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99 Problems: A Valentine’s Day Tale

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[Dear Lovlies, this story was published in the February 2021 issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine. If you would like to get your free Match, Cinder & Spark book, send us an email at: downloladown@gmail.com]

“Well, Darling, I guess it’s just you and me: Santa and his little sexy elf,” I said to her as she snuggled up to me under my arm on the couch.  She was still wearing her sleek red dress and nothing else.  We had the fire going (on the T.V. thanks to Netflix).

Lola’s Good Cheer

“It was a nice day,” she said, a touch of melancholy in her voice.

We both knew it wasn’t like Christmases past.  It was COVID Christmas.  No kissing friends and strangers under the mistletoe or unwrapping presents with a large crowd looking on to see your reaction to their gift.

We had spent the day delivering goodies to friends and family, driving all around town, making stops from noon until nine at night.  Each stop was accompanied by a little chat outside in the brisk air with a shot or two to warm us up.  It was good to see familiar faces and bring them gifts, even if we couldn’t hug, kiss, dance, or sit in their comfortable living rooms for some schnapps and grog.

We were determined to make the day as special as we could.  Now that we were home (and a little tipsy) I told her she could look under the tree to see what Santa had brought for her.

“Have you been naughty or nice?” I asked.

“Which gets me more gifts?” she asked as she rummaged under the tree and found the little box I had carefully hidden.

She immediately knew what it was.  She opened it extremely carefully.  The diamond ring was illuminated by a tiny light that automatically turned on when the ring box was opened.  It looked magical in the dimly lit room.  The cute case glowed with an aura of heavenly mystique.

“Oh Daddy!” she said, giving me a big kiss.  “How did you know?”

She was being very facetious since she had designed the piece of jewelry, ordered it, and tracked its delivery.  All I did was pass her my credit card and then wrap it when it arrived.

“Is there anything there for me?” I asked.

“Yes, there is.  Wait here and come into the bedroom when I call you.”

A few moments went by before her sing-song voice invited me in.

She was wearing a new red satin negligée.  “My Santa suit.  Second only to my birthday suit.”  She spread her legs to reveal that she also had shaved.

Lola’s present for Daddy

“No more Hannukah bush?” I asked.

“You know what they say.”

“What’s that?”

“Hair today, gone tomorrow.”

“You’ve been hanging around me too long.  Leave the puns to dads who like dad jokes.”

“Do you like, Daddy?” she asked as she gently tugged at her pussy lips.

“Very much.”

“You’re not hard to please.  You know that?”

“Yes, but when you please me, I am hard.”

“Show me!  Let me drink your eggnog.”

“Your ring looks good on your finger,” I remarked as she stroked herself.

“Yes, now maybe you’ll make me a proper hotwife!”

“Oh no, Lo.  I can’t make a descent woman out of you.  You’ve spent a lifetime cultivating being an indecent woman.”

“True.  But you know, either way, I’m happy.  Deep, deep inside, I’m happy.  And you can be too.”

“Be happy?”

“No, deep, deep inside me.”

She stood up from the bed, bent over, and looked at her exposed rear in the full-length mirror behind her.  “It’s weird,” she said, “how horny I get looking at myself naked.”

I have to admit, she had me excited just looking at her like that.

I fumbled to remove my pants as she pouted, “Daddy, I just can’t wait.”

As swiftly as I could, I slid into her impatient peonies petals, already wet with dew.

Within moments she sensed the inevitable and spun around in order to receive her reward.

Though that may have been my climax, it is not the climax of our story.

Drunk on my cum, she looked up at me and asked, “Which part did you like the most: the first ten seconds or the last ten seconds?”

“Hey, I might have been fast, but what or who can give that much pleasure in so short a time?”

“Are you talking about my ability to give pleasure or yours?  Never mind.  I’ll show you what can give even more pleasure,” she said as she reached under the bed to take out her Hitachi.

Lo gushes for her mechanical lover

As she was on her solo journey to Pleasure Town, I pulled out my laptop and read a few emails written to our shared downloladown account.  There were a number of thank you notes from the men, women, and couples who had received our “XXX-mas” gifts – a free Match, Cinder & Spark book or audiobook.

It was nice to hear from our fans that we helped cheer them up in this otherwise dismal time.

After Lo had ‘spouted off’ in the best possible way, she sat up to look over my shoulder.  Glancing at the screen, I sensed she was a bit disappointed.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, it’s something Lo.  What is it?”

“Just the thought that put me over the edge was that you were looking at photos of me, not reading emails.”

“Well, it’s the next-best-thing.  They’re emails about you.  Besides, why would I look at photos of you on my computer when you’re lying next to me vibrating your va-jay-jay till the levee breaks?”

“Exactly!  And why would you be reading emails when you have this at your disposal?!” she said, slapping her sloppy puss for emphasis.

Changing the subject slightly, I asked, “Do you think it was egomaniacal of me to give my own books as a Christmas gift?”

“I think it’s egomaniacal of you to write those books.”

“That wasn’t egomaniacal.  That was a gift to humanity.”

“Never have I seen such a self-satisfied narcissist!”

“Didn’t you just look in the mirror?”

“Shut up and pass me Glindo,” she said, referring to her glass dildo that was next to me on the nightstand.

Lo and ‘Glindo’

“Why?  What are you up to now?” I asked, seeing her with her legs spread wide on the bed, dildo in hand.

“Nothing, but I’m open to doing something.”

“What are you open to doing?”

“You.”

“Now?”

“Well, after I do myself.”

“Again?”

Never one for false modesty, she implored, “Read to me some of the things people are saying about the book.”

“While you jill it?”

“Yeah, it’s a turn-on to know that I get guys hard and women wet.”

“Well, one person called you a slut and said that you do all this just for attention.”

“That is not true,” she said emphatically, “being a slut is its own reward.”

“You could call the attention a fringe benefit.”

She was too busy now to laugh at my pun.

Overcome by her perspicuous paramour, Lo lunged forward with a long, lusty moan.

As she recovered from her self-inflicted squirt, I asked her, “Do you think we should do it again for Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m hoping we’ll do it long before then!”

“I mean a free book for fans.”

“Oh,” she said, realizing her mistake.  “Sure.  Maybe we could ask our readers to send in their Valentine’s Day stories and send a free book to the top ten that we publish.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“Photos are also welcome,” she added.  “Now do me, Daddy.  I’ve only had two orgasms tonight and you know I need at least three.”

“Lo, you really are a slut for attention!”

“I got 99 problems, but being a slut ain’t one.”

Be My Valentine

Sex Drive

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Our first date flopped.  Cooped up since March due to COVID, Lo was complaining that she hadn’t been on a date in “forever.”

“What about the brothers?  Don’t they count?”  I asked, referring to the two boys from across the street who had been making regular house calls to Lo’s bedroom to unload their pent-up pandemic sexual frustration with the help of Lola’s pussy.

“Those aren’t dates, Daddy.  Those are booty calls.  Pity fucks.  Besides, they’re so young and inexperienced that there isn’t even sexual tension buildup.  It’s all just ram-and-release.”

“You seem to like it.”

“Oh, I love it, for what it is.”

“So, what is it you want?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“My only wish is to please you.”

“That’s good because my only wish is to be pleased.  I want to go on a proper date.”

“So Meri also doesn’t count?”

“Well, she did count, but we dated before COVID.”

“I assume I don’t count.”

“Oh Daddio, you do count.  You count the number of men and women I fuck.”

“I can’t count that high.”

“I’ll buy you an abacus.”

“Is that the thing with the beads on it?”

“Yes.”

“That you put in your ass?”

“No.  That’s a different thing.”

Not an Abacus

“Oh.”

“I want to go on a date with a couple.”

“A couple?”

“Yeah, a married couple.”

“You have anybody in mind.”

“Daddy, I always have many bodies in mind.”

“Any particular bodies for your date?”

“Yes.  There’s a married couple that is trying to get the ole flame flickering again.”

“Let me guess, you think that you can help his wick to grow.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Where’d you find this couple?”

“They found me.”

“Not another ad!”

“No, Daddy.  They have been reading the blog.”

“What are their names?”

“Ron and Nicole.  She’s a schoolteacher.  He’s a lawncare person.”

“Interesting.  And how are you going to go on a ‘date’ in COVID?”

“We.  We are going on a date.  You and me with them.”

“Again, how?”

“Do you like drive-in movies?”

“Haven’t been to one in ages.  Why?”

“Well, it will be like a drive-in.”

“How so?”

“We’ve picked a place to meet and they’ll go in their car and we’ll go in ours.”

“And?”

“That’s it.  We’ll see where we go from there.”

Skank Suit

We pulled up in the vacant parking lot.  It was cold out for November.  Ron and Nicole pulled up to our right in a late model Cadillac.  Ron rolled down his window.  Lola rolled down hers.  They smiled at each other.

“Hi Lola,” called Nicole from the passenger seat.

“Hi Nicole,” responded Lola.  I waved, foolishly, and smiled politely.

We could see our breath as the winterlike air flowed into the cabin.

My car has bucket seats.  Lo and I couldn’t physically be right next to each other.

Their car had a bench front seat.  Nicole slid over to Ron.  They were in their early to mid-forties, I’d say.  She was pretty.  He was smaller in frame than I had imagined.  They were clearly there to see Lo perform.

Lola stripped naked in the car, but with the windows rolled up, soon the glass was covered in condensation.  Ron and Nicole couldn’t see anything.  The more Lo tried, the more foggy the windows got.

Lo rolled down the window, which had the benefit of allowing Ron and Nicole to see her and to make her nipples very hard.  But they could only see so much.

Lo opened the car door to expose below her chest.  She swiveled and spread her legs, putting her feet up on the seat and fapping her wet pussy.  The couple in the car next to us seemed to enjoy the show, but even I was cold, so I can imagine how chilly Lo’s hairless crotch must have been!

I could see that Nicole had Ron’s cock in her right hand and was stroking it as Lo stroked herself.

That didn’t last long.  Lo was shivering.  The cold air on her nipples made them hard.  The downdraft on her bare pussy gave it goosebumps.  Pretty to look at, but no amount of caressing, slapping, or fingering could dispel the chill.

After about a half-hour of trying, we called it off and said we’d try again another time.

On the ride home, the heat blasting, I put on Poe’s “Hey Pretty.”  The seductive lyrics sang:

 

Hey pretty

Don’t you want to take a ride with me?

Through my world

 

Lo leaned over and said, “Can I just be your cock-warmer?”

“Cock-warmer?  What is that?”

“You just let your cock rest in my mouth.”

Cock-Warming

“We both know that there’s no ‘just’ with you.  Especially after this.”

“I’ll tell you what, you drive and I’ll give you the longest unzipping of your life.”

But just then our little late night drive took a strange turn.

We had just got home and I could tell by the look in her eye she was up to no good.

She walked in the front door wearing that little strumpet outfit she had put on for her audience and, not getting to give the show she had planned for them, she was ready to perform for me.  A bad, naughty little performance for a packed house of one.

She pranced into the living room in her heels, black leather skirt, no panties, leather jacket, sheer blouse beneath revealing her hard nipples.  She turned on the music: Machine Gun Kelly, “Bad Things.”  It was as if she had been waiting her turn in the strip club and the DJ finally got around to her set list.

The blinds were all open as she did her little COVID Cabaret.

“Did you like seeing me in the car tonight, Daddy?”

“I did,” I said as I sat down on the couch to watch her.

“What did you like about it?”

“Your willingness to make a couple happy.  I always say your generous nature is your best quality.”

“I have a lot of good qualities.”

“True.”

“And a lot of bad thoughts.”

“Do tell.”

“If you only knew the bad things I like,” she sang along with the song.

She lifted her skirt above her ass as she bent over by the window.

“Well, Daddy, are you going to give it to me?”

I stood up and came close to her.  I began undoing my pants, but she stopped me.

“No,” she said, “your belt.  Give it to me.”

“Punishment?”

“Yes.”

She assumed the position, bracing for it.

I pulled out my long black leather belt, bent it in half, grabbed both ends in one hand and gently let it fall upon her flesh.

“Oh, come on,” she mocked.  “Harder.”

“I gave her a mild whack.

“Harder.  Wasn’t I bad Daddy?  Wasn’t it wrong of me to arrange this COVID dogging session?”

I gave her a strong spank with the strap.  It made a clear cracking on her ass.  Her body convulsed as if she was surprised by it.  Then she said, “Yesss, that’s it.”

I gave her another.

We hadn’t engaged in this sort of play for a long time.

“You were bad,” I said, reflecting upon it.  “Dressed scantily in public like that.  Like a little skank.”

“That’s right.”

I gave her a harder smack.  I could see the outline of the belt in a red line left on her skin, even in the dim light.
“Again.”

I gave it to her again.

“Harder.”

She got another harder.

“I wish that the three of you could be doing this to me.  You, Ron, Nicole.”

I gave her another WHACK!

“I wish I was tied to a pole naked (except my heels of course) and each of you had a strap to take turns on my body.”

“Why?” I asked as I inflicted another, harder lick of the leather.

“Cause I can take it.  Cause I like it.”

“Why?”

WHAP!

“Because I deserve it.”

SMACK!

“Because I’m so, so bad.”

I gave her one last, forceful spank with the belt before she said our safe word.  She turned around.  There were tears in her eyes.  She reached out her arms and hugged me.  She wrapped her legs around mine.  She was holding on for dear life.

“I hate this pandemic!” she said, weeping.

She slowly descended, her body crumpling around my legs.  She was on the floor, hugging my shins, crying, weeping, naked.

“Come,” I said, helping her up.  “Let me apply some aftercare.”

Spank Me Daddy

I led her to the bedroom where I gently laid her out on the bed, face down.  I went into the bathroom and got out the baby oil.  I puddled some in my palm, rubbed my hands together to warm them up, and gently caressed it over her glowing red ass, sore from the spanking she received.

“Owweeemmmmmm,” she purred, her cry of pain turning to a hum of pleasure.

I made small gentle circles with my palms on her ass cheeks.  I slid my fingers between her ass cleavage.  I ran my fingertips up and down her crotch gently.  I revolved my index finger around her special spot, slowly descending into it, one knuckle at a time until fully submerged.  She moaned with pleasure.  In-and-out I went, first with one finger then with two.  I curled them and fingered her ass much the way I would finger her pussy.

Her body mimicked the motions of an inchworm, rising in the middle and then descending.  Up-and-down.  Faster my fingers slip-sliding in-and-out, until she said, “There!  Stay.  Deep.  Hold it!”  She came.  I could see her pussy juices dribbling down her thighs.  Her ass clenched up on my fingers.  Her body was motionless for a moment before the waves of involuntary convulsions shuttered across the surface from feet to shoulders.

Her sphincter released and I slid my fingers out with ease.

To my shock she was asleep.

I was hard, but happy.  My deepest desire is to please her.

As She Likes It

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“Glass of water please Daddy” – read the text I had received from Lo.

I got up off the couch where I was distractedly trying to read a tome on Arthur Schopenhauer’s theory on Beauty and the Sublime.  I had just arrived at his discussion of “the stimulating” and “the charming.”  Of course I began thinking about my little Lo dressed for a night out. I recalled how one night at a bar, responding to an admirer who said she was dressed to kill, she said, “I’m just a sexy brunette in a little black dress and nothing else but my killer personality.”  She then proceeded to lift the hem of her little black dress to demonstrate the truth of that statement and thereby disarmed the patron completely.

