Category Archives: tits

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.”

I’m Your Bitch

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            We were out on a double date with Mark and Stephanie.  Despite, or perhaps because of, Lo’s slutty ways, especially around Mark, they invited us out again after the beach experience.  They had hired a sitter for their kids and this time it was just the four of us at a local restaurant.  Because it was so crowded that Friday night, we took the first table we could get – a high-top in the bar area. 

            Lo was wearing her sexy little black skirt and heels with a neon blue blouse that had one too many buttons undone, revealing her cleavage and part of her lace bra.  She was sitting kitty-corner to Mark, and when she laughed, she would put her hand on his forearm, his knee, or touch his bicep.  She did this in a friendly, yet flirtatious way. 

            After the day at the beach with them, there was no way they would be surprised by this.  I was wondering to myself if they were actually interested in propositioning Lo, or both me and Lo, but were too inhibited to come out and say it. 

            If Lo was trying to get me jealous with her fawning over Mark, she was doing a good job of it.  Usually I’m not the jealous type – especially not with a hotwife like Lo.  But Mark was too perfect.  He was smart – a teacher in fact – and handsome, he worked out at the gym and was in tip-top shape, he had a perfect smile, and he was about four inches taller than I.  As if that wasn’t enough, Lo was perpetually reminding me of how large his cock is, as she ascertained through his pants and his bathing suit.  If he had any flaws that made his wife not want all that every night, I was unaware of them.  To make matters worse, