no idea at that point.  I was much more interested in how she managed with what little Jim had to offer her by way of anal penetration.  As I looked at her small ass in those even smaller panties, I thought that, despite her previous experience, it must not take much to fill her that way.

“Oh yeah, Uncle Collin’s accident,” she reminded me.

She then described how he appreciated having a house full of her friends, throwing house parties for them and, on occasion, spending the night with one or more of them.  “That’s how it started,” she said.  “It was all very innocent back then.  I just wanted to cheer him up when he was going through the throes of depression and was wheelchair bound.”

“So, you’re saying that. . .” I was beginning to comprehend.  She helped me.

“I knew Uncle Collin would love Lola.  And I already knew you wouldn’t mind.”

That last little afterthought upset me.  Maybe it was because normally I wouldn’t mind, but this time I did.  Maybe it was something else.

“So it was a setup?” I asked.

“I would call it a little match-making.”

I must have had a dumbfounded look on my face, because then Lilly sat up and began explaining, rapid-fire, the pieces of the story that I also didn’t know: Uncle Collin’s erectile dysfunction; Suzanne’s sexual frustration; Lo’s resorting to masturbation to relieve her own pent-up desire for Collin.  Much of what she had to say resolved some questions, but raised multiple more questions for me.

“How did you know that Collin was impotent?” I asked, picking a question at random from the array of choices in my mind.

“Let’s just say that I have my ways.”

I wondered what that meant, but didn’t dare ask.  Nor did I need to.  She willingly, almost eagerly told me all about the vacations in France, the nude beaches, the multiple attempts she made to get a rise out of her Uncle.  His eventual confession when they were alone and sharing an intimate moment.

“I suppose, if I’m guilty of anything,” she said, “I’m guilty of leading on Lo into thinking that Uncle Collin could give her what she wanted.  I knew he couldn’t, but I let her find out for herself.  In that, I may have been wrong.  But I didn’t feel like Uncle Collin’s story was mine to tell.”

She certainly had a warped conception of her role in this twisted, incestual scheme she and her uncle had going on.  But, as a friend once said, don’t yuck my yum.  I guess.

Just as she was getting to the acme of her story, the days the three of them spent at the clothing optional hotel, Suzanne walked outside, joining us.

“Good morning, Suzanne,” I said politely, feigning ignorance of her interaction with Lo the previous evening.

“How are you today, HH?” she asked, just as politely.

Ever notice how politeness and manners puts a distance between people?  They are designed to assist civilization and society in running smoothly, but the means by which they do that is by preventing us from getting too close to one another and grinding our gears.

After the events of the night before, only some of which I was present for, this artificial social barrier between us was felt much more tangibly than it would have been otherwise.

As usual, Suzanne was wearing a suggestive, sheer robe over mere skimps of clothing and was accompanied by her ever-present pooches.

“Lilly, dear, why so covered up while sunning yourself?” asked Suzanne.  “You wouldn’t want tan lines on that coveted ass of yours.”

“You’re right,” said Lilly, sitting up, taking a sip of her coffee, and slipping out of her tank top and panties.  It was a good thing I had ejaculated last night in Lo, because, had I been as backed up as I was when I arrived, I might have revealed my arousal.  As it was, all I wanted to do was escape back to Lo’s side (and then sneak inside her sweet spot).

Suzanne then sat across from the two of us, her hounds at her side, her legs crossed.

“Tell me HH,” she began, “I’m so curious.  I know it’s none of my business, but what is your secret?”

I had no idea what she was talking about and I got the sense she phrased it exactly like that to keep me guessing.

“My secret?” I asked.

“I mean, with Lo.”

Still, very intentionally ambiguous.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” I said nicely.

“Come on,” she insisted.  “You know.”

She was really enjoying teasing me.  Or perhaps hoping that I would inadvertently answer the wrong question, revealing something I shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Suzanne, I don’t follow.”

“You and she.  You’re a December/May relationship.  She’s in her very first bloom of May, in fact.”

“And I’m practically in January?”

“No, not at all.  But how do you. . .” she searched for the right word, “manage.”

“Manage what?”

“Oh, no need to be shy.  We’re all friends.  Her dalliances.  Her infidelities.”

I was thinking that I could ask her the same thing, but I then realized, she probably wanted me to.

“Lo does what Lo wants.  If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“You mean, Lo does whom Lo wants.”

“Either way,” I said.

“And you?” she asked.

“What about me?”
“You do whom you want as well?” she asked, looking over at the nude Lilly.  I noticed that Lilly had put in her earbuds and was blissfully ignorant of our conversation.  In any other situation, such behavior would have come across as rude, but in this instance, it was clear that Lilly was sending her aunt a message: “I don’t give a shit what you have to say.”

“Oh no,” I said.  “I’m content with Lo.”

“You don’t ever have a longing for something else?”

It was a weird way to put it.

“Something?” I asked.

“You know, when all you’ve had is cheap wine, you might want to taste something of a more mature vintage,” she said, uncrossing and spreading her legs.

At just that moment, who should walk out the door but Lo, with a perfect view of Suzanne’s crotch in front of me and Lilly’s nude sunbathing to the left of me.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” asked Lo.  I heard it as, “You’re in BIG trouble, mister.”  Entrapment!  I am an innocent man!  Yes I am.  An innocent man.

Suzanne & Bandit

Impressive Size

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[Prequel to Breeding Farm]

“It’s so big!” gasped Lo.  “It’s beautiful.  Stunning.  I just can’t believe it.”  She truly was impressed.  We had just pulled up in the driveway of Lily’s uncle’s mountain resort home.  Her uncle was traveling around Europe and, since Lily was one of his favorites, he gave her permission to use it and to host friends.  We happened to be the friends that she and Jim chose to invite up for a long weekend.

The air was crisp and the sky was clear and blue and radiant.  All the trees on the mountain were in their peak of autumn perfection.  We had the whole secluded house to ourselves.

Lily showed us around the grounds and gave us a tour of the home.  Then she showed us to our quarters.  The bed was enormous!  The bathroom and bathtub were almost as big!!!  This would be fun.  Lo and I looked at each other knowingly, expectantly.

Since it took us quite a while to get up there, winding through the dangerous mountain switchbacks, we made some dinner and then had some drinks.  We were all tired from the trip and Lo and I were eager to get to bed and get to each other.

Lo All Wet

She got naked and hopped into the clear glass encased shower as I drew a bath in the tub.  From inside her little chamber, she pressed her tits up against the glass and then turned and pressed her ass up against it as she used the hand-held showerhead to massage between her legs.

She came a couple of times, struggling to keep her screams to herself.  Then she emerged from the shower and slid her sexy self down upon my hard cock as I lay half-submerged in the water of the claw-foot white porcelain tub.

We had to be careful because we didn’t want to make too much noise or too much mess.  When she had finished cumming in reverse cowboy position, she turned and descended on my spear once more, this time facing me.  Grabbing her tits and pulling her nipples, she asked me, “Shall I be a good girl this weekend, Daddy, or a bad girl?”

“You’re already a bad girl,” I said, “so, you might as well not deny your nature.”

She came again and then urged me to get up and out and dry off so we could enjoy one another in the plush bed.  Bent over the side; face down in the down pillows; on her knees straddling me – we explored many positions, before she finally opted for being bent over a chair and seeing herself in the full-length mirror as I made her tits swing with my thrusts from behind her.

Just as we were both approaching the pinnacle of success in this position, she commanded, “Stop!”  She wasn’t kidding.  I did as she bade me.  “Get a towel and put it on the floor.”

I followed her command.  The towels were thick and heavy and the floor was wall-to-wall carpet.

“Get behind me and keep going, only harder.”

I again followed her command and within moments her clenching climax had pushed my member right out and she was squirting what seemed to be gallons on the towel beneath her.

She collapsed and said, breathlessly, “I knew that was going to happen.”

The next morning, after I had made everyone breakfast, we headed out on a hike.  I happily pulled up the rear, right behind Lo, whose behind, in her black athletic tights, was the best inspiration for me to keep going.

Lo – Tight

It was an exhilarating trek through the crisp air of the mountain tops.  The sights and the thrills were worth the exertion.

When we got back to the house, we were famished and we heated up a big pot of chili we had prepared before the trip.

We then settled into our vacation home and after a few glasses of wine, Jim suggested a game of cards.  We decided on poker and I raised the stakes by suggesting strip poker.  Lo kicked me under the table.  I didn’t know why at the moment.

Our friends were game and we got to playing.  Little did everyone (except Lo) know, but I’m a terrible poker player.  I can never keep straight which is the better hand.  Lo took pity on me and helped me all she could, to her own detriment.  She did her level best of spying on my cards to help me, to discard her good hand, to lift me up by lowering herself.  Doing that was tougher than actually winning!  But before too long, she was shirtless, sockless, and then pantless.  Not to be outdone by her rival, Lily went garment-for-garment with Lo.  After only a couple of rounds they were both braless.  It came down to a question of who was going to lose her panties first: Lo or Lilly?  You guessed it!  Lo was out and in her birthday suit.  She seemed more than happy to be the loser of the game.

During the hour or so that it took for Lo to win or lose, depending on how you’re scoring this, we had finished a bottle of wine and Jim and I had broke the seal on our special bottle of Scotch.

Eager to keep playing, Lo suggested that since she had no more clothes to offer, we play for certain “favors.”  These new rules started out tame enough.  First Lo had to bend over to pick up a napkin.  Then she had to get up and walk around the table to refresh my glass and Jim’s glass, with a little curtsy of course.  She had to remove Lily’s panties when Lilly lost.  But soon we moved on to having Lo’s writs be tied up around one of the support beams in the room as she bent over.  We found a riding crop that Lily’s uncle used as a decorative prop, and we used it, each taking turns swatting Lo’s ass and occasionally her pussy from behind.  Lily was the cruelest with the crop.  But then we gave Lo some aftercare.  Each of us got a turn fingering her from behind.  She came almost immediately for each of us.  After Lily’s turn (she went last), Lo pressed her legs together and commanded me to grab a towel, as she had the previous night.  When I had spread it at her feet, she spread her legs and looked as if she was putting out a fire from between her thighs!

“Holy shit!” cried Lily.  “I’ve never seen that actually happen in real life!!!”  She seemed thrilled.

Lo slowly slunk to the floor, exhausted.  She looked up, a smile on her face, a bit proud, her legs spread in a ‘V’ shape, and a puddle underneath her.  “Really?” she asked.

“It happens all the time to Lo,” I chimed in.

“I’ve read about it, I’ve seen it in videos, but never actually saw a woman squirt.  How do you do it?”

“I don’t do it.  It just happens.  Talent, I guess.”

Lily untied Lo’s wrists and helped her up.

“Do you think you could show Lily how to do that?” asked Jim, turning the tables on his bride, since she had been eager to have Lo teach Jim how to pleasure a woman despite his diminutive size.

“I know a lot of people claim to be able to teach it,” said Lo, “and there are a lot of websites out there dedicated to how to make a woman squirt, but I don’t know.  I only know that it works for me when I’m super aroused.”

“It’s more of a problem than a talent,” I said.

Lo frowned at me.  “What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“Come on, Lo,” I said, “you know that you sometimes accidentally squirt at very inconvenient times.”

“Oh, that’s true.”

“And the number of sheets we have to go through. . .”

“Yeah, it makes for a lot of laundry.”

“And how you shoot me right out of you mid-coitus.”

“That’s true too,” she admitted.

“I don’t need to squirt,” interrupted Lily, “I just would like to cum when having sex.”  She blurted it out and I could see that Jim’s request of Lo and Lo’s performance clearly were making her feel inadequate and so she turned the tables right back on Jim.

“Look,” said Lo, always the peace maker, “I have an idea to help everyone.  I’ve done this before, or a variation of this.  I’m already naked.  Why don’t we all get naked, light a candle, sit in a circle, and speak openly, honestly, candidly about sex, love, and relationships.  As long as the light of the candle is illuminating our circle, there is no judgment, no accusation, no falsity.  We will be vulnerable and compassionate with each other.  Our nudity is only an outward symbol of our inward vulnerability.”

Lily looked at Jim and he nodded his head that he was willing to give it a go.

We all got naked and for the first time I got a view of the little that Lilly had to work with.  Jim’s physique is fit, trim, and small.  Attractive, but tiny.  I’m not hung like a horse (horse cock being something Lo dearly likes), but compared to Jim I was.  I had to remind myself, by the candlelight, there is no judgment.  Right.

We all sat down in a circle with the candle at the center.  Jim and I were cross-legged and both Lola and Lily, being more flexible, sat full lotus position.

Lola started us off, “Sex is good, but sex without meaning, without connection, without intimacy can be empty and leave you cold.”

As Lo said these words, I couldn’t help but think of all the times she fucked guys, strangers, in the back seat of the car as I drove, or at the beach as men came all over her body, or. . . .  Wait, I reminded myself again, no judgment.  Got it.

“Yeah,” said Lily, picking up the thread of the conversation, “that’s true, but sometimes, while having that meaningful connection, I just want to get rammed home with a long, hard cock.  I want to submit to a domineering, rough, take-command partner.  That can be both hot and intimate.”

“Jim?” asked Lo.

“I know she likes that, but it’s just not me.  I’m kind, gentle by nature.  I love her.  I don’t want to. . .” he trailed off, not even able to articulate the deeds she wanted done to her.

“That’s totally understandable,” said Lo, “but there is a major gap between her desire and yours, or her idea of intimate intercourse and yours.”

“It’s clear you love each other,” I said, “but do you trust each other?”

“Completely,” said Lily right away.

Jim just nodded.

“If you trust each other,” I followed up my thought, “then maybe an open relationship.  Having a bull who will come over and do for Lily all the things she wants and needs could expand your relationship pallet.”

“A bull?” asked Jim naively.

“A man who fucks married women,” explained Lily.  She obviously had explored this herself.

“H.H. does that with me,” said Lo, “and he loves it.”

“I like to see her satisfied,” I said.  “If she likes to be fucked by another guy, then why should I stand in her way?”

“Come on,” said Lo, to me as if calling bullshit.  “You are not simply standing to the side while another guy fucks my brains out.  You love it.  You love to see it and to guide him through it and to hear all about it if you can’t be there in person.”

“She’s right,” I confessed.  “Honesty.”

Jim, who was very visibly uncomfortable by everything he was hearing, said, “I just don’t think I can do that.  I mean, we’ve given an open relationship a chance and it drove me crazy.  I almost called off the wedding because I was so enraged and jealous.”

“Jealously is a symptom, not a cause,” said Lo.

“A symptom of what?”

“Of so many things – a feeling of inadequacy, a fear of being left, anger with a previous girlfriend who hurt you.  I mean, it could stem from any number of deep-seated insecurities.  But mainly it’s a form of fear.”

“That doesn’t make it any less real.  Understanding it doesn’t remove it,” said Jim.

“No, you’re right.  I’m just pointing out that what you’re feeling doesn’t stem from what Lily is doing.  She loves you.  But she also has desires.  She wants to be with you.  But she also wants to have wild, earth-shattering orgasms.”

“And I want to be used, abused, humiliated, and tossed aside like a worthless fuckdoll” said Lily.

There was an awkward silence before Lo said, very reassuringly, “All healthy desires if channeled properly.”

I decided to be daring.  “Would you like me to demonstrate?” I asked, knowing full well that Lo’s jealousy would explode inside her heart like a hydrogen bomb.

“I’d love it,” said Lily looking at my limp cock.

Lo gave me a sidelong glance and said, “I don’t think right now is the time for that.  We’re making progress.”

“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t mean now.  I just meant. . .”  I was caught now, but it was worth it to get Lo’s ire up after that perfectly detached and clinical explanation of jealousy she just pronounced as if she were so far beyond and above it.  But I felt bad immediately after because it suddenly dawned on me that she might not have been talking from a superior position to jealousy, but from her intimate knowledge and understanding of it within her own heart.

As if to strike back at me, she then said, “Jim, I feel as if you’re bottling up your emotions and not letting them flow out.  What can I do to help you?”  As she said this, she caressed his knee with her left hand.  I saw his cock twitch at the unexpected touch.

“I just feel like I don’t know how to please her.”

Lo’s hand moved closer to his crotch.  “What do you want to know?” she asked.

“I want to find a way that I can be everything she needs,” he said.

Lo’s hand got to his balls and began fondling them as his micropenis started to grow.

“We cannot be everything for our partners.  We have to be content with who and what we are for them and who and what they are for us.”  She began stroking his little cock with her thumb and index finger.  “Do you like that?” asked Lo.

“Yeah,” he said, “it feels good.”

“Lie down,” said Lo.

He reclined on the carpet as Lo continued to jerk him off.  Her right hand was caressing his legs, spreading them apart.  Her left hand gently held his little member between her thumb and finger.

“You know, I wouldn’t even feel you if you were to penetrate me,” said Lo.

“I know,” said Jim as if in a hypnotic trance.

“But that wouldn’t matter to you, would it?” asked Lo.

“No,” said Jim, “I’d be really into it.”

“I know you would,” said Lo.

From where I was sitting, I could see Lily begin to stroke her pussy as she continued to sit in the lotus position.  She was enjoying this.

Lo lowered her mouth to Jim’s cock and tickled the tip with the tip of her tongue, clearly in order to let us see what she was doing.  Then she lifted up her mouth and said, “Don’t cum.”

“I’m trying not to cum, but it’s so hard.  It feels so good.”

“Stand up,” commanded Lo.

Jim stood up.

Lo pulled him forward and positioned him next to Lily as Lo, still on her knees, manipulated his tiny pud with her fingers.

“Close your eyes,” Lo said.

Jim closed his eyes.

Lo stroked faster and faster and lifted her mouth to his little balls to kiss and lick them.

“You may cum now,” she said, and no sooner did she say this than he came, right on Lily’s face.

“Open your eyes,” said Lo to Jim.

He followed her command and looked down at Lily who was covered in his ejaculate and smiling.

“There you go,” said Lo.  “Did you like that?”

Both of them said “Yes” at the same time.

By the way, I was hard as a rock at this point and I finally said, “Lo, any chance I will get to cum?”

“Oh, are you hard-up?” she said in a mocking manner.

“Yes.”

“Do you deserve to cum?” she asked with a look in her eye that told me I was being punished for my comment earlier.

“I sure do,” I said confidently.

She was feeling surly, but despite that, she indulged me and she told me to lie back.

I followed her instruction.  To my surprise, instead of doing to me what she had done to Jim, she sat on my face.  She was facing my toes and she invited Lily over as I began lapping Lo’s wet pussy lips like a thirsty dog.

Lily grabbed my cock and balls (I could tell it was Lily, though I couldn’t see her, because I know Lo’s touch) and began furtively fondling.  Then she began to jack me off.  I felt a mouth lower on my cock, but now I wasn’t too sure whose it was.  Lost in the mystery of it all, I gave in and came in heavy, forceful spurts.  Lo came as well, drenching my face.  I practically drowned.

When she got up and I sat up, Lily said, “You come almost as quickly as Jim does.”

“That’s not fair,” I said in my defense, “I’ve been watching Lo for over an hour now.  I was primed and ready.”

“Ready to be pumped dry,” said Lo.

“Well,” said Jim, “I think we all got something out of this.”

“Um,” said Lily, “of the four of us, three of us came.”

“Well Jim,” said Lo, “you got some work to do.”

Jim smiled and asked Lily, “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

Lo looked at him, got up, exited the room into the mud room and returned with one of the dog leashes that was hanging there.  She put the collar around Lily’s neck and gave the handle to Jim.  “That’s not how you ask a slut like Lily.  Take her upstairs.”

Jim stood up and gently pulled on the leash.  Lily got on all fours and crawled like an obedient bitch at his side.  Off they went.

“Well done,” I said to Lo.

“Don’t give me that ‘well done’ bullshit.  You’re in big trouble mister.”

“Me?” I said innocently, “What did I do?”

“You know very well what you did.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.  I just want you to admit it.”

“OK, so maybe I tried to suggest that I do something with Lily.  But look at what you actually did with Jim.”

“There is no comparison.”

“How not?’

“Because I’m your slutty hotwife and you are my obedient, chaste, little stag.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

“No.  Actually I wouldn’t.  I was just teasing you to see if you would be jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous.  I just want you to know your place.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“And where is my place?”

“Right between my legs.”

 

Doppelganger-Banger

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Illustration of HH and Lo by LittleGem of purplesgem.com

The light was red.  The wallpaper was red.  The tablecloths were red.  And the candles were red.  A live jazz trio played at the other end of the bar.  We sat in plush, tufted red leather chairs drinking martinis.  Lo’s bare knees were exposed, her legs crossed, her short skirt inching its way up her thighs.  She looked at Jim with wide eyes as he told us about the plans for their wedding which was only a couple of weeks away.  I sat across from Jim and Lo, nursing my drink as they talked animatedly.  They were fond of each other.  I was enjoying the beauty of the two of them as the liquor transformed the dive bar to a dreamscape.

“I can’t believe that in little more than two weeks, you two will be married!” said Lo, grabbing Jim’s hand as she said it.  “Married!” she repeated.

“Are you going to have a bachelor party?” I asked.  “A big send-off to say goodbye to your days of freedom?”

“I already had it,” he said.

“What?!” asked Lo, surprised.  “When?  Tell us!”

Jim told us that the previous week he had gone back to his hometown to spend a long weekend with his college buddies fishing at a remote lake.

“Fishing?” asked Lo, skeptically.

“Yeah,” said Jim.

“No strip clubs?” she asked.

“No,” said Jim.

“Oh, I get it, they came to you at the cottage.”

“No.  No strippers.  Nothing like that.  It wasn’t a weekend in Vegas.  It was just friends spending time together.  Fishing.”

“Well,” said Lo, “shouldn’t you have a proper last hurrah?”  As she said it, she indicated with her tongue what she had in mind.

“Where’s Lily?” I interjected.  As much as I enjoyed seeing Lo seduce Jim, I also wanted to give him a moment to think it over.  He seemed so much like a deer in the headlights.

“She’s in New York.  Actually, for her bachelorette party.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, very matter-of-factly.  “What’s she doing for it?”

The trumpet player had just ramped up his virtuosic solo and was now growling with the horn.  I looked over at him for a moment.  My eyes returned back to Jim.  He was in agony.  He looked at me.  He couldn’t look at Lo.  He said, “She’s with her friends.”

“What’s she doing?  Having a party with her girlfriends from college?”

“No,” said Jim.  “She’s with. . .” he paused, “she’s with her guy friends.  She’s having her ‘last hurrah.’  A crazy orgy or slut-fest with every guy she’d slept with when she lived there.”

“You’re kidding!” said Lo, putting her hand on Jim’s hand and laughing.

“No, I’m not!” he said, frustrated, embarrassed, angry.

“Well, good for her,” said Lo.  “I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic to you or anything, but fuck!  Good for her, you know.  Fuck the patriarchy!”

Jim laughed, despite himself.

“But if you didn’t get your slut-fest for your bachelor party, then let’s make it happen tonight,” she said, sliding a little closer to him.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to inform you, dear reader, that none of this was done without Lily’s knowledge.  In fact, it was done with her blessing, her planning even.  She thought that there was no one better than Lo to help Jim with his self-esteem and jealousy sprouting from their having an open relationship in which only one party had any traffic entering her open door.

Lily thought it best that Jim not know that she was in cahoots with this plan and allow him to enjoy the feeling of seducing Lo, or being seduced by her.

Jim looked to me as if to ask my permission.

“No pressure,” I said, “but I’m fine with it if you are.”

We paid our tab and I drove the two of them back to our place.  They sat in the back seat, making out.  This was a very familiar scenario for Lo and me by now.  I could see her reach down for his cock.

“Lo,” I said as I pulled up to our place, “we’re home.”

I shut off the car.  Lo held Jim’s hand and led him in.

“You two have fun,” I said as I fixed myself a whiskey on the rocks.

I listened as best I could, but I didn’t hear anything.  I picked up a book and began reading on the couch in the living room.  Lo is usually louder than that, I thought.

About twenty minutes later I heard the squeak of the shower knobs being turned.  I thought for sure I’d hear the sound of Lo’s voice soon to follow.

Not only did I hear her voice, but I saw her lovely image as she walked into the living room wearing only one of my old t-shirts.

Lola in a T-shirt

“What brings you out here, dear?” I asked, looking up from my book.

She sat close to me and, in a whisper, she said, “He came.”  She was disappointed.

“What?”

“Yep.  In the car.”

“Oh, Lo,” I said in a tone of sympathy for her loss.

“I hardly even touched him.  I just rubbed him maybe once or twice.”

“And that’s it.  He’s done for the night?”

“He’s very embarrassed.  He’s taking a shower now to clean up.  He thanked me, but I think he wants to go home.”

“Hmmm,” I said, taking it all in.  “I guess I’ll take him home then.”

“But Daddio,” she said as she reached to unbuckle my belt, “what about me?”

“Lo.”

“I’m the do-gooder here who’s left high and dry.”

“More like all wet.”

Lola Reverse View

She fumbled with my belt buckle.  “Please, Daddy.  Let me have it.”

“Lo.”

“Please.  Just one look.”

“Fine.”

She took out my hard member.  She lowered her mouth on it.

“Lo!”

“Just one lick.”

“You said ‘look,’” I rebuked her.

As I did so, she eagerly took me deep in her mouth.  She slid her lips off my rod and then straddled me on the couch, riding my cock up and down.  “Just one. . .”

She wanted just one something.  She was going at it when Jim returned, dressed, from the bedroom.  He sat down in the chair across from us.  He watched Lo rise and fall and she looked at him seductively.  She grabbed her tits and flicked her nipples with her fingers.

She maneuvered me so that I was now sitting behind her and she was reverse cowgirl on me, looking right at Jim with her legs spread.  “Come here,” she commanded to him.

He obeyed, walking right up to her, between my spread legs and hers.  She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to give her a kiss.

I could feel Lo’s pussy clench on my cock and I knew what was coming next.

“You might want to step back a bit,” I said to Jim too late.

Lo was moaning and rubbing her clit as she lifted up off my cock and squirted, soaking Jim’s slacks.

“Jim,” she said, when she regained her senses, “just stay the night.”

“I appreciate the offer. . . and everything,” he said politely, “I really do, but I think I should just get going home.”

“OK,” I said, fumbling to replace my protruding member into my underwear, zip up, and buckle my belt uncomfortably.

Lo had left the room to get some paper towels and was on all fours on the hardwood floor, her ass partially exposed, cleaning up the puddle.  She looked up at Jim.  “You’re welcome to stay, but if you want to go, HH will drive you.”

“It’s ok, I’ll walk,” he said, “It will be good for me to get some air.”

Lo got up and hugged him, and I said, “See you at the wedding.”  I immediately regretted those parting words.

He let himself out and Lo cuddled up next to me on the couch.  “Poor Lily,” she said.

“Yeah,” I concurred.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Lo.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, not only did he cum after only two strokes, but he’s tiny.”

Tiny Dicks Welcome

“You only saw him after he came.”

“Daddy, I’ve seen a lot of cocks in my day.  I know a tiny cock when I see one,” she said as she lifted her pinky in the air and said, “Smaller than this.”

“Well, at least they love each other,” I said.

“Love can fill a lot of gaps in a relationship,” said Lo, “but there’s one hole that needs more than just love.”

“What a true romantic you are.”

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Community Chest

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What’s black and white and read all over?

            Recently our financial situation improved.  In no small part, Lo’s getting a full-time job has certainly contributed to our recovering fiscal health.  Now that we aren’t always scraping by to pay the rent or put food on the table, we actually have a little bit of money that we can set aside for a rainy day.  So, trying to be the responsible adults we pretend to be, we created a joint savings account.  I know, nothing says sexy like money in the bank.  Walking home from the bank, feeling a sense of accomplishment, I said to Lo, “We’ll call our account ‘The Community Chest.’”

            “Community Chest! – That’s what they called me in college!” she blurted out with a smile. 

I thought she was joking and said as much. 

“No,” she said, “that’s really what they called me.  There’s a long story there that I’ll tell you when we get home,” she said, grabbing hold of my hand and pressing her palm into mine.  

When we got home, I started to make myself a sandwich in the kitchen.  “So,” I said to her, “what’s the story from college?”

“What story?” Lo asked, playing dumb.  She loves to tease me and see that she has succeeded in piquing my interest. 

“You know what story,” I said, taking out the pickles, “the ‘Community Chest’ story.” 

She reached down and slid her hands from her waist up and under her bust, pushing upwards so that her cleavage bulged out of the neckline of her black tank top.  “You like, Daddy?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I want to hear the story.”

“Kiss them,” she instructed. 

I wagged my pickle at her (literally, no pun), and said, “Look here, Lo, if you’re trying to get me to hop in the sack with you and forego this lovely lunch I’ve just made, you’re in for some disappointment.” 

“I’ll be your lunch,” she said, standing up, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the kitchen floor.  She stood in her little black lace panties and her black boots. 

“Lola,” I said plaintively. 

“You know,” she paused and thought and then said, “I’m hungry too.”  She sauntered over to the fridge like a stripper on the stage.  She bent over, putting her ass in the air, standing on her tiptoes, and took a long look at the contents.  “I know what I want to eat,” she said, turning and walking toward me. 

What is there to eat?

“Lo.  Lo, I see that look in your eye.  Lo.”

It was no use.  She dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor.  She undid my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pulled them down, pulled out my hard cock and filled her mouth with meat. 

Snack

“Fuck my face,” she asked, looking up at me.  “Put your hands here,” she said, moving my hands to her head, “and push me, use me, fuck my mouth.”  I followed instructions.  “Harder, Daddy!” she said before I forced her back on my rod.  I had passed the point of no return and soon I was filling her up as she ravenously swallowed all I gave her.  It all happened in the matter of a few moments.  Then she got up, took my plate with the sandwich that I had so carefully prepared, and sat at the table, taking a big bite of it.  “Mmmmmm,” she said, “can I have a glass of seltzer to go with this?” 

“Lo!  That was my sandwich!” I rebuked as I pulled up my jeans. 

“I just wanted a bite.  Here you have it.”

“No, it’s yours,” I said dejectedly as I got her a drink.

“No, I feel bad.  Have half.”

“Fine.”  I sat across from her and we ate.  “Now, tell me the story.”

“Well,” she began, chewing, “you remember Ryan?”

“No, I don’t remember Ryan.”

“Ryan, the boy from college.”

“I’m going to need a little more to go on than that.  There were a lot of boys from college.”

“I told you about how one night after watching a movie in a friend’s dorm, he and I crashed there on the sectional couch.”

“I vaguely recall that.” 

“You just want me to tell you again.”

“Indulge me.”

“Well, we got to talking in hushed tones about sex.”

“And who initiated that topic?” I asked sarcastically.

“He was curious about my masturbatory practices,” she said, ignoring my question.  “I told him that I jill it once a day – at least.” 

“Oh yes, I remember that story now.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that.  Come to the bedroom and I’ll tell you the rest.”

I followed her sexy ass to the bedroom, got naked, and climbed into bed with her.

She got on her back and spread her legs.  Putting her hand down there, under the covers, she continued in breathy tones.  “I was masturbating under the covers, like I am now, as I talked to him in the dark.  I imagined that he was masturbating too.  I asked him about his girlfriend – someone I didn’t really know.  He said that he wasn’t too happy with her and I asked him why he didn’t break up with her.  He said, ‘because she gives really good blowjobs.’  I said, ‘Oh yeah?  Tell me how you like it.’  He told me about what she does, adding, ‘but I don’t think she really enjoys it.’”

Lo was pulling on her nipples now and squirming in the sheets. 

“I was sad to hear that.”

“I’m sure you were broken up about it,” I added full of sarcasm.

“I told him, ‘You should try getting a blowjob from someone who really enjoys it.’”

“Did you give him one?”

“I really really wanted to.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“But he was too shy.”

“Too shy?!”

“Or something.  Maybe he felt bad cause of the girlfriend.  Whatever the reason, I didn’t get to give it to him.  I just masturbated till I came.  After that night, there were many nights when I’d be in my dorm, chatting on Facebook, and he’d pop up and quickly turn the chat into something sexual.”

“So you had virtual sex with him?”

“You could say that.”

“But that still doesn’t explain how you got the nickname.”

“I’m getting there.  Give me a minute,” she said as she climaxed. 

            I waited for the waves of pleasure to subside. 

            She flipped over and lifted her ass up.  “Fuck me, Daddy, and I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”

            “Lo, you just blew me in the kitchen.”

            “Come on!  You can do better than that.  Can’t you get it up again?”

            Her belittling comments didn’t help the situation.

            “Get behind me and fuck me,” she demanded. 

            I got behind her, but I wasn’t hard.  She reached under the bed and passed me her glass dildo.  “Use this for now,” she instructed.  I slid the smooth, hefty sculpture into her slippery puss and she continued talking in spurts. 

            “He was a gamer and I think he told his nerdy friends about me.  Soon they were inviting me over their dorm rooms to play with them.  They each wanted me to jiggle their joysticks.”

            “I bet they did.”

            “They were all computer geeks and none of them had much sexual experience.  Anyhow, I didn’t actually do anything with them.”

            “Nothing?” I asked in disbelief.

            “Not much, but they made up stories about me.  They each claimed that they fucked me and so they began calling me the community chest, bragging that they each made a deposit.”

            “And you let them get away with that?”

            “Let them, I got off on it.”

            All this time I was almost mechanically pushing and pulling the glass object in and out of her puss as she was backing up and pulling forward on her hands and knees.  Now she said, “Harder, Daddy.  Pay attention to what you’re doing!”

            I tried to give more attention to her puss, but I had more questions for her.  “So,” I asked, “what did you do with them?”

            “Well,” she said, ramping up again, “like I said, they didn’t have much sexual experience and when I did try to blow one of them he. . .” she broke off and began her howling orgasm.

            I pulled the dildo out from her and she squirted, involuntarily, all over the sheets.  She thrust her hands between her legs, trying to stop the sprinkler, and she exclaimed, “Wow!  I feel like a fucking Slip-n-Slide!” 

            “You’re more fun,” I said.

            Collapsing in the bed when she was done, I brought a towel over and applied it between her legs and to the sheets.  I asked her again, “What happened?”

            “I squirted,” she said, annoyed at my ignorance.

“No, silly.  I mean, what happened with the geek?” 

“Oh, well, I was on my knees and I unzipped his pants, but when I opened up his fly, I saw that he had already cum.  I said to him, ‘Let me blow you.  You can take my tits out of my top and suck on them,’ but he was so embarrassed that he just zipped up and left.”

            “And the thought of that made you cum just now?” I asked.

            “No,” she said, “the thought of making all of his friends cum the night that I went over there to play video games and they watched me finger myself – that made me cum.”

            “Tell me that story.”

            “Another time, Daddio, when I actually have a shot of getting fucked by you,” she said, closing up shop for the day.

Caught

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            Lo came home from work late that night.  I had already eaten dinner and was lying on the couch engaging in my favorite illicit pastime while Lo’s away, watching “SMILF.”  She walked in just as Frankie Shaw was engaging in a self-pleasure solo session, which isn’t all that coincidental, given how often she does that in the show.  (Since Frankie Shaw writes and directs the series, I think that she secretly wishes to be a porn star.) 

Lo Likes Little Penis Porn

            Lo stood next to the couch looking down at me, judging hard. 

            “What?”

            “You know what,” she said, accusatorily. 

            “I was just. . .”

            “I don’t care what you were just.  Turn it off.  If you want to see a sexy woman engaged in sex-for-one, then get in the bedroom.  I’ll be there filling my snatch full of fun.”

            I shut off the episode and met Lo in the bedroom where she was on the bed, legs spread, dildos laid out next to her like a surgeon’s tray of scalpels, forceps, and clamps.  She had her phone in her left hand.

            “What’s that?” I asked.

            “I call it my ‘in box.’  It likes to be filled.”

            I didn’t know if she meant what she was looking at on her phone or her beautiful mons pubis, which at the moment she was about to penetrate with her long, red, double-ended dildo.  

Self-Care

            I removed my clothes and sat in the bed next to her, vying for her attention.  She was busy reading something.  I inquired. 

            “I’m reading about my friend and blogger, Nero Black.  His wife caught him about to masturbate.”

            “Oh really?”

            “Yeah,” she said, easing the dildo into her tight taco.  “His wife loves to read erotica and masturbate, but she never lets him get in on the goods.”

            “How does he know her reading habits?”

            “He has access to her Kindle subscription and sees what she downloads.”

            “Oh.”

            “And he’s hard-up as a result.”

            “I bet you find that an open invitation to flirt.”

            “Who wouldn’t?  Anyhow, the other night he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his pants and boxers around his ankles, his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, when she unexpectedly walked into the bedroom.”

            “Uh-oh.  And?”

            “And she ignored him!  She acted like she didn’t even see it.”

            “And that gets you off?”

            “No, what gets me off is imagining that the porn she reads is our blog and that the porn he was about to wank to was my photos.”

            She dropped the phone and lay on her back to continue the fantasy.   

“Did you ever get caught?” I asked her.

“Caught?  Doing what?”

“You know, jillin’ it.”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No.”

“Not by any of your previous boyfriends?”

“Look, it’s not something I hide.  If they found me jillin’ off, then I kept on going.  So it’s not like ‘getting caught.’  It’s more like putting on a show.”

And put on a show she did, without ever offering to provide me with any sweet relief.  Punishment for my “infidelity” watching Frankie Shaw. 

Mano a Mano

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            “Why don’t you just jack it like a real man?” she complained.