Lo in and out of her little black dress

Schopenhauer was arguing how objects that stir the appetite are inappropriate subjects for art since their effect is counter to that of disinterested aesthetic contemplation.  I was in the middle of making a note in the margin of the well-worn book, arguing with the German curmudgeon on just that point, when I received the text.

Lo was in the bedroom with the brothers.  I was irritated because it was the third time that week that they had come over to use Lo as their personal pleasure provider and leave her after they had made her their cumdump.

I knocked lightly on the door before letting myself in.  Lo was stretched out on the bed and I had entered just as the boys were in the process of switching places, tag-team style.

Contemplation of Beauty

Lo looked at the glass of ice water I had in my hand and said, “Can you put it in my water-bottle with a straw dear?”

I left the room without closing the door.  I poured the contents of the glass into her hydro flask, closed it, and returned.  It was then that I noticed how soaked the sheets were.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching up and taking the bottle from my hands, drinking large sips immediately while one of the brothers – the one deep inside her spread legs – didn’t even relent a little bit with his jackrabbit thrusting at her thighs while she imbibed.  I’m not sure he noticed I was there.  I’m not even sure he noticed that Lo existed above her hips.

I left the room.

After the boys were done, about a half-hour later, and had returned to their home across the street, Lo sauntered into the living room and, laying down a terrycloth towel on the couch first, sat on it naked next to me.

“Watcha reading?”

“Schopenhauer.”

“Who?”

“Arthur Schopenhauer.”

“Is it interesting?”

I put my bookmark between the pages and looked up at Lo.

“You know there’s a difference between spreadeagle and starfish, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a difference between being used in a good way and simply providing maintenance sex.”

“I thought maintenance sex was a phrase married people use,” she said.

“It doesn’t have to be limited to just hetero married monogamous couples going through the monotony of the same-old same-old.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m just going through the motions for the boys?”

“If I saw motions, I would say yes.  But what I saw was you, starfish on the bed, as they popped in and out.”

“Well, I enjoyed it,” she protested stubbornly.

“OK,” I said, before opening my book again.

“And it’s more than I’ve been getting from you!”

“OK,” I repeated, removing the bookmark.

“And they like it.”

“OK,” I said a third time as I began reading.

She grabbed the book out of my hands.  “Talk to me!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You clearly have opinions.”

“And you clearly think my opinions are wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear them.”

“If you like it, and they definitely like it, then who am I to stop you.  You just looked. . . bored.”

“Well, they’re not legendary lovers.”

“So why do you do it?”

“I like to please.”

“They use you like a kinky fuckdoll.”

“I aspire to be a kinky fuckdoll.”

“Congrats!”

“Sometimes I like to be dominated.  Sometimes I like to be worshiped.  But sometimes I just like to be used.”

“Seems to me that they could dominate, worship, and use a Fleshlight just the same as they do you.”

“Are you jealous, Daddy?  Is that what this is?”

She cuddled up to me closer.  She reached down for my cock.  I could smell the cum on her.

“Oh,” she said, “I see.  You need to use me.  Well, come on.”

“Looks like you’ve already been cum on.”

“That’s no reason to deprive yourself.”

She undid my pants and pulled them down around my ankles.  She moved my book.  She got on her knees between my legs and began licking my cock.

“You know, before they left, they both had their cocks out above my head,” she said as she took my hard cock in her hand and whacked its heft against her cheek.

“I bet you loved that.”

“A gal just likes to be appreciated.”

She stood up and bent over, showing me her ass.

I spanked her.

“Yes, Daddy!  Yes. Again.  I was bad.  Can you see their cum dripping out?  I can feel it.  It feels so good.  Spank the slut out of me.”

I smacked her bottom until her ass was glowing red.

At that moment I heard the doorbell ring and someone walk into the house.

“Lo, the door is open!”

“It’s ok, I’m waiting for a special delivery.”

In walked one of the brothers.  Was it Roy or Gary?  I never can tell them apart.

Lo looked up at him, “He never succeeds in spanking the slut out of me and we’re both ok with that.”

The kid laughed as he walked over to us to put the package he was carrying down on the coffee table.  “My mom says thanks,” he said just as Lo lowered her bum onto my hard cock.  The kid watched.  He had never seen anyone but his brother fuck Lo before.  Lo was bobbing up and down.

“You left the door open?” I asked Lo.

“My love is an open door,” she replied.

“You have the sexiest body,” the smitten scaramouche said.

“I bet you say that to all the sluts,” replied Lo as she reached down to rub her clit.

Lo gestured that she wanted the voyeur to come closer.  He did.  She unzipped his pants and took his cock in her mouth.  I was going at her from behind.

A moment later, the other brother entered.

“Roy!  What are you doing?  Mom’s waiting for you,” he said, nonplussed by the sight of the three of us.

“She can wait a minute,” said Roy to Gary.

Lo used her right hand to indicate that she wanted Gary to approach.  He did.

“Get behind me,” she said, turning in such a way as to allow Roy to enter her ass as Gary entered her puss and I, odd-man-out, was left standing over the six-legged, six-armed, three-headed beast.

“Don’t just stand there,” she said to me.  “I have enough holes to fulfill all the demand.”

I was welcomed into her warm mouth.

Keep in mind, this was all happening in the living room with the blinds open.

I was the first to cum, ejaculating deep in the back of Lo’s throat, as she likes it.

Then Gary pulled out and stood in front of Lo and came on her face, as she likes it.

Finally, Roy pulled out of her ass and stood in front of her as she kneeled on the hardwood floor.  She took his cock in her mouth and sucked long and hard, fondling his balls from below with her hand and grabbing his ass from behind with her other hand to pull him in to fill her up orally.

He pulled back at the last crucial second and said, “Lie back!”

Lo did a spread eagle on the floor as Roy grabbed his cock with his right hand and rained down on her naked body, as she likes it.

The boys pulled up their pants and beat a hasty goodbye.

Lo, cum-covered and stretched wide, slowly got up.

“You know, Lo,” I said, scolding her, “anyone and everyone can see you from the outside.”

She replied with a curt, “Externalities.”

“What?”

“An unintended beneficial consequence bestowed on third-parties,” she said as if reciting from a dictionary.

“Where’d you learn that economic theory?”

“I do have a college education, Daddy,” she said bitingly.

“Oh, by that you mean you learned it in my class?”

“You’re not the only person who has something to teach me, you know.”

“Apparently not.”

“Now, did that look like maintenance sex to you?”

“Yes.”

“What?!”

“It was enough to help maintain your rapacious appetite.”

“Barely enough.”

“You know, darling, you are a walking, talking, fucking rebuttal to Schopenhauer’s aesthetic theory.”

“If that’s your way of saying I look beautiful, then, thanks!”

“I’m saying more than you look beautiful.  I’m saying, you are a work of art.”

Lola as a work of art

Sore, but not Satisfied

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We watched Boogie Nights up until the scene where the newbie pornstar, Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) is filmed by the seasoned director, Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds), making love to his wife, Maggie/“Amber Waves” (Julianne Moore).  At that point, Lo was too turned on from watching the movie while cock-warming me to continue.  We retired into the bedroom where she proceeded to ask me, “I bet you’d like to film me auditioning all those men who want to be pornstars, wouldn’t you Daddy?”

“I thought you were sore?” I asked her, referring to her masturbation marathon earlier in the day.

“Sore, but not satisfied.  Fuck me.  I like it when it hurts.”

I slid in her slippery snatch and she moaned with pleasure and pain.

“I think you’d like to be auditioning them,” I responded to her.

By the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head, I could tell that the image of her being the older seductress, seducing young, aspiring actors, getting them to break through the role and into the authentic enjoyment of her body, was turning her on.

While her fantasyland role was screening in the adult theater of her dark and dirty mind, my own thoughts were scrawling across my cerebrum.  Since I had cum on my own earlier that day, my stamina was augmented.  I had plenty of time, while Lo bounced up-and-down on my rod to the beat of her own drum, to explore the following musings.

I began with Boogie Nights and the thought of how, yes, Lo was right, I could easily see myself in the role of the director, Jack Horner, filming his own wife as she slept with various pornstars.  Turning her lustful liaisons into works of art was already my forte.  My mind then turned to the late, great Orson Welles and his love affair infatuation with Oja – his muse, mistress, and movie star of films such as F for Fake, and The Other Side of the Wind.  A documentary about the making of the latter movie came out a couple years ago and in it, those who were on set with Welles recalled how he wanted to film, at great length, a pornographic sex scene starring Oja with Robert Random (actual actor’s name).  Perhaps the aging Welles (he was between 55 and 61 while making it) took delight in seeing his young mistress (she was between 24 and 30 while making it) getting delight from a younger man who could give it to her.  Sounds familiar.

“Deeper, Daddy, please,” she whined as she rode me, startling me out of my musings.

I opened my eyes and saw her pulling at her nipples over me.  “Am I your pornstar?” she asked.

I tried to meet her descending hips with ascending thrusts of my own.  She needed to feel the tip of my shaft on that magic spot deep inside her.  If I were larger, longer, harder, I would press that button without even trying.  But, alas, that was not the case.

Frankie Shaw

 

Frankie Shaw

 

Frankie Shaw using her Instagram to expose herself

Her question turned my thoughts from directors making their muses the material of art, to that wannabe pornstar who used her creative powers of writer, director, and actor to live out her clear fantasy of being fucked on camera.  Frankie Shaw, in her series SMILF, used every opportunity to get naked, get laid, and get herself off in her show.  I wondered how her husband, Zach Strauss, enjoyed watching her perform completely gratuitous sex scenes on the show.  Let’s be clear, none of her sexpoloits were essential to the story – from her fantasy gangbang in the pilot where she is fucked by a basketball team of black men, to her seducing the boy she babysat, to the creepy scenes of her naked in a bathtub with her fictional child.  None of that advanced the plot in a way that it couldn’t have done without those scenes.  But, given the creative license she had, she used it to be as licentious as she could, making her the star – the pornstar.

Frankie Shaw from her Instagram being exhibitionist in her neighborhood during COVID

Lo wasn’t cumming.  She got up, off of me and commanded, “Get behind me and fuck me, hard!”  She was on all fours on the bed and needed me to stand up, perpendicular to her, as she looked in the full-length mirror before her, watching us fuck, as she might watch a porno.

“Come on, Daddio!  Really ram it home,” she called over her shoulder.

