Category Archives: squirt

Sun-Kissed

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Beach Reading

            A July vacation at a beach house for a week can be the perfect antidote to all of your problems.  Unless that vacation is a family reunion and the beach house is for thirty people.  And among those thirty people are married dads in their forties and fifties who are in good shape.  And your girlfriend is Lo.  Then, you might have ninety-nine problems, but Lo is the only one you have to really worry about. 

            That was the case this week.  Every seven years or so my extended family decides that we should make a pilgrimage from all the corners of the globe, rent one enormous house on the beach with enough bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate us all, and stay under one roof for seven days straight.  We have been doing this for a few decades now, but we hadn’t had one of these since I started dating Lola. 

            She hadn’t met most of my family – only heard about them through various stories I told her and, to be fair, with thirty of them, I doubt that she really could tell one from the other without having met them in person.  But this week, right in the middle of July, we were all going to be up-close and personal with each other.  Foolishly, I hadn’t thought of warning her prior to our departure.  This was my family.  Did I need to warn her?  Apparently so. 

            You see, if I do say so myself, I come from a very good looking family.  My brothers and sisters and my cousins have certain family features in common – features that drive Lo wild.  I’d even venture to say that, of the lot of us, I am probably the least physically attractive.  My male relatives all have strong-cut jaws, expressive eyes, and the classic broad shoulder tapering to a thin waist.  They are very health conscious, for many of them were athletes even through college.  My female relatives share many of the same good genes that have preserved their looks into midlife.  And they are married to rather attractive spouses. 

            Throw into this mix of middle-age men – all walking around topless, biking, kayaking, swimming, cooking, and being dads to their respective kids – a twenty something nymphomaniac with daddy issues wearing a skimpy bikini and you have just brought all sorts of wrath down upon your head.  Such was my lot for a week. 

            It began innocently enough.  We were on the beach with a few of my cousins.  The sun was blazing and the waves were rough and tumble.  We had our boogie boards with us and, after a beer, Lo said she wanted to ride the waves with me.  We grabbed the boards and went into the refreshing water, waded out past the crashing waves and waited for the right moment.  As we were out there, Lo turned to me and said, “Daddio, I’m so wet!”

            “We’re in the ocean, Lo.  Of course you’re wet,” I replied.

            “I don’t mean like that,” she said with a devilish grin.

            Before I could respond, a wave came and soon she and I were soaring towards the shore atop the white crest of the surf.  Conditions were just right for multiple sorties.  She looked happy, like a little girl.  I had never seen her see so happy.  She was grinning from ear-to-ear.  What I didn’t realize, since I was next to her for most of the wet-n-wild rides, was that each and every time we caught a wave and were carried in atop the undulating surge, Lo’s bikini top would be pushed downward and, each and every time she stood up from the excursion, her breasts were popping out, wet and glistening in the sun for all my cousins to see. 

            I only found out about this later, when, back in the house, she got naked in the bathroom with me to take a shower.  “Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

            “Why would I be mad?” I said as I saw her perfectly tanned body before me.

            “Because of my ‘accidents’ at the beach.”

            “What accidents?” I asked, naively. 

            Then she told me about her struggles with keeping her top on her tits. 

            We got in the shower together and washed each other down with body-soap.   It was one of those large shower/hot tubs that had a comfortable seat to sit.  I told Lo to sit down below me and spread her legs.  She did so, mistakenly thinking that I was going to put my cock in her mouth.  She opened up to receive me, but, instead, I took aim and let lose, releasing the golden stream formed from the many beers I had had on the beach.  She relished in the warm stream I doused her in, covering her tits and tum, puss and feet.  When I was good and done, she pulled my hand down and reversed positions with me and, putting one foot up on the ledge, she took aim and allowed me to get it just as good as I gave it. 

            Then she got down on her knees on the floor of the shower and took my hard cock in her mouth, fondling my balls with her right hand as her left rested on my knee.  Her long, wet, dark hair bobbed up and down under the stream of the shower.  She wanted me to cum, that was clear.  She worked hard to earn my ejaculatory appreciation, but I denied her the satisfaction of completion.  Before she got lockjaw, we got out of the shower and dried off. 

She bent over the bed, her ass beckoning me.  It was my turn to get on my knees and worship her tumescent pussy lips with my tongue.  She tasted sweet and I wanted more.  I buried the tip of my tongue as deep as it would go in her cunt and then in her ass and back again and again.  She came multiple times, her cum dripping down the sides of my mouth and saturating my beard as it streamed down my neck onto my chest.  I delighted in making her so wet.  Due to the cramped living quarters, she had to bite her lower lip and swallow her orgasmic screams.  She buried her head in the pillow to moan and groan. 

At some point I heard the sound of a radio playing from the pool area outside our window.  AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” was narrating the scene. 

She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean

They sang as I licked the smooth mons pubis of Lo from behind.  She could take it no longer and she crawled forward on the bed like a wounded soldier out of the heat of battle.  She rolled over, exhausted already, and spread her listless legs. 

She was the best damn woman that I’d ever seen.

I slid in her pussy with my aching rod and, honestly, I couldn’t feel a thing.  Just wet.  So wet.  At the very instant of my shaft lodging deep inside her, she came in waves – waves like those of the ocean that we were riding just a little while earlier.  After her quick climax, she was suddenly filled with new energy.  She rolled me over onto my back and slid her wet slit down the length of my solid pole, kneeling on top of me as she pulled and pinched her nipples.  I grabber by her hips and rocked her forward and back, slishing and sliding over my hips.  

She had a certain size,

Telling me no lies,

Knocking me out with those American thighs.

She came again.  Again, all I could feel was wetness cascading down upon me.  

She dropped her head down to bite on my neck and then she slid off of my rod slowly as her tongue slid down my chest, over my abs, eventually resting at my cock.  She took it all in her mouth and down the back of her throat. 

Taking more than her share,

She had me fighting for air,

She told me to cum, but I was already there.

I filled her with my pent-up power.  But she wasn’t done – no, not by a longshot. 

She wanted no applause,

Just another course,

Made a meal out of me,

And came back for more.

Had to cool me down

            To take another round,

            Now I’m back in the ring

            To take another swing!

            She licked and sucked, bobbed up and down, and opened wide for my balls – everything and anything she could do to get me back up and hard again.  When she finally succeeded, she lowered herself slowly on me once more and grabbed me, letting her nipples gently touch mine as she let her body become enfolded in mine.  I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. 

Shower Time

From her state of delirium, she began whispering in my ear.

“You know,” she said in a hushed tone, “I think your family likes me.”

“I’m sure they do,” I said.

“I mean, especially your brothers.  They really like me.”

“I think they really liked what they saw.”

“And I liked what I saw.”

“What was that?” I asked as I felt her excitement increasing with the taboo things coming out of her mouth.  I slowly moved my hands from her back to her thighs, to her ass cheeks, and then I pulled them, spread them, and placed my index finger on her special spot.

“They’re so built,” she said enthusiastically, “so mature.”

“You mean old.”

“Not old.”

“Older than me.”

“Yeah, but in such good shape.”

“I see,” I said, knowing where she was going. . . and liking it.

“And so big.”

“Big?” I asked as I entered her ass with my finger.

“Their cocks.  Their balls.  Wearing a Speedo. . .”

She couldn’t finish her thought.  She was cumming and cumming harder than any of the previous times.  My finger was deep inside her and I could feel her clenching up on it and releasing multiple times. 

When she was done, all orgasms finally brought to fruition and her body exhausted, she said to me, “That last orgasm, it felt just like I was riding that boogie board.  It felt like I was riding that wave, topless, the sea carrying me, lifting me, thrilling me, covering me with spume and salt and sun.”

“Did you cum when you were out there?”

“I think I might have, a little bit.”

“You really are a nymph, fucked by Poseidon himself.”

Beach Bum

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            “Was I bad, Daddy?”

            “Yes.”

            “Am I a slut?”
            “Yes.”

            “Then fuck me like one.”