            “Because I prefer fucking your flapper to fucking my fist,” I responded.

            “But Daddy,” she said, in a nicer tone now, “don’t you know that I find it hot to see a man masturbating?”

            “Any man, masturbating to anything, or certain men, masturbating to you?”

            “I prefer men to masturbate to me, but seeing any man masturbating to anything still turns me on,” she said as she was rubbing her puss under the covers.  “Please, Daddy, just stoke it for me, over me, to me.” 

            “Maybe I’ll just get my Stoya Fleshlight,” I said, trying to arouse her jealousy so she’d give herself over to me completely. 

            “No!  If you do, I’ll get out my horse cock dildo and my Hitachi!”

            “That sounds fair. . . and fun!”

            “No,” she said, “I want you to use your hand and I’ll finger-fuck my holes.”

            “Fine,” I said, more willing to concede due to the prospect of watching her.  I pulled down the covers, got between her legs, grabbed my hard member, and pulled at it for her to see.

            “That’s it Daddio,” she said as she spread her legs wide, began inserting the fingers of her right hand into her puss and slid her left hand around from underneath her ass to penetrate her posterior place.

            “Did you make every man you were with masturbate for you?”

            “I didn’t have to make them,” she said.  “They volunteered.” 

            “Tell me about it.”

            “There are so many.  Which one?”

            “Tell me about Teddy.” 

            Teddy was her fuck-buddy in college.  A tall, lean, basketball player with an enormous cock. 

            “I’d lie in his dorm room bed and he’d stand over me with his huge black cock right over my face.  It was as long as my entire head.  He’d drop his balls in into my mouth and grab his rod with both hands.  Both hands!” she said with emphasis.  “He’d stoke it over me as I lay naked on the bed and then, when he came, he shot all the way down to my knees and covered me with his hot jizz up to my chin.” 

            I could tell that as she told me this story, she was on the verge of climaxing herself.  But she held back. 

            “Tell me about Gerald.”

            Gerald was also a college fuck friend.  The opposite of Teddy in every way, except Gerald was also an athlete – a bodybuilder whose bulging biceps attracted Lo until she found that he had a micropenis. 

            “He was so self-conscious about his size that, no matter how much I wanted to take him in my mouth, he was resistant.  My natural attraction for women made the prospect of licking that little clit so appealing, especially since he shaved it and his balls clean.  He wore a teensy-tiny speedo when he worked out.  It was like he was wearing panties.  I wanted to pleasure him with my lips and tongue all the time, since I obviously didn’t feel him in either of my holes,” she said as she fingered both of her holes more deeply. 

            “Did he jack it for you?”

            “It was the only way he could cum.  He’d pull that little pimple with his thumb and index finger as he stood over me, just like Teddy did, and then he’d ejaculate all over my face.  It was the only way he could feel dominant.”

            “How often did he do that?”

            “Countless times.  It always left me unsatisfied, but I liked it nonetheless.” 

            “You never met a cock you didn’t like.” 

            “Don’t stop,” she said, looking at my cock as my stroking slowed.  I pulled harder, longer, faster.  “That’s it,” she said.  Her whole hand was almost fully submerged in her pussy and two fingers were going at her perineum.

            “Tell me about Tim,” I said.  Tim was her beau before college and, since he was older and Lo significantly younger, sex with Lo was off-limits for him.  That didn’t mean that Lo didn’t try.  Lo always finds a way. 

            “He’s probably the one responsible for my male masturbation mania.  The only way he got off was by masturbating.  I would be fully clothed and saying sexy, naughty, dirty things to him like I’m doing for you right now, and he would jack it until he came.”

            “Where’d he cum?  On your face?”

            “No.  He’d cum into my hands.  I’d hold them out like I was receiving an offering and then I’d lick them clean like a kitten licking a bowl of milk.  He loved that.” 

            That was too much for her.  She came and came hard.  Her pussy and sphincter clutching and contracting on her deeply driven digits before eventually dilating again.  When she recovered, she looked at me and said, “You didn’t cum.” 

            “No.”

            “That’s not fair, Daddy.”

            “I don’t think so either,” I said.  “Why don’t you give me a hand-job?”

            “Because I’m going to fall asleep now,” she said.

            “That’s fine, just position your left hand like you’re giving the ‘OK’ sign, and I’ll do the rest.” 

            She complied.  I lay next to her and inserted my cock.  She said, “You’re just using me as a sex object.”

            I didn’t know what to say to that, but luckily she followed up the comment with, “And I like it.  It’s so soothing.” 

            Reviewing in my mind’s eye the stories she told, looking at her naked body next to me, I came and came hard all over her.  She had drifted off to sleep.  I grabbed a washcloth, wet it with warm water, and gently cleaned her off.  I kissed her mouth good night and lay next to her thinking about what a good bad girl she is.

            The next morning I awoke to find her face bobbing up and down on my erect shaft.

            “Lo?” I asked.

            She popped off of my knob and said, “I’m sorry you didn’t cum last night, Daddy.  Let me make it up to you.” 

            I didn’t disabuse her of that belief until after she accomplished her mission.  When I did, she just said, “You dirty dog!”

            “What?” I asked, innocently.  “You told me last night you wanted me to cum.  Was that just lip service?”

            “No it wasn’t.  But what I just did for you was.”

The Masturbation Gap

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Lo Masturbating, Art by John Sky

            You, dear reader, already know that Lola is an inveterate masturbator.  You also know that I am forbidden from any onanistic activities, unless either explicitly given permission, or told to do so as a performance for my dear Lola.  The fact that there is a gap in our respective frequencies of masturbatory manipulation should come as no surprise to you, and writing about it here would simply be redundant. 

            However, what I do intend on explaining, or rather, complaining about, is the fundamentally unfair masturbation gap that exists between Lola, me, and her fans.  You see, I am not allowed to engage in solo pleasure, not even to Lola’s sexy photos, unless granted permission by Lo herself.  And she takes so much delight in my stymied suffering and enjoys my engorged balls so much, that she rarely gives me the green light.  But with her fans it is another story.  One might think that Lola has no say over what her admirers do in the privacy of their own homes with her pixilated pussy.  But that is incorrect.  One of Lo’s most enjoyable pastimes is to give specific instructions to her loyal lovers (both near and far) about exactly how they are to worship her image, pay tribute to her form, and pleasure themselves. 

One of Lo’s Long Admirers

            One adoring admirer writes to her and asks, “What’s up?” to which she replies, “If you’re looking at my pics, then, your cock.”  She’s not wrong. 