I thrust at her with all I had.  I was panting, sweating, wondering if my back was going to be sore for a week.

Mercifully, she began to cum.  I could feel her pussy clenching, preparing to eject me and ejaculate.  Her voice was insistent.  “Cum!  Cum!” she demanded, knowing that there were mere seconds left before I wouldn’t be able to remain deep inside her.

Enjoy your erotic reading.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

“Inmeinmeinmeinme!”

I don’t do well with cumming on command.  If she had said, “Whatever you do, don’t cum,” then there would have been no problem.  Besides, I had, at her recommendation, already cum once that day.  I was near my limit.

Frankie Shaw gets nailed by the boy she baby sat in SMILF

It was already too late.  The torrent had been unleashed.  The spillage had gushed down her legs and now the dam was about to break, flooding me right out of her.

Frankie Shaw stars in a porno

Her legs were quivering and she was pounding the bed with her fist as she screamed “FUCK!  FUCK!  FUCK!”

I backed up and watched the demonic possession take hold as she lost control of her faculties, senses, bodily movements, and sanity.

Her orgasms are simultaneously a full-body and out-of-body experience.  They are sublime to watch, in the full sense of that word: terrifyingly beautiful.

The bed covers were drenched; her body lifeless on top of the mess she had made.

Frankie dreams of Lola

Scene from SMILF
Not necessary, Right?
How did this get approved?

 

Slowly, her breathing steadied and resumed regularity.

She rolled over as if she had been hit by a Mac truck.

“Wow!” was all she said.  And then, a little while later, “I won’t be able to walk, sit, or cross my legs tomorrow!”

Frankie Shaw getting off to Lola Down

“I guess you’ll just have to lie in bed all day.”

“That’s ok, it’s my favorite place to be and my favorite position.”

She got off the bed and began cleaning up the sodden bedding, throwing all of it in the laundry basket.

“Feeling better?”

“You didn’t cum,” she had the gall to complain.

“I did, just not with you.”  I knew that remark would piss her off.

She gritted her teeth and growled at me.

“You told me to fuck Stoya, remember?”

“But on these short days in January, I really needed an injection of vitamin D, if you know what I mean.”

“It would have just come out in the wash anyhow.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

She thought for a moment.  “I like to have the power to make you ejaculate on command.”

“Talk about a control freak.  I did ejaculate on command – your first command.  You told me to jack off while you masturbated to oblivion.”

“But I thought you knew the Golden Rule: Love thy woman as thyself.”

“Oh, is that the rule?  I thought you said it was: Love thyself and often.”

“That’s my rule.  Not yours.”

“So, why did you tell me to go away instead of letting me watch?”

“Well, you made me jealous when looking at all those women.”

“You’re the one who wanted to look at them with me!”

“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissively.  “I wanted to make you jealous.”

“Oh, so it had nothing to do with being turned on by them?”

“There was that too.  But now I feel so slutty.”

“You should.”

“No, Daddy.  I mean, not only was I cheating on you. . .”

“It’s not really ‘cheating’ if I know about it and condone it.”

“I was corresponding with a guy online.”

“Today?”

“Yeah, well, like every day.”

“And?”

“His name is John.  I call him my internet boyfriend.”

“I think you mentioned him to me.”

“And I was cheating on him with another guy.  Or maybe I was cheating on the other guy with John.  I don’t know.  It all gets so confusing.”

“Let me see your other boyfriends.”

She showed me their cumtribute photos.

“Looks like I have stiff competition!”

Lola

Masturbation Marathon

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Lo and I were in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch.  She was looking at her phone.  I sat with my laptop open, reading emails, when suddenly, up popped an email in our shared account.  Unlike most of our fan mail, it wasn’t directed to Lo, it was addressed to me.  And it had a few photos attached.  Sexy photos.  Of my female fan.

“What are you looking at?” Lo asked, never one to be unobservant.

“Nothing,” I clumsily lied.

“What do you mean nothing?”

“Just an email,” I said, telling the truth, trying to pass it off as nothing.

“Let me see,” she said, scooting over, closer to me, suspicious.

How does she do that?  How does she know when something is amiss?

My heart was racing.  She gets so jealous.

There was nothing to do but give in to the inevitable.

I showed her the email and the photos.

“Nothing huh?  Who is she?”

“I don’t know.  I really don’t.  Just a fan.  A connoisseur of fine literature.  A grateful reader.  A woman of exquisite taste in art.”

“You really don’t know who she is?”

“I swear.”

“She just wrote to you for the first time?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t carried on a correspondence with her?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“You like her?”
“What do you mean, like her?”
“You find her attractive?”

That is a very dangerous question.  The female author of the epistle in question was, in point of fact, appealing.  As her missive made clear, she was a wife and mother whose sex life had fallen fallow in the past few years as the children occupied more of her time and energy.  But reading about my sex life with Lola had rekindled something deep down inside her and she just wanted to show me exactly where it was rekindled.

“She’s not unattractive,” I said, attempting to be as neutral as possible.

“Let’s play a little game,” said Lo.  I was quizzical.  “I’ll go through photos of our fans and you tell me if you find them sexy.  But let’s do it in the bedroom.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just be honest,” she said as she walked down the hall.

“Are you trying to get me deeper in the hole?” I asked, following behind her.

“Depends on which hole you mean.”