            Earlier that day, dear reader, we had gone to the beach with our friends Stephanie and Mark.  They’re a married couple in their 30’s, they have a couple of young kids, suburban house, everything – a quaint picture of domestic bliss.  Then you throw Lo into the mix and, well, you’ll see what unfolds (or unzips). 

Stephanie is a work acquaintance of mine who has her office down the hall.  Every so often she texts me little notes like, “Lunch today?” followed by a winkface, a smileyface, or some other emoticon that drives Lo crazy!  Lo is convinced she has the hots for me.  But it’s hard to stay seated atop her high horse when she is just as often on her knees in front of a different man.  As you shall soon discover, Lo was in for a dénouement all her own.  Lo, it so turns out, has more than your casual fondness for Mark.  In fact, she has made it no secret how she feels about him.

The first time we had dinner with them, when Lo first met Mark, Lo rushed us home and threw me into the bed, jumping on top of me, humping me and, looking down at me from where she lifted and descended at a rising trot’s pace, she asked, “Do you think he wants me?”

“Mark?”

“Yes, Mark,” she said, panting. 

She didn’t even let me answer before she finished.  Apparently just the mention of his name was enough to get her heart palpitating. 

She fell down next to me and, caressing her soft lower lips, she said, “He’s hard-up.”

“How do you know?”

“Did you forget that Stephanie and I had lunch together a few weeks ago?”

“And she told you that?”

“I have my ways of getting information.  I know that they have sex once every six months, if that.  And it’s not for his lack of wanting.”

“Do you think he wants you?”

“Fuck me and I’ll tell you.”

She spread her legs and I slid in.

“He’s so tall,” she began, “and sitting next to him I could tell that he was looking down my blouse at my tits all night.”

“I did notice that.”

“And his long legs touched mine under the table.”

“Did they?”

“And his cock!”  She was cumming again.  “His cock is huge.  I could see it bulging right through is pants.  Oh, it’s such a waste for her not to be on that every night!!!”  She came hard this time. 

That dinner date was a few months ago. 

Now, we were at the beach and I could tell that Lo was all riled up to see Mark in just his swimming trunks.  Knowing where Lo’s attention would fall, I gazed at his crotch and had to admit to myself, she was right – there was no disguising the size of that thing.  It was truly amazing that the tip didn’t peek out the bottom of those loose-fitting shorts. 

As soon as we staked out a spot for us to set up our chairs and blankets on the white sand, Lo removed her sheer blouse, revealing her tiny bikini top and lovely tum.  She had the confident air of a woman in her twenties, showing off and prancing around her thirty-something competition.  And that self-assured swagger sure got Mark’s attention. 

Stephanie, who was busy with the two kids, was oblivious to all the sexual tension coursing between Lo and Mark.  I watched, contentedly.  Lo was soon removing her cutoff jeans-shorts, slipping out of them like a stripper on stage.  Her bikini bottom left little to the imagination, but I could see Mark desperately imagining what was left.

When she was down to just her bikini, she got on all fours on the beach blanket in front of Mark, who was sitting in a beach chair.  She roved around the blanket like a dog looking for its bone, but Lo was looking for the sunscreen.  Or so she said.  I think she was just looking for attention. . . and getting it. 

“Where did you put it?” she asked me. 

“I don’t know,” I said.

“He’s good for nothing, Mark,” she said, jibbing at me.  As she was on all fours, her breasts hung down right in front of Mark and then she turned and, searching her bag, her ass was up in the air right in front of him.  I’ve seen strippers on stage who were more discrete than that.  “Oh, here it is!” she exclaimed as she pulled it out of her bag, looking behind her to see if she was being watched. 

She began applying the lotion to her feet, legs, tum, chest, arms, shoulders, neck, face.  “I missed a few spots,” she said, passing the lotion to me as we exchanged looks – mine saying, “You’re pushing it.”  Hers saying, “I want it pushed.”

I applied some lotion to her back.  “Lower,” she said.  I applied it to her lower back.  “Lower,” she said.  I applied it to her ass and she pulled up the bottoms into a thong and said, “Don’t take any chances.” 

I applied it to her ass cheeks as I looked at Mark and said, “The princess likes to be pampered.”  He laughed, but was clearly thinking about pampering the princess in his own way.  I enjoyed it. 

A group of four men strolled onto the beach with their cooler, chairs, volleyball, and snacks.  They set up camp right next to us, attracted to Lo, no doubt.  They were all in their twenties, jacked, and looking to have fun in the sun.  Lo’s attention was suddenly split between Mark and the men.  It looked like the numbers won out – unless Lo was just toying with Mark now the way she had been toying with me.  Once she had the fish hooked, she was content to throw it away and see what other catch she could accomplish with her bait. 

The guys, after settling in and cracking open a few brews, set up the volleyball net and began a game.  Lo looked on enviously. 

“Go play,” I said, giving her permission. 

“No, you come too,” she said, ambiguously. 

“I don’t want to.”

“Mark, will you play?”

Mark was up for it.  The two of them approached the guys and soon it was five guys and Lo bouncing the ball back-and-forth.  Lo danced upon the sand, dashing here and there, stretching to spike the ball, bending to pick it up, lunging to serve.  She was clearly distracting to her teammates and opponents alike.  At some points her bikini bottoms were showing her cute ass and at other points her breasts were on the verge of flying out of their cups. 

Stephanie talked with me in between rebuking or cautioning the children.  We discussed work and then leisure time.  I had recounted some of the things that Lo and I had done over the summer thus far.  “Wow!” she said, “You two do so much!” 

“Well, if I had my druthers, I’d probably just sit at home and read and write, but Lo is always on the go-go-go.” 

“One of the downsides of dating. . .” she searched for the least judgmental words she could find, “someone so young.”  No matter how she said it, it dripped with derision. 

“She keeps me young,” I said, simply, with a smile on my face as I watched my young nymph flirt with the four guys and Mark. 

The sun was beating down and I could see all the players wilting in the noontime heat.  They broke up their game and Lo grabbed some cash from her bag and said she was going to get a snow cone. 

“You were really playing hard,” I commented.

Out of breath, sweating, she just nodded.

“I mean, hard to get,” I added sardonically. 

“Daddio, I don’t play hard to get.  I play to get them hard.”

She asked if we wanted something.  After putting in my order, I watched as she and two of the young men walked down the path toward the dunes, behind which was the concession stand.  Just before they were out of eyeshot, I saw Lo stop and untie the halter-top of her bikini and ask one of the men to fix it for her.  He was fixing it from behind while the other guy was in front of her.  The guy fumbling with the stings “accidentally” lost his grip of them, letting the top fall.  Lo laughed as she pulled it back up.  Down it went again as she tried to pass the string to Mr. Butterfingers.  They all laughed as Lo covered her breasts with her arm.  They retied the knot and walked on.  They were away for a long time.  

When Lo got back from the concession stand, Lo asked me to go into the ocean with her.  “Where’s my snack?” I asked, expecting that she would at least bring it back.

“Whoops!” she said with a smile.  “I got a bit. . . distracted.  Come with me in the water and I’ll tell you about it,” she said, up to no good.  I gave her an angry look, but she’s knows I can’t be cross with her for long. 

I followed her to the deep blue sea.  The water was warm.  We were relatively alone at that part of the beach and I carried Lo in my arms.  When we got out to the point where I could still stand, but was lifted as the waves crested, Lo kissed me passionately. 

“Wow!” I said, surprised. 

“Feel me, Daddio,” she said, moving my hand between her legs.  “Am I wet?”

“Lo.  We’re swimming.  In the ocean.”

She smiled.  “Oh, trust me, I’m wet.”

“What were you up to?”

“Nothing.”

She kissed me again. 

“Lo, I know you were up to something.  I saw your little ploy to flash them your tits.”

“You saw that, Daddio?”
“Yes.”

“What else did you see?”

“That’s it.  You disappeared behind the dunes.  You were away for a long time, while I patiently waited for my snack.  No snack came back.”

“Oh, you’ll get your snack,” she said.  “Your snack will be coming soon.” 

She kissed me again.  It was like she was drunk on sunshine, shore, and attention.

“Finger me, Daddio.”

I put my index finger into her slippery hole underwater, beneath her bikini bottoms.

“Oh, yeah,” she moaned.  “Hurry up.  I have to cum.”

“What were you up to?”

“Let’s just say that the snow cone was dessert.”

“What did you do?”

“Both of them, with my mouth.  Are you mad?”

“Oh, that’s why you were so salty.  I thought it was just the sea water.”

She moaned.  Beneath the rolling waves I felt her pussy clench on my finger.  She came.  

“Do you think Mark knows?” she asked when her momentary ecstasy was at an end.

“Why would he know?”

“You think he thinks I’m a slut?”

“He has no reason not to.”

“Good.”

“Why do you tease these poor married men?”

“I just like being an inspiration to people.”

“You’re so altruistic.”

“I think so.  I really hope that they’ll go home tonight and fuck like banshees.”

“But you know that she isn’t up for it.”

            “Well, then I hope they’ll go home and after she falls asleep, he’ll make himself cum five times next to her in the bed to the thought of me today at the beach.”

            “And you’re going to cum to that thought at least five times in the shower tonight, won’t you?”

            “If not before.”

            Her orgasm achieved, we swam back to shore.  She adjusted her bottoms as we emerged from the water.  We walked up to our beach blanket and chairs and as we approached I could see the guys next to us speaking in hushed tones and looking at Lo.  I could see them making eye contact with her and her smiling back at them.  The two who lucked out were gloating to their two hard-up companions.  I wondered if Mark and Stephanie could hear them. 

            When we got up to the group, one of the guys asked Lo if she’d like to play some more volleyball now that she cooled off.  “The game was tied up.  You’re not going to leave it that way, are you?” he asked.

            “What’s wrong with being tied up?” asked Lo suggestively. 

            “I’m game,” said Mark.

            “OK,” said Lo, “Let’s play.”  She and Mark went over and the six of them volleyed.  I saw Lo running and jumping, bending over in a set-stance like Kerri Walsh.  At one point, she ran to hit the ball in the far corner of the impromptu court.  She missed it.  As she fell down and was on all fours, she crawled to the ball and I thought I saw something that I wondered if anyone else saw.  I wondered if it was what I thought it was.  The sand between her knees was wet.  After she tossed the ball to Mark she said, “I have to take a break,” and she came over to me sitting on the towel.  Luckily, Stephanie had gone in the water with her kids and was swimming, seeming to ignore the action of the court. 

            “Lo,” I said, “did you. . .”

            “You saw?!” she asked, mortified.

            “So you did?”

            “Yes.  Accidentally.  Do you think anyone else saw?”

            “Even if they did, your bathing suit is wet from the ocean.  They probably just thought. . .”

            “But Daddio, I gushed.  I’m still gushing,” she said, spreading her legs a bit to show me a burst of clear liquid spraying onto the towel as she accidentally squirted.  “This is bad!” she said, adding, “But it feels so good.”  A look of relief was on her face after her release.

            “Have some water.  Stay hydrated and take it easy.” 

            Lo rolled over on her tum and watched the five guys hitting the ball around. 

            “Lo,” I said, “If you don’t want to have any more accidental orgasms, then stop looking at the eye-candy.”

            “I wish I could,” she said.  “Or I wish I could just get good and fucked right now!”           

Lo lay in her agony only for a little while before Mark quit the game.  The guys had lost interest once Lo bowed out.  Mark rejoined us.    

            Soon thereafter, Stephanie and the kids came back up and all were ready to go home for an early dinner. 

            We went back to Mark and Stephanie’s place.  Stephanie changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt and Mark manned the grill, still in his bathing suit. 

            Lo was back into her cutoff jeans-shorts and bikini top.  No bikini bottoms or panties.  She helped Mark with some food prep in the kitchen before we all sat outside to eat.

            The kids were getting cranky and soon after dinner we left so they could deal with the inevitable melt-down that we could see coming. 

“Match, Cinder & Spark,” great beach reading

            On the ride home Lo said to me, “Did you hear what Stephanie said when Mark commented about the curls of my hair?  She said, ‘You don’t even notice I have hair.’  But honestly, she doesn’t do anything to keep herself up and attractive.  And she doesn’t even have a sex-drive.”

            “Don’t you see the pattern?”

            “What pattern?”

            “The pattern: Hunter and his wife, Mark and Stephanie, Carl and Hollis – so many of them.  These youngish hot guys with very attractive wives and there is just nothing going on.”

            “How is it a pattern?”

            “I’m old enough to have seen the pattern.”

“What pattern?!”  She was getting impatient with my teasing now. 

“Lovely, fun, free-spirited woman (or so she appears) locks that shit down, puts a ring on it, gets married, and no sooner than the last piece of wedding cake is put in the freezer, she chops off her loose long locks, gets a little bob-cut, and then it begins.”

“What begins?”

“Well, with different women the timing may vary, but give the domestic bliss a year or so before she pops out one or two screaming poop-makers and then it’s all sweatpants and sweatshirts all the time.  A few years of that and then she complains to her husband, ‘You wouldn’t even notice if I died my hair purple!  You don’t even see me!’”

“You’re being sexist.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, and I don’t like it.”

When we got home it was chilly out.  “I’m going to get into sweatpants and a sweatshirt,” said Lo, “Is that ok with you or won’t you notice me anymore?” 

“Lo, with you it’s different.”

“How?”

“Cause I know that you’re always naked under those clothes.”

“Naked and wet.”

“Go take a hot shower, hop on the bed, put your beach bum up in the air and await your punishment for your bad behavior today.”

“Really?!” she said with great anticipation.

“Yes, really.”

“Punishment or reward?”

“In my mind it’s a reward.  But I know you prefer to think of it as punishment.”

“I love that you know me so well, Daddy.” 

Accessory to a Masturbator

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Lo’s Nightly Companion – Her Phone

            I was asleep, to begin with.  There is no doubt whatever about that.  It was 4:45 in the a.m. and I was stirred from my slumber by the sonorous buzz of Lo’s vibrator, the rhythmic rattle of the bed, and the blue glow illuminating her face that was so contorted with a look of singular focus and intensity that I thought I was seeing a ghost.  She was lying on her tum, both hands buried under the covers and under her body, the phone propped up on a pillow about six inches in front of her.  From the sound of the Hitachi’s hum and the shaking of the bed, I deduced that she was working her clit with the Magic Wand and her puss with a dildo, leaving no hands free. 

            I opened one eye first and, upon seeing her apparition, I surprised myself with my ability to remain inconspicuous.  I didn’t stir.  I tried to give no hint that I was, in fact, awake – inconsiderately propelled out of my torpor.  I saw her struggle to keep the pleasure points stimulated while simultaneously fumbling through her phone for images. 

            Acutely aware that no mortal would be able to withstand the auto-erotic stimuli that Lo was producing, I announced my awakening by asking Lo, “Can I help you?”

            I was hoping she would be grateful if I would get behind her, replacing her dildo, freeing up one hand so she could scroll through the photos.  But no. 

            “Yeah,” she said, not surprised and unconcerned that I was awake, “swipe left.” 

            I did as she commanded.  I looked at her phone and there were pics of men, women, couples – all getting off to her photos.  As she gazed at each image, she took in the content, and then said, “Swipe.” 

A fan

            She was demanding, insistent, and a tad rude about it.  But she had a goal and nothing was going to get in her way – certainly not good manners. 

            “Swipe,” she said.  I did as told.  Another photo of a guy jacking to her pics.

An Enthusiastic Fan

            “Swipe.”  A photo of a woman jilling to Lo. 

            “Swipe.”  A picture of a couple; the woman gives the guy a blowjob as Lo’s image is on the computer in front of them.

Stella’s Tribute

            “Swipe.”  A man with what looks to be a 12 inch cock.  He holds it with two hands as if wielding it like a weapon.  I hear Lo whisper, “Fuck.”  She scrunched up her legs under her like an inchworm.  The bed rattled.  It’s a big, heavy, solid bed.  It takes a lot for it to rattle. 