            Another writes to her and asks very politely, “Morning, Lola.  How are you?” to which she replies, “Horny, as usual.  Now jack it for me.” 

            They are more than eager to comply.  It matters not to them if they are at work, home, or, as Lola really likes, lying in bed next to their sleeping wives. 

A Very Happy Fan

            She commands some of them, especially the diminutively endowed guys, to go to a lingerie store, like Victoria’s Secret, and pick out various silk, satin, and lace panties for women.  Then she instructs them to put the panties on and jack it to her pics and cum in the sexy, sheer, tight material – taking pics of it, of course.  An even more intense kink of Lo’s is commanding those same fabric fetish guys to steal the panties from their wives or girlfriends in order to wear while jacking it to Lo’s photos.   

Lo Loves All Her Fans, Big & Little

            Those are the lucky ones.  There are some unfortunate fellas who are stuck in cock-cages and can only enjoy Lo’s photos without any self-pleasure. 

            And then there are the women.  It is such a complement to Lo when lovely ladies from around the globe take photos of themselves jillin’ off to her.  I will admit that I find it very flattering when the women also make a comment about “the steamy writing,” or say, “that story made me cum five times.”  It is nice to know that every once in a while the literary seduction I work so very hard to create from the raw material of Lo’s sexual exploits is appreciated, especially by the lonely women, the married but unsatisfied wives, and the other sexual insatiables out there like Lo. 

A Lovely Couple – He took the pick of her getting off to Lola

            There was a time, early on, when I actually had a small cadre of female fans who wrote to me regularly.  It was, not coincidentally, around that time that Lo took over the email and other social media outlets, telling me, “You do the blog, I’ll spread the word.”

Reading the Blog

            Spread the word. . . yeah right!  She meant, she’ll spread her legs and then disseminate her photos across the internet. 

            But I’m not complaining.  I am glad that our little corner, or crotch, of the blogosphere makes so many people happy, even if it means that I must deny myself the pleasures that others get from my hotwife Lo.  After all, I have to admit that I have nothing to complain about since fans and her lovers alike all tell me how lucky I am.  Can’t argue there. 

The Author After Cumming on Command

Ocean Spray

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Nude Beach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lo,” I said.

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

“How you feeling about this?” I asked.

“Whatever,” she said, disappointed. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course they do,” I said flatly. 

Her tongue ran over her sparkly white teeth.

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

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

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

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

Fresh Meat

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

“It’s hot,” I said, “care to go in?”

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

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

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

“You mean I should go and watch you.”

She smiled. 

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

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

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

“Did you enjoy that?” she asked.

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

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

“Then why’d you do it?”

“For you.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well, for them too.”

“Altruism abounds!”

“Oh, shut up and fuck me.”

“What?”

“You heard me, ole man.”

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

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

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

“Come on!” she called back. 

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

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

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

It’s Complicated

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Time passed and the doppelganger couple, Lily and Jim, got engaged.  Prior to their engagement, but after Jim’s big reveal, Lily had invited me, just me, out for drinks a couple of times.  My suspicion was that Jim had told her about our conversation.  Now she knew that we knew of their open relationship.  But did they know of our half-open relationship?  Had Lo told her, him, them?  Or did Lily just suspect?

In any case, one thing was very clear to me – Lily was trying to seduce me.  She opened up to me, very casually and very explicitly, about the nature of the “intimacy” issues between her and Jim.

“As you know,” she began nonchalantly, “before I moved here, before I met Jim, I had a very active and interesting sex life.”  Everything about her was always “very interesting,” or at least she tried to make it seem so.

I just nodded my head as if to say, “Go on.”

“I was with a lot of men.”

This was clearly a ploy to get me to want her.  It was the fish hook that she thought she’d use to reel me in.  Nothing sparks desire for a woman like knowing that that woman is desired.  But what she didn’t take into consideration was my total contentment to Lo.

“They taught me things,” she said, alluding mysteriously to techniques and esoteric sex lore.  “And they were good.  Big and good.”

I didn’t need eyes that could see around corners to see where this was going.

“And Jim,” she continued, “I love him.  But. . .”

She didn’t say it, so I did, “But he’s small.”

“Yes!”  She felt relieved.  “So small!”

“Small can be cute,” I suggested.

“Cute doesn’t cut it,” she retorted.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said, not knowing what she was after – empathy, sympathy, understanding, or my cock.

“Thanks,” she said flatly.

“So that’s why you’re in an open relationship?”

“Yeah, but it’s not working out as I had hoped.  I was hoping that I’d be able to get some satisfaction in bed and he’d maybe learn a thing or two.  You know he’s very inexperienced sexually.”

I nodded or grunted or some such thing.

“But he just hasn’t been able to seal the deal with anyone else and it’s making the whole situation untenable.”

I thought for a while about the obvious question and then, throwing caution to the wind, I blurted it out.  “Why don’t you teach him?  I mean, if he has a lot to learn in bed, who better to teach him what you like?”

She leaned in very close to me and said in a more hushed tone than the bravado voice she had been speaking in up to now, “Because I’m a sub.  I don’t want to teach him.  I want him to take me, teach me, tell me what to do, and make me do it.  But he’s so nice,” she said it like it was a bad word, “he defers to me all the time.”

“Ah,” I said, leaning back and taking it all in.

She was still leaning towards me, which placed her eyes slightly below mine and so she was looking up at me with an expression that said, “I want you to take me, teach me, tell me what to do, and make me do very bad, dirty things.”

Just at that moment, I perceived ever-so-faintly the melodic voice of Camila Cabello waft through the restaurant singing:

 

Am I out of my head?
Am I out of my mind?
If you only knew the bad things I like
Don’t think that I can explain it
What can I say, it’s complicated
Don’t matter what you say
Don’t matter what you do
I only wanna do bad things to you
So good, that you can’t explain it
What can I say, it’s complicated

 

Yes, she wanted to do bad things to me.  Very bad things.  Though the image of Sabina Spielrein being spanked over Carl Jung’s lap (as depicted in the movie A Dangerous Method) crossed my mind for an instant, I wasn’t going to have it.  First, Lo.  Second, I like Jim and if he’s already beside himself with jealously, then I’m not going to put our friendship at risk for a tryst.

But in that moment I struck on an idea.  “What if Lo taught him?”

“Lo?” she repeated, sitting back in her chair, pondering the possibilities.