GULP.

“Let’s start,” she said as she took out her computer and went to her special stash of emails and photos.  She unzipped my pants and grabbed onto my flaccid member as she pulled up photo after photo.  Honestly, I was too scared to get hard.

After about five or ten, she paused and looked at me a moment.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Lo, you know perfectly well what’s wrong.  For years now, you’ve made the nature of our relationship clear.  Now you want me to look at other women?  I think that I’m being set-up.”

“No no no,” she said with a smile.  “I’m just feeling like changing things up a bit.”

“You know, I could get just as hard looking at photos of men who’ve sent you cumtributes.”

“Well, maybe I’ll throw in a few of those as well.  But don’t be bashful.  Let’s keep on playing.”

She scrolled through scores of sexy photos and, for each one she gave me a bit of backstory, telling me the names of each woman and a bit of bio.

“That’s Floss,” she said.

“Yes, I know Floss,” I responded as she went through photo after sexy photo of her.

Floss and Match, Cinder & Spark

“And this is Karla.”

“I know Karla too.  In fact I wrote about her.”

Just Floss

“Yes, that’s right.  Did you know her hubby, Chris, gets off to me when he has her at home?”

Karla and Chris

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“This is the author, Larry Archer’s wife.”

“Is she a fan?”

“I don’t know, but I’m a fan of hers. . . and his!”

“And this is. . .”  The list went on-and-on.  With each new set of photos that Lo opened from her password-protected fap file, she grew a little more excited.  If she was a guy (and she sure acts like one), she would have had a raging hard-on at this point.  I have no doubt that her clit was fully tumid.  She was reaching for it.

Karla over the years

Karla’s husband Chris getting off to Lola

“Um, can you give me a minute?” she asked.

“What?”

“Here,” she said, passing me the Stoya Destroya vagina.  “You can use this if you want to wank.  But only use my photos.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna have me a wank too.”

“But you want me to leave.”

“Yeah, is that ok?”

“Um no.  Not really.”

Larry Archer’s wife

“Just give me a little while.”

She got out of bed to escort me to the door as she got out of her clothes.  She put her panties on the doorknob as if she had a paramour over, but it was just her and her fingers, toys, and binders full of women.

I went back to the living room, confused, carrying my vagina.  Well, Stoya’s vagina.  Carrying a vagina.

I returned to the bedroom and knocked on the door furtively.

“What?” she asked, not opening the door.

“Lube,” I said.  “You didn’t give me the lube.”

The door opened a crack.  I saw her standing naked.  She looked good.  Her arm extended, dropping the tube of lube in my hands.

“OK?” she asked, shutting the door.

Stoya front, Lola back

I walked away again.

Finding my way onto the couch, I began writing – this story.

Lo’s orgasmic arias were audible throughout the house.  They rose and fell, crescendo, decrescendo.  So many ups and downs I lost count.  I looked at the vagina sitting next to me and said, “It’s bad enough she needs more from me.  Don’t you just sit there and look despondent at me that she’s getting all the action.  It’s not my fault you don’t have arms, hands, or fingers to help yourself out.”

Finally, I made use of Stoya, more for her sake than mine.  She looked so sad there.

I came, one brief onanistic climax, looking at Lo’s photos on the internet while Lo, in the flesh, was having a grand old time fucking herself just down the hallway.  I got up to do the proper aftercare cleaning of Stoya in the second bathroom and saw Lo’s panties still prominently displayed on the doorknob as Lo went at it.

I returned to the couch and took a long nap.

I was woken up by the feeling of Lo’s lips on my flaccid cock.

“What are you doing?”

“Cock-warming,” she said as she lay naked on the couch between my legs, looking up at me.

“You want something?”

“No, Daddy.”

“No?”

“I’m sore.”

“What the hell was going on in there?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I started off jilling to the women I was showing you, but then I was into the cumtributes I’ve been getting.  I’m such a slut.”

“Agreed.”

“No, you don’t know why I’m saying that.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, I guess it’s bad enough that I am not faithful to you.”

“I don’t mind. . . usually.”

“But I have a sort of internet boyfriend.”

“What is that?”

“You know, like a work wife or a work husband.”

“You mean when people become overly chummy with people they work with?”

“Yeah, like that, but in my case, it’s with people I’ve met online.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I’ve been cheating on one of them with another guy.”

“I’m sure they don’t expect monogamy from you, dear.”

“Yeah, they’re both married themselves.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“That’s just it!”

“What?”

“Do you think I have a problem?”

“Other than being a nymphomaniacal, egomaniacal hotwife attention whore?”

“Yeah, other than that.”

“No, not at all.”

“Really?”

John Doe shrine to Lola

“If your biggest problem is that you’re sexting with someone behind the back of your long-distance lover while shutting me out of the bedroom so you can fist-fuck yourself because you’re turned on by your fandom, well, hey, we all should be that lucky!”

John Doe gets of to Lo

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, before returning to cock-warming me.

“Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.  What?”

Northerngentleman

“How about Boogie Nights?  Have you ever seen it?”

Northerngentleman cums in his wife’s panties.

“No.”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat.”

  • Photos used with permission.

Sweet Charity

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Wedded Bliss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy.”

“What?”

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

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

“My friend Sam.”

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

“OK.”

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

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“I’m on the edge too.”

“What did Sam say?”

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

“What?”

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

“OK, and he said?”

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

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

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

Alia

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

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

“I know!  Isn’t it flattering?”

“Lola Down – inspiring hotwives everywhere.”

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

Sam & Alia inspired by Lola

“A stroke of genius.”

“Did you say stroke?”

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

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

“You still want more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To whom?”

“Anyone.”

She came yet again as she said it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you said you need a break.”

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

“Nah,” she said, nonchalantly.

“What do you mean, nah?”

“Not today, ole man.”

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

“I do that for you.”

“How is it for me?”

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

“You know me too well.”

“Why do you want my ass so badly?”

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

“What?”

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

 

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

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

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

“Do you have the church key?”

“That I do!”

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

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

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

Lo’s Temple of Venus

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

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

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

“What would?”

“If I wore a white wedding gown.”

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

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

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

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

Wedding Shower

She was lying in her own puddle, panting.

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

“Come here,” she said, not moving.

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

“That’s my good girl.”

She smiled.

Giving Away the Bride

COVID Birthday

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

Lola’s Gifts

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

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

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

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

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah.  Why?”

“Just checking.”

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

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

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

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

I shut the door behind me.

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

“Ready Daddio?”

“Not now, Lo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Happy birthday, Mr. H,” she replied.

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

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

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

“Hi Daddy!  Surprised?”

“What’s going on here?”

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

“For me?”

“Well, for us.”

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

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

 

 

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

Mama this surely is a dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am older, today!”

“Sit back and enjoy the show.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All your clothes are off!!!”

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

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

Abstract

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

Abstract painting

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

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

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

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

“Present company excluded,” I added.

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

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

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

“An abstract.”

“What?”

“An abstract.”

“Is that the title of the book?”

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

nude

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling. . .”

“You prefer the abstract over the real?”

“I. . .”

“Philosophers should come with a warning label!”

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

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

“You want me to contemplate your anus?”

Lo minimalism

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

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

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

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

“That it is eminently fuckable and sublimely beautiful.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“May I fuck it?”

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

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

“Is there?”

“Yes.”

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

Contemplation of the Anus

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

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

It took me a while to understand her mathematical metaphor.

She was still twisted in her pretzel shape.

“Can you lick it?” I asked.

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

“You remind me of the ouroboros now.”

“What is that?”

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

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

“And your desire is infinite.”

“Everyone’s desire is infinite.”

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

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

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

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

“But. . .”

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

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

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

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

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

“The astral plane?”

“No, the anal orgasm.”

“I’ll take you there.”

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

“Why won’t you give me your ass?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Daddio, that’s it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed,” I replied.

“What’s the abstract about, anyhow?”

“Abstract art.”

“Of course it is.”

The End

Grist for the Mill

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Tanning while reading Match, Cinder & Spark

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

“Yeah,” she said lasciviously.

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

“Lo, what are you thinking about?”

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

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

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

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

She rolled her eyes.  “This again?”

“And you are a hedonist.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  Quite so.”

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

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

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

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

“You are unbearable!”

“Why do you take such offense?”

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

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

“Primal desires?!”

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

“Oh boy, here we go!”

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

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

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

“Please, please give it a rest!”

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

“The what?”

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

“Oh, back to that are we?”

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

“Really?  You?  Mr. aristocrat himself?”

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

“You are such an asshole!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I am the source of your suffering?!”

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

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

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

“What does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lola Down – Wet, Hot, and Beautiful

“What about smart?”

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

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

“There’s wisdom in that.”

“What does that mean?”

“You are wise beyond words.”

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

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

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

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

“Because you say the dumbest things.”

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

“I’m sure you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo’s Little Friend

I turned to leave.

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

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

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

“Oh, so you want me?”

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

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

I had penetrated her as I spoke those words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cum-Covered

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

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

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

“And my body makes you mortal.”

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

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

Sound

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

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

Lola’s Tum

 

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

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

A Happy Fan

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

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

Volume I

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

 

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

“You’re a slut.”

“Yes,” she said, encouragingly.

“A whore.  A fucking sexmaniac.”

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

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

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

“Yes,” she screamed.

“A sex addict.  A nymphomaniac!”

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

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

 

Artistic Tribute Photo

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

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

 

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

 

 

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

Browsing the Literotica section

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“And?”

“Your voice is so fucking sexy.”

“Really?”

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

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

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

“Way to drive a woman crazy!”

“Who wrote this?  Who is this Lola?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?  Really?”

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

“Ten years ago?” Jupi echoed.

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

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

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

“I was just about to record another chapter.”

“Really?  Can I listen?”

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

“Which closet?”

“In the bedroom.”

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

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

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

 

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

 

 

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

“Could you hear?” she asked, astonished.

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

“Did I do that?” asked Jupi innocently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glad you like it.”

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

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

“But I’m right here,” Jupi replied.

“I know, but it turns me on.”

She agreed.

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

“Yes.”

“And. . .”

“And what?”

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

“What?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Can I put your laptop here?”

“Really?”

“I mean, I won’t if you. . .”

“No, go ahead.”

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

Not Jupi, but a fan photo

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

Lo Bathes in Beauty

“No,” Jupi said incredulously.

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

“I can’t believe it,” said Jupi.

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

The End