Lo said, “Fuck!”  Louder this time.  More angry almost.  I heard the Hitachi click into high gear.  Lo squeezed her eyes closed tightly. 

“FUCK!!!” she called out.  I heard the dildo shoot out of her followed by the sounds of her geyser gushing onto the bed.  She convulsed, clutching the bed sheets, burying her head in the pillow and screaming at the top of her lungs: “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!”

Then silence.  Peace.  Stillness. 

She struggled to lift her head.  When she did, she looked at me.  Tears were streaming down her cheeks. 

“You ok?” I asked.

She nodded, a little ashamed. 

“Feel better?”

She nodded again.

“Ready to sleep?”

She nodded a third time. 

I pulled her head to my chest where she rested it comfortably.  One wet leg was lying flat on the bed nest to my leg.  She lifted the other wet leg and placed it over my legs, parallel to her arm which reached around my chest.  She was wrapped around me like a marsupial clinging to a tree.  I felt her puss still slippery and perhaps ejaculating a dribble more like a leaky faucet on my hips. 

I kissed her forehead and said, “Sleep.”  There was no need.  I could tell by her breathing that she was already in dreamland.   

Meanwhile, my cock was rock hard as the first light of dawn began to illuminate the windows. 

The Porn Identity

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“You are beautiful.  Your eyes are beautiful.  Your mouth is beautiful.  Your breasts are beautiful.  Your cunt is beautiful.”

Lola Down, spread wide

I was reading a message Lo received on her phone from an admirer of the blog.

“A regular Shakespeare, that one,” I said.

“I think it’s sweet,” she responded, as her left hand began to fondle her pussy lips under the covers.

“Sweet?!  He left out your hair, your nose, your neck, your shoulders, your tum, your ass, your legs, your feet, and your toes!”

“I’m sure he was going to get there,” she said matter-of-factly. 

“Can I get there?” I asked, sounding a bit desperate for affection, or her attention. 

“Get where?” she asked, playing with me.

“Anywhere.  Between your legs, ideally.”

“Let’s see where this goes,” she said about her internet friend, unfortunately, and not about my bid for her caress. 

“I know where this goes,” I said, putting her hand on my hard rod.  I was hard because her internet friend had sent a slew of photos of himself jacking off to her pics and cumming all over them.  She looked good in the sexy photos.

“Daddy,” she said, protesting, “I’m busy trying to please my loyal fans.”

“I don’t mind, as long as you do it while spreading your legs.”

“I’m spreading the love.”

“Can you spread the love wide enough for me to get in on it?”

“Your pussy looks pretty and gorgeous,” wrote another fan.

“It is pretty, gorgeous, wet and waiting to be filled,” she wrote back.

“Me, me!” I said, “Pick me.”

“Calm down, Daddio,” she said, full of vanity fed by her fans’ flattery.

“Tell me more about you,” wrote another internet correspondent.

“Read the books,” typed Lo, “There’s too much to tell and too many people to tell it to.”

“You’re hard, girl,” responded the inquirer. 

“Funny, everyone tells me I’m easy,” quipped Lo, “and that makes them hard.”

“I love your stories,” wrote one female fan.

“H.H. writes.  I inspire,” wrote Lo to her.

“Do you inspire with your body?”

“And my wit.”

“I’m inspired right now!” I said to Lo as I grabbed my cock firmly.  “They all are cumming to you.  Can I cum to you?”

“Cum to, on, in, with, over, under, around, beside – I provide the pussy.  You pick the preposition,” she said, dismissively. 

I got up on my knees and stood over her, jacking my cock. 

“Just don’t cum on my phone,” she said as she continued to scroll through her contacts.

She continued to fondle herself beneath me for a while before she said, “Daddio, lie down next to me.  I’ll help you.”

I lay down and she grabbed me by my shaft.  “I’m your righthand man,” I said as she jacked me off with her right and scrolled with her left. 

“My wife is nothing like you,” wrote one desperate, sad husband.

“You two should read our blog together.  It would open up her mind. . . and pussy.”

“I could never suggest it,” he wrote, “she’d freak!”

“But you like it?” asked Lo.

“God yes,” he sighed through the medium of type.

“Tell me what a young, sexy, slutty person such as myself does for you.”

“I’d love to eat your yummy, sloppy, used, cum-filled holes,” he wrote.

“Another bard!” I opined sarcastically.

“Shut up and cum,” commanded Lo as she tugged more aggressively.

“Are you in a rush?” I asked.

“Both hands are full,” she said, “leaving nothing for my snatch.”

“I’ll happily fill that gap.”

“You stay right where you are,” she ordered.

“Has she ever caught you jacking off?” wrote Lo to her married man.

“No.  It would be a big deal if she did.  It would be an even bigger deal if she caught me jacking off to you and not to porn.”

“I am porn,” protested Lo.

“I mean, it’s one thing to get off to anonymous, vacuous, impersonal, professionally produced porn and it’s quite another thing to get off to you.”

“That’s more like it,” responded Lo.

“That’s it, I’m getting up and out of bed,” I said.

“But nooooo.”

“Yes.  You’re just treating my cock like it a joystick to your favorite video game.”

“A game I always win.”

She continued stroking.

“Are you into length or girth?” asked her internet interloper.

“I’m into cock.  And cock gets into me.”

“Once again, I must protest!” I said.  “You’ve got a very capable, compatible, and coveted cock right here, but you’re not letting it into you!”

“What, ole man, my right hand isn’t enough for you?”

“Not when you’re teasing those guys about how fast and loose you like to play.”

A new fan chimed in, “I have to stop sinning.  I’m religious, that’s why I can’t go on doing this.”

“Sex is spiritual.  And I’m a sex goddess.  Worship at my alter,” replied Lo.

“Now you’re offering theology lessons?” I chided.

“No.  Just encouraging them to be good semenarians.” 

“That was terrible.  Low hanging fruit,” I replied.

She cupped my testicles and said, “Very low hanging.”

“Oh, does your wit never cease?!”

Now she squeezed my balls to show me that I had better be careful about mocking her.

Another woman asked Lo if she liked taboo tales.  To which Lo responded, “How taboo are we talking here?”

The woman said she was into watersports and bestiality.

Lo wrote back, “Let’s knot.”

“Don’t you mean. . . oooooh, I get it,” I said. 

“Woof!” she said to me.

The woman, whose name was Mila Beijne., went on to tell a little story.

I was a model a few years back and after doing a shoot I was talking a bit with the photographer, the lighting guy and his assistant.  They invited me to their home.  I trusted them and liked them.  We were all horny and I was willing, I admit.  At the photographer’s home we had some drinks and then they slowly undressed me.  They got naked too. They were all good looking men and one was really hung. They kissed me everywhere and started fucking me in my mouth, pussy, and ass.  I was very horny. After quite a long time, they changed positions, each taking a different hole.  Then they rotated again and fucked me a long time again till I was exhausted.  They filled me up in every place they could.  But the fun was not over yet.  One put me on the floor and the other started urinating over me. Then the other two joined in.  It was a lot and all over my body and in my long hair.  There was no shower, so it was a special experience driving home.  It was my first time doing that and I liked how the act showed their dominance over me.

Mila asked to be included.
Mila B. through the years

            I could see Lo getting increasingly more excited as she read the short little story from Mila.  She quickly wrote back, “Yeah, HH does that to me.  I love it.  Being below him, feeling his warm stream flow over my back and butt.”

            “We haven’t done that in a while,” I reminded her. 

            She ignored me because another fan had written to her.  This guy was old.  I mean, like twenty years older than I and I’m in my 50’s!  His name was Bob and he wrote:

Hi Lola, and thank you!  You are an inspiration to me.  I hope  you can give me some advice.
I’m in my 70’s and I’ve been in a relationship for over 25 years.  No passion or sex for the last 20 years.  I’m at a loss as it has become impossible to talk about it with her.  I’ve made the mistake of combining our lives and living situations this whole time.  It has become all about her for the last several years.  I feel I’m too old to begin another relationship with a woman, yet I still admire all women and all that I see on your blog.  I’ve even become curious about men as I feel that may be the only way to explore my unresolved sexual fantasies.  Yet I’m still conflicted as I long for an intimate relationship that I’ve missed in my life. 

Do you have any suggestions??

            Lola wrote back, “To tell you the truth, Bob, I’m just good wanking material, but I’m not a sex coach or a sex therapist. You might want to check out one of these trained professionals to get some expert advice on having more sex with spirit.” She provided a link.  Then she added, “But if you’re looking for a real hotwife, cum to me.”

            “What?!” I said to her, shocked that she’d even offer that to him. 

She ignored me and typed, “I have a very soft spot for old married men whose wives no longer have sex with them.  Would you like to see it?”

Of course he said yes.  Lo sent him a naughty pic of the place between her legs that she was denying to me. 

“Lo, that’s just cruel!” I said.

“What?  Soon you’re going to be that old and you’d want the same from me.  Wouldn’t you?”

“What’s cruel is that I’m that old man who is being denied right now!”

“If what I’m giving you isn’t good enough, then take matters into your own hands,” she said. 

            As she said it, another married man was singing her praises in a message that read, “I’ve come to worship your holy holes.”

            “See,” she said, “I’ve got fans who know how to woo me.”

            “Woo you?  They worship you!”

            “What’s the difference?”

            After some flirtatious back-and-forth, Lo asked to see a pic of the man’s wife.

            He asked why she wanted to see that and Lo responded, “I like to see who I’m beating out when guys are beating off to me.”

            The guy sent a photo.  His wife was beautiful.  But apparently she lacked the ‘personality’ of Lo.  He wanted to know more about Lo and he asked her questions.

“I’m like an open book, there for anyone to read,” she responded, “You just have to know where to find me.  Are you familiar with the Dewey Decimal system?”

            “Like, in the library?”

            “Yeah.”

            “So, I can find you in my local library?”

            “If only,” wrote Lo, “I’m indexed under XXX.” 

            “As in 30?” he wrote with a winkface emoji.  “Still pretty young.”

            “Pretty, young, and slutty.  I’ll tell you what, you can virtually finger my folios at: mysexlifewithlola.com,” she said, “and you can also buy the books there.  I suggest you get a few copies of each and donate the extras to your local library so everyone can spread my centerfold for free.” 

            As Lo was typing, she guided my cock to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip.  She looked up at me as her hand continued to glide back and forth from the base to her mouth.  I began to cum and she hungrily held me in place so as not to spill a drop.  I was so worked up that I couldn’t control my convulsions.  I began breathing deep, heavy breaths.  Lo looked up at me and said, “What?!  Are you having a stroke?”

When I finally managed to catch my breath, I looked down at her and said, “Yeah, I’m having a stroke.  A really good stroke.”

Lo wrote a final line to her fans: “Good night all you kinky sexy rogues.  Dream of me in your debauched nocturnal thoughts.”

She put her phone down, grabbed her Hitachi, lay back, shut her eyes, and began vibrating until she was the one violently convulsing, squirting, and gasping for air. 

When she was done and had removed the Magic Wand from between her legs, she grabbed my hand and placed it on her bare pussy for me to feel how wet she was.  She’s proud that she can turn on the tap almost at will. 

“Pull my pussy lips, Daddy,” she said.  I stretched them.  “Harder.”  I pulled more.  “Harder Daddy,” she complained.

“Lo, if I pull them any further they’ll be down to your knees.”

“Try it,” she said.  She likes the pain or pleasure. 

As I pulled I asked her, “What were you thinking about when you came?”

“I think about you.” 

This line from her was as false as Marlow telling Kurtz’s betrothed that Kurtz’s last words were her name. 

“OK, that’s enough of that,” I said, calling bullshit.  “What did you really think about?”

“I think about you,” she said.  “And I think about cock.  I think about a lot of cock.”

“That’s it?”

“And pussy.”

I gave up there knowing that the litany of licentious thoughts could go on endlessly.  I sat silently and she mistook my silence for judgment. 
            “You don’t know what it’s like to be me!” she blurted out defensively. 

“Oh yeah, you’ve got it so hard,” I said sarcastically.

“I wish,” she said even more sarcastically as she lifted up my flaccid member in her hand. 

“You know,” I said, “your porn persona and your personality are not consistent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“All those people out there thinking you’re a nymphomaniac, thinking that I am so inundated with your pussy that I barely can find a moment’s peace, yet the reality is that you denied me just now.”

“There’s no inconsistency.”

“How not?”

“Because I know you’re going to write about this and so it will be part of my porn persona.”

April Showers

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1


It was one of those strange April nights when the temperature drops twenty degrees from the daytime high of 68, the wind rustles up the new buds on the trees outside, and from out of the darkness, lighting, thunder, and downpours fill the sky.  Lola couldn’t sleep.  When I got to bed she said, “I’ve tried everything.  I’ve tried meditation, masturbation, guided meditation, guided masturbation. . .”

            “Wait.  What is ‘guided masturbation’?”

            “Oh, well, I called up a friend and asked him to tell me how he wants me to masturbate,” she said as if it were no big deal.

            “You did?”

            She nodded her head in affirmation and pouted saying, “But it didn’t help.”

            “I bet it helped him.  Why didn’t you call me?”

            “You were working hard, Daddy.”

            “So?” I asked, frustrated by the thought that she’d rather hear inappropriate instructions from one of her suitors than from me.

            “Are you still hard at work?” she asked seductively, rubbing my crotch to gauge my state of arousal. 

            “Work hard, play hard,” I said, as I pulled out my manhood for her to see.   

She grabbed it while licking her lips. 

            “You know I’m not just a sex organ,” I said.

            “I think your brain is a sex organ,” she replied as she went down on me.

            “In that case, I have a very large sex organ.”

            She interrupted her activity to look up at me and say, “And growing larger.”

            “I’m not that big,” I said.

            “I meant your ego.”

            “I’ll have you know, I’m very humble.”

            “Looks to me, you have a lot to be humble about,” she said caustically.

            “What do you mean?”

            She pulled down the sheets to reveal her huge horse-cock dildo on the bed next to her, still glistening. 

            “I’m so big, wide, and wet that I wouldn’t feel any bit of you.”

            “Care to test that hypothesis?”

            “I’m stretched to my limit.”

            “You have a limit?  That’s news to me!”

            “‘Limit’ is a flexible term.  Like ‘full’ or ‘fucked.’”

            “Oh, so it’s elastic?”

            “Yeah, it can be used in many different ways.”

            “Depends on who’s using it.”

            “Right.  It takes a lot of abuse, but it is never exhausted.”

            “Never wears out.”

            “Right.”

            “Like this terrible pun.”

            “What pun?”

            “Are we still talking about ‘limit’?”

            “I wasn’t, were you?”

            “Darling, you certainly do push the limits.”

            “What limits?”

            “All of them.  But the real question is, why did you call on some other guy for your ‘guided masturbation’ when you could have called upon me?”

            “So many married men turn to me for sweet release.  I’m a goddess of pussy.  I answer to the call of depravity.”

            “But you called him!”

            “Well, I saw that he had posted a pic of a cumtribution he had made for another girl and he wrote, ‘For my beautiful cum slut.’  I called him to remind him that I am his beautiful cum slut.”

            “You think you’re everyone’s beautiful cum slut.”

            “Well, aren’t I?”

            “Everyone but mine, I guess.”

            “Oh, Daddy,” she said, still holding my cock firmly in her hand, “would you make a cumtribution for me?  Would you jack it to my photos and cum all over them?”

            “Lo, why would I do that when I have you right here, in the flesh?”

            “To show me your unfailing love.”

            “Lo, I write thousands upon thousands of pages of poetry for you, but you’d rather I grab my masculine member and stroke it until I ejaculate a hot mess over your image?”

            “I call it giving tribute to my icon.”

            “Because you’re a goddess of pussy.”

            “Now you’re turning me on!”

            “Those are your words.”

