“Fuck! I hope that never happens again!” she blurted
out as she entered the house.
I
had been quietly sitting on the couch, perched in my usual spot, writing, when
she burst in with a flare for the dramatic.
“What
happened?” I inquired, merely raising an eyebrow.
“Get
in the bedroom and I’ll tell you.”
That
can only mean one thing.
I
saved my work, closed my laptop, and followed her to the bedroom. By the time I got there she was already
naked, her legs spread wide, her right hand slapping her pussy with a small
splash.
“What
are you waiting for?” she asked impatiently.
“I
came as fast as I could,” I said as I began removing my clothes.
“Well,
don’t cum as fast as you can now if you want to hear what I have to tell you.”
I
slid into her already lubricated puss and she let out a gasp of relief.
“Am
I wet, Daddy?” she asked.
“A
juice box,” I said. “What is going on?”
She
didn’t speak immediately. She was
enjoying the ride. Her hands had moved
to her sides and she was pulling her ass cheeks, spreading herself as wide as
she could go.
“Can
you feel me?” she asked.
“Almost
not at all. Like fucking a bathtub full
of warm water.”
That
was enough to bring her to a mild squirting orgasm as her puss gently gurgled,
soaking me, the bed, and her ass.
“Harder,
Daddy. Faster.”
“If
you tell me what’s going on, I’ll fuck you like a jackhammer.”
I
sped up my rhythm and increased my force.
Lola’s Yoga Pants
“That’s
it,” she said, her eyes shut. “I’m so
wet. So fucking wet.”
“I
can tell,” I said, “but not for me I bet.”
“I
was at the gym,” she began, as the scene played out before her shut eyes, “in
my grey yoga pants.” She paused.
“Yes,”
I said, bringing her back to the here-and-now.
“And
I was on the adductor machine, working on my inner thighs when I noticed the
guy in front of me. He was doing pull
ups directly in my line of sight.
Unconsciously I was watching his body go up and down while I was working
my legs. Then I noticed that I was
watching him – his bulging biceps, the ripples of his shoulders, his broad
chest. His shirt was short, so I could
see his abs, and then I looked a little lower and saw just how huge his cock
was. Every time he went up and down, I
was spreading and then clenching my legs together. I became self-conscious of what I was doing
and looked up to see if he noticed me.
Our eyes met for a moment and then. . .”
She
climaxed again; this time much harder than before.
When
she regained her composure, I asked, “And then what happened.”
“Daddy,
it’s too embarrassing!”
“What?”
“As
I was spreading my legs, completely involuntarily and without warning I. . .”
she trailed off.
“You
what?”
“I
came. I squirted. I felt myself drenching my yoga pants until
they were dripping. And he saw it
all! I immediately closed my legs
together and pretended to take a sip from my water bottle and somehow made it
look like I had spilled it on my lap. I
ran out of there as fast as I could! Oh
my God! I can never go back there
again!!!”
As
she told me this, I had slowed and almost stopped thrusting, I was so engrossed
in her story. But then she rebuked
me. “Don’t stop. Come on.
Fuck me. Use me. Fill me up.”
“Lo,”
I said apologetically, “I can’t even feel you, you’re so wet.”
“Forget
it!” she commanded, angry at me.
She
pulled away so I slid out of her. She reached
under the bed, grabbed her horse-cock dildo and said, “You can watch, if you
want, but I need something that’s going to really fill me up.”
She
stuck it to the headboard of the bed and backed into it as I was on my knees in
front of her, stroking my cock.
“Are
you thinking of him?” I asked as she thrusted back into the cock vigorously
with her eyes closed.
“Yes,”
she said honestly.
“You
think he’d fill you like that?”
“Yes,”
she said.
I
could see that I may have been distracting her from whatever fantasy was
playing out in her mind, so I continued with my masturbatory movements in silence
as I watched her tits hang down and rock back and forth, thinking about what
that guy must have thought of her in the gym.
Suddenly I came, shooting my pent-up love all over her face. It was a surprise to her because her eyes
were still shut. When she realized what
I had done, it sent her into a violent hysterical paroxysm, the likes of which
I had not seen in a very long time.
Her
arms spread forward and her body bowed down making a “Downward Dog” movement as
her cunt clenched the long, thick cock behind her.
When
she regained consciousness, she said, “Maybe I’m just not made for city
life. Maybe I’m meant to keep in shape
by working on the farm.”
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.”
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
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.
“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.”
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.”
“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!”
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?
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.”
[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.