            “Well, you feel that way, don’t you?”

            “How could I not, darling.  It is the truth.”

            “So you’ll make an offering at my virtual alter?”

            “If you want me to, I will.”

            “Now?”

            “Whenever you say.”

            “No, not now.  I want you to do it when I’m away.  Now you can enter my holy temple.”

            “But I thought I wouldn’t even feel you.”

            “You won’t and I won’t feel you, but why should that stop us from fucking?”

            I got between her legs and entered her.  She was right – it was like a mere mortal entering the pearly gates.  However, that only made it more alluring for me.  She could tell I was getting turned on. 

“Cum inside me,” she said.

“Put your fingers inside you, right where you want me to cum.”

She inserted almost her whole fist along over my cock and I could feel her fingering her G-spot. 

“There,” she said, “right there.”

I came and came with force all over her fingers.  She gripped my cock with her hand inside her and milked it for every drop. 

When I pulled out, she said she was going to clean up.  I drifted off on the bed until I heard her calling out for God from the shower.  It startled me.  I navigated the thick cloud of steam to find her squatting on the shapely bottle of Dove shampoo, rubbing her clit, and cumming uncontrollably.  (Do they make the bottles that shape for that purpose or did she buy that brand because of its ergonomic contours?  The questions Lo causes me to ask.)

I disappeared into the fogbank as stealthily as I had entered it.  I went back to the bed.  When she climbed in naked next to me, I held her warm body. 

“Just in time,” I said.

“Just in time for what?” she asked.

“Tomorrow is the first of May.”

“Hooray!  Hooray!  It’s the first of May!” she sung, “Outdoor fucking starts today!”

“No, silly,” I said.  “April showers.”

“Oooooh,” she said, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you see my pink flower.”

“Me and the rest of the world.”

“A beautiful flower should not be hidden away to be seen only by one man.”

Tent Talk

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3


The Red Dress

            “No!  No way!  Uh-uh.  I’m not going.”

            “Please, Daddio.”

            “Stop it.  You won’t get me to go by doing that,” I said as Lo batted her lashes at me, reached for my cock, and rubbed her hips up against my leg.

            “It will be fun.”

            “Fun?  Your idea of fun and mine are very different.”

            “I don’t think so.”

            “You think another wedding will be fun?”

            “The last one was, remember?”

            “I remember – the food was beyond blasé, the music was mediocre, and the people were piss-poor conversationalists.”

            “Oh, Daddy.  Don’t you remember what we did in the bathroom?”

            “That was its only redeeming feature.”

            “I have a lot of redeeming features,” she said, pulling her breast out of her blouse.

            “You need a lot of redeeming, darling.”

            “Suck it,” she commanded.

            I bent my head down to her nipple and did as she asked.

            “Bite down.”

            I followed her instruction.

            “Harder.”

            I did as she wished.

            “Mmmmmm, that’s it.  Make it hurt.  Pull it with your teeth.”

            I pulled.

            “Let’s go fuck,” she said, removing her blouse and lifting up her skirt, running down the hallway.  I followed her, but she stopped me at the door to the bedroom.  “No, wait,” she said, “I have a better idea.”

            “A better idea than fucking?”

            “Well, it involves fucking.”

            “I see.  What’s your idea?”

            “I’ll change into the different outfits I might wear to this wedding and you can fuck me in each of them.  At the end, you can tell me which is the one you want me to wear.”

            She shut the door and when she opened it again she was wearing a little white blouse and a short skirt and heels.  No panties.  She lifted up the skirt and bent over the bed.  “How’s this?” she asked.

            I entered her from behind and said, “This will do.”

            After she came, she pushed me out.  “I have to try on another outfit.  Give a girl some privacy to change.”

            She shut the door again.  When she opened it, she was wearing a tight blue dress and strappy heels.  “Thoughts?” she asked as she lifted up the dress from behind and bent over the bed. 

            I repeated the process again.  “I like this, but not as much as the other.  Too fancy.”

            Now she pushed me away again and she shut the door in my face.  When it opened, she was wearing a short red dress.  “This?”

            “This is by far the best!”  She looked like a little harlot and she lifted up the back to show me how ready she was for a third go-round. 

            “So you’ll come?” she asked.

            “Yes,” I said, meaning that I’d cum.

            “No, you’d better not fucking cum on this dress,” she said over her shoulder.  “I’m not paying to have this dry-cleaned.  I mean, you’ll come to the wedding.”

            “Yes dear,” I said reluctantly, “You know you always get your way.”

            “Don’t you like my way?” she asked as she slammed her ass into my hips again and again and reached back with her right hand to massage her perineum.

            “Your way is the best,” I said, pulling out and telling her to get on her knees as I came into her mouth and she hungrily devoured me. 

            My reluctance to go was twofold.  First, I simply detest weddings.  Call me a curmudgeon, call me jaded, call me a stick-in-the-mud, but if you’re getting married, don’t call me.  Second, I found it particularly challenging to be happy for the “happy” couple, knowing full well that they really weren’t happy together but rather, felt this to be the next logical step in their relationship.  Relationships based on logic are not relationships based on love.  Logic has its own sort of force, but not the mystical force exerted by love. 

            However, countering these two weighty reasons for declining our invitation were two weightier reasons to concede to the social obligation: an open bar and the prospect of seeing Lo on the dance floor in that red dress.  If two people are fool enough to get engaged and ultimately get married, if those same two people are fool enough to invite me to their party and supply free food and adult beverages all night, really, who am I to stand in the way of my happiness? 

            So I went.  This was no conventional wedding and thank God for that!  It was not at some swanky hotel or a low-budget VFW hall.  It was being held at a mountaintop private residence.  As such, the bride and groom were welcome to use the grounds, but not the dwelling.  A big-top tent was rented and set up and, as accommodations for the guests, we were welcome to pitch our own tents in order to avoid the treacherous hair-pin curves of the dirt road back down into the valley at night. 

            Lo and I arrived around noon and, though we thought we were early, to our surprise we found that the pre-nuptial festivities were already in full swing.  Beer kegs were strategically placed around the expansive lawn, games of Frisbee, croquet, and bocce were being played.  We mingled, took some pics of the vista overlooking the river basin below, and we drank and had lunch before setting up camp. 

            By two o’clock a sprawling tent city was emerging and we were lucky enough to find a level spot on some soft grass right at the corner of this temporary village.  As we unpacked the tent and the air mattress, a young couple pulled up in their Subaru Outback and began setting up their tent next door to ours.  Everyone was in a jubilant mood and the fella turned to me and said, “Not a lot of space here for all of us.”

            “No,” I replied, neighborly. 

            “We’re practically right on top of one another,” he remarked.  It was true, there was so little room between tents that we couldn’t even spread the lines to tether down the tent with the stakes. 

            “I wouldn’t mind being right on top of him,” Lo said under her breath to me.  I saw her lick her lips as she watched him nimbly unpack the suitcases from the car into their tent. 

            “I hope you two don’t mind,” he practically called out to us, “but we’re planning on trying to make a baby tonight.”

            I had no idea what the neighborly thing to respond was, so I just looked dumbfounded until his wife yelled at him, “What did you just say?”

            “I said, we are hoping to make a baby tonight.”

            “Oh my God,” she said, “You have to excuse him, he’s a redneck country boy,” she said apologetically.  “You keep your mouth shut and just set up the tent,” she called to her husband.

            “What?” he asked, “I’m just giving them fair warning.” 

            She was an attractive brunette, in her mid-thirties I’d guess, and clearly in love with the somewhat dim-witted, yet well-intentioned beau of hers. 

            The two of them made some small talk with us as we put the finishing touches on our new homes – asking how we knew the bride or the groom, where we were from, etc.  At one point he turned to me and said, in confidence, “How old are you?”

            “How old do you think I am?” I asked back.

            “I’d say at least forty-five,” he said, being honest, though not necessarily polite.

            “Well, you’re in the ballpark, if you add about five or so years.”

            “And what about her?” he asked, nodding over to Lo.

            “What do you think?” I said, turning it back to him.

            “Twenty, twenty-two maybe.”

            “Again, you’re close,” I said.

            “You lucky dawg!” he said, slapping my back with a big smile.

Soon they and we went our separate ways.  There must have been at least two hundred guests attending this affair and so we didn’t actually see them again that evening.  I told Lo about his untoward questions and remarks and she smiled, contentedly, while her words denounced his lack of couth.   

            The rest of the day and night went much as you’d expect – cocktails were served along with hors d’oeuvres.  As the sun was getting low making for the perfect romantic lighting, the bride and groom were escorted down the grassy out-door isle to the perfect spot with a backdrop of mountains descending toward the horizon in the distance.  The speeches were made, the vows were exchanged, the public display of affection put on for the guests.  I, for my part, held back my applause, reserving judgment for later years. 

            The band came out and dancing under the stars and in the tent commenced along with copious amounts of alcohol being consumed.  Perhaps as a result of the fresh air or all the dancing, the effects of the alcohol upon me were negligible in comparison with what I ingested. 

            The stars were bright, the air was warm with a slight breeze, and music was wafting over the grounds.  Lo was happy to be dancing in my arms and before too long she pulled me aside and said, “Daddy, let’s go to the tent.”  It wasn’t so early; already some couples had made their exits.  But the party was still at critical mass. 

            Nevertheless, Lo and I led each other through the ever darkening expanse of land to the tent city where, after taking a moment for our eyes to adjust, we figured out which tent was ours.  In through the zipper door we climbed, out of our party attire we slipped, and into each other’s arms we sprung. 

            Tents are never ideal places for frolics in bed – firstly, because there is no bed per se.  Secondly, because open sleeping bags slip and slide and bunch up and disappear in the darkness.  Be that as it may, we found a way to make it work.

            We were lying on top of one of the sleeping bags and under the other one.  We were spooning.  My arms were wrapped around her naked body and her round bum was pressed up against my pelvis.  She could feel my manhood growing hard.  My hands groped her breasts.  Her tush pushed harder on my hardness.  She reached behind her and began stroking it.  She pointed it at her target and it slid right in.

            “Do I feel tight or loose?”

            “Tight.”

            “Wet?”

            “Very.”

            “Do you like?” she asked as I protruded deeper into her.

            When we were done, we turned on the flashlight to remake the “bed” (air mattress) and cuddle up next to each other – big and little spoon – for warmth, though the air had only cooled a little and we hoped that no one heard our kinky taboo sweet nothings. 

            Only a few minutes had passed before we heard our neighbors unzip their tent and clumsily get into bed.  They must have set up their interior so that their heads were right by ours, because we could hear every word they whispered. 

            “Shhh, Sam, you’ll wake everyone up,” she said.

            “No one’s around,” said Sam.

            “Yes they are,” she whispered back.  “I just saw the light go out in their tent when we were walking here.”

            “Then they’re not asleep.”

            “Shhhh,” she said back.

            There was some rustling and movement and then we heard some giggles on her part followed by a zipping sound (the sleeping bag) and some more rustling.  Lo was kissing me when we heard her moan.  It didn’t take long before they had worked themselves into a rhythmic slip-sliding sound and we could hear the heavy breathing.  Lo reached down and grabbed my hardening cock.  We heard the wife moan and it sounded like she was in bed with us. 

            Lo got on all fours, her head facing the neighbors’ tent, and she nudged me to get behind her.  As I entered her, she also moaned.  We heard the rhythm of the neighbors stop cold for a second and then, when Lo moaned again, it picked up. 

            I was very self-conscious and I could hear my hips slapping up against Lo’s ass as Lo began to breath more heavily.  Soon she was whispering, “Yes, yes.”  We heard the neighbor wife call, “Fuck, that feels good.  Harder, Sam.”

            That just spurred Lo on to be louder with her, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” in time with my thrusts. 

            Now it was feeling like a competition – who could go longer, who would be louder.  It was odd, there in the darkness, as if we were in the same room, yet not.  The simultaneous orgy and privacy was getting us very worked up and I think Lo wasn’t able to control it any longer – she started crying out, “Fuck, I’m cumming.   Fuck!  Deeper!  Hold it.  Hold.  It.  Stay.  Right.  There.” 

            As she did so, our female neighbor began growling through her grit teeth.  She was cumming too and it was an angry, intense orgasm. 

            When we were all done and lying down, I’m not sure who started it but there was giggling and soon we were all giggling before Lo said, “Good night,” to our neighbors and they responded with a very warm, “Sleep tight!”  

Lola is Cumming

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            It’s almost like it’s a trade – sex for her stories.  I feel like I get the better part of the bargain: both sex and her stories.

            More gently than before, I entered her and held her in my arms as her lips whispered in my ear.  “Daddy,” she said.

            “Yes?”

            “I have to tell you something.  But it’s really embarrassing.”

            “What is it?  You can tell me.”

            “No.  It’s a really strange kink.”

            “Nothing’s strange between us,” I said.

            “Well, you know how I’ve been reading and watching Game of Thrones?”

            “Yes.”

            “You know that I know.”

            “Well, there’s one character on there who really gets me all twitterpated.” 

            I know precious little about Game of Thrones, so I didn’t even dare venture a guess.  I do know, from all the press, that there is a lot of sex and violence on it.  Lots of big, buff men and buxom, beautiful women.  The odds are that all of them get Lo twitterpated. 

            “Who might that be?” I inquired.

            “You’re going to think I’m weird.”

            “Lo, you’re delightfully different.”

            “Well,” she said, as she turned onto her back so she could see my face as she told me.  “There’s a character named Tyrion Lannister.”

            “Yeah?” I said, not sure what that meant.

            “He’s played by Peter Dinklage.”

            “OK,” I said, still not getting the full import of her revelation.

            “You know, from Elf.  The ‘south pole’ elf.”

            “Oh!” I said, picturing him in my mind, “Ooooohhhhh,” I said again, realizing what she was implying. 

            “Ooooohhhhh,” she said, her eyes shut, as she enjoyed my pole.

            “But Lo. . . ?”

            “So many fantasies about Snow White,” is all she said before she gushed gallons over me as I pulled my sword from her stone.

            When she was done anointing my blade with her holy water, she asked, “Weird, right?”

            “Whatever floats your boat, Lo,” I said.  “Speaking of which, I think we need to change these sheets.”

            Is there any fetish, kink, or taboo that she hasn’t been into?

Living the Dream

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Image by Timo Schmidt, Model: Lola Down

            It was the first of the month.  Lo and I have a little tradition of saying “Rabbit, rabbit,” to each other on the first of the month.  I woke up next to her and I whispered it to her. 

            “More like ‘grab it, grab it,’” she replied.

            “What?  Why?”

            “Because, you were clinging to me all night, grabbing my tits, stroking my puss.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.

            “Don’t be,” she retorted, “I liked it.  But it gave me crazy dreams.”

            “Like what?”

            “I dreamed that we were on vacation in Hawaii with our friends.  We had rented a minivan, but I just needed to get off.  The minivan was old, loud, and rumbly.  I pulled out my Hitachi from my suitcase and began using it.  I was about to cum when someone noticed.  So I put it away.”

            “That’s not like you.”

            “Yeah,” she said, “it was a dream.  Next thing I knew, we were on the beach and my Hitachi was in my hand.  I put it down my bikini bottoms.”

            “There are no electrical outlets on the beach.”

            “It was a dream.”

            “Right.”

            “And I was about to climax when I opened my eyes and suddenly saw that there was a crowd of people surrounding me, watching me.  So I stopped again.”

            “Again, not like you.”

            “This starting and stopping, edging and trying again went on a lot.”

            “Do you want to get off now?”

            “So badly.”

            “Do you want your Hitachi or me?”

            “Tough question.”

            “Which do you like more?”

            “My Hitachi.”

            “Really?”

            “Then you.”

            “Oh.”

            “Then my Hitachi again.”

            “I see.”

            “My Hitachi is like icing on the cake.  No matter how good the cake is, you always want icing after it.”

            “But you said your Hitachi first.”

            “Well, you always want icing.  But just icing isn’t as good as icing with cake.”

            “So, what do you want now?  Do you want your Hitachi as I jack it over you?”

            “That sounds good.”

            She pulled out her Hitachi from under the bed.  She turned it on.  She spread her legs and placed it between them.  I was on my knees over her, pulling at my long, hard shaft, watching her every move. 

            “You know,” I said, “I had a dream too.”

            She didn’t reply.

            “I dreamt that you were out on a date with a tall, think, dark Jamaican man with long dreadlocks.  I found the two of you in the front row of a movie theater making out.”

            “The front row?” she asked.  “That’s a bit conspicuous.”

            “It was a dream.”

            “I like it.”

            “And then I came home and found the two of you on the couch, still making out.”

            “Were you jealous?”

            “No, I was turned on.”

            She came, squirting all over my knees. 

            “Come here,” she said, as she rolled over on her tum.  “Get inside me.”

            I slid right in with my tum pressed on her back.

            “Do I feel tight or loose?”

            “You feel loose and wet.  Very wet.”

            “Fuck me harder.”

            I thrust with more force.

            “Daddy, please, fuck me.  Fuck me harder.”

            “I would, but I’m afraid I’ll push you right into the headboard.”

            “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said, “Just fuck me with everything you got.”

            I pushed into her repeatedly.  As I predicted, her head was banging the headboard of the bed with a rhythmic pounding.  She just called out, “Yeah, yeah, harder!  Don’t stop.  Fuck.  I’m going to squirt.  Stay in there.  Don’t. . .”

            She began squirting and her cunt convulsed on my cock, squeezing me right out.  It’s damn near impossible to stay in her when she has an intense orgasm like that. 

            “Hurry up,” she said, “Get back in me!”

            “I can’t,” I complained, “You’re all clenched up.  Try to relax.”

            She did, which unleashed a gush of more juice, soaking the sheets. 

            “I want you to cum,” she said as she backed her ass up and slid her puss over my pole again. 

            “You liked my dream?” I asked.

            “Yes.  Maybe you were holding me so tightly that our dreams were interwoven.”

            “Are you cumming again?” I asked. 

            “No, not yet.”

            “Good, don’t.  Flip over,” I commanded.

            She turned onto her back and spread her legs.  I pulled out my dripping rod and stroked it back and forth.

            “What are you doing?” she asked.

            “Playing foosball.  What’s it look like I’m doing?  I’m stroking myself to your amazing body.”    

            She grabbed her Hitachi again and put it between her legs as she watched me.  “Just like the guys on the beach,” she said. 

            With that thought, I began to cum.  She saw what was happening, and like an acrobat, she swiveled her body around so that her face was now under my balls and she put out her tongue to catch might release.

            When I was done and she had a grin on her face, I said, “A nutritious breakfast.”

            “Yeah, but now I’m in the mood for cake with icing and pancakes.”

            “Pancakes?”

Or, see me and cum.

            “Or at least pancake batter, cause that’s what your cum reminds me of.”

Cliterotica

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[In honor of all our friends, such as Cara, Hy, Catherine, and of course, Michael & Molly, who are attending Eroticon this weekend, a little fantasy of what we envision our attending it to be like. Hopefully next year.]

Drawing of Lola by nglare

            “LOLA” – her name lit up the marquee.  As we approached the theater from the street, slick from the recent rain, Lo looked up and said, “Big, bright, beautiful, and inviting.  That’s me alright!”

            We were in England for the annual Literotica convention and somehow we were the headline event for this evening’s performances.  Lo was giddy with excitement. 

            Entering the theater from the side door for performers, there was a flurry of activity backstage.  Everyone was primping and preparing.  Lo, herself, had tried on three different outfits and five different pairs of shoes before settling on the glittery gold sequin top, the slinky green skirt, and the flashy four-inch heels.  “Green and gold,” I said, “the colors of money.”

            We were there to do a reading and book signing, but Lo had plans for oh so much more than that.  Her Marina Abramovic performance-art streak was activated and she had conspired with me to put on a show.  We were to be a Penn & Teller style duet.  She’d be Penn, the showman, and I’d be Teller, the silent sidekick.  She had her props: a little wooden lectern on which she put the book, some paints, paint brushes, markers, and a sign.  The sign read:

Match, Vol. I – $35

Match, Vol. II – $20

Match, Vol. III – $20

Complementary with your purchase:

Squeeze

Tease

Pull

Paint

Draw

Write

Kiss

Suck

Cum

NOT ALLOWED:

Penetration of any sort

Photos

(Mild BDSM is ok)

All prices USD

            After the opening acts, we were introduced to a loud round of applause.  I got butterflies in my stomach and I’m sure Lo did as well.  We took our places on the otherwise empty wooden stage under the hot spotlights.  I stood next to Lo at the lectern with three stacks of books and my portable credit card swipe device plugged into my phone.

            Lo opened the books to the places she had specially chosen for this event and read some select passages: The preface to Vol I, penned by her; the encomium to the color red; a few poems.  As she read each passage in her sweetly seductive voice, she slowly removed first one and then the other strap of her blouse and let it fall, revealing her breasts.  She then wriggled out of both the blouse and her skirt until she stood stark naked but for her sexy heels.  The poems were read in the buff. 

            When she was done the music began – selections of songs mentioned in the books.  I invited the audience members who had pre-purchased books to step up and have Lola sign them while they each took a turn participating in one of the activities mentioned on Lo’s sign. 

            The first ones in line were a bit shy and timid.  They ventured a kiss or a gentle tug on Lo’s nipples while she leaned over to sign one of the gloss nude photographs of her in the book.  A few others took up the Sharpie pen and wrote love notes to Lo on various parts of her body.  Some wrote “Slut” or “hotwife” or “cum here” with an arrow pointing to her puss. 

            As the audience saw the performance taking place, those without books were eager to get in line and I began selling our inventory.  Men took out their cocks and began stroking as they eagerly awaited their turn in line. 

            Some of them stroked it next to Lola as she signed the books and wrote cute comments about the men’s anatomy in the margins. 

            The first man to cum did so on Lo’s feet, filling up her shoes with warm jizz.

            The next man to cum had a powerful ejaculation and managed to hit Lo’s tits with remarkable aim.  He even got a bit of applause!

            A woman was in line and she gave Lo a very warm kiss on the lips and then slid her tongue down Lo’s neck to her glazed breasts and cleaned off the previous customer’s cumtribution. 

            This performance went on for some time, until we sold out of all our books!

            Unfortunately for Lo, all of this fun foreplay was merely a tantalizing orgasm tease.  She whispered in my ear and I briefly disappeared off stage to grab Lo’s favorite toy from one of the event sponsor’s display: The Hitachi Magic Wand.  We plugged it into an extension cord and I brought the large, white device to Lo who proceeded to use it on her clit while sitting in a high stool.  She spread her legs and, within only a few moments filled with tension and anticipation, Lo finally gushed with an torrential outpour of emotion, release, and fluid that covered the stage. 

            After her grand finale, some stage hands appeared at Lo’s side with warm, wet towels and they cleaned her off.  One of them gently removed Lo’s feet, one at a time, from her shoes and wiped them down.  Another person mopped the wooden floor.  Once Lo was cleaned off, she got dressed again and we walked off the stage.  Before exiting, though, Lo took a long bow, but not to the audience, but to the wings of the stage, thus giving the audience one last look up her skirt. 

            Congratulations were showered on Lo and me from our fellow literotica friends and authors and we got ready for the afterparty.

The Orgasm Gap

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lola Fingering Stoya

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

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

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

            And then the other night. . . .

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

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

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

            “Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

            “Why should I be mad?” I responded.

            “Get naked and I’ll tell you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Fine, get her out,” she said.

            “You’ll hold it for me?”

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

            “Comfortable?” she asked.

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

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

            “Not as much as fucking you.”

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

Stoya’s Lovely Lady Parts

            I was getting very turned on by her dirty words.

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

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

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

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

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

Lola’s Lolvely Lady Parts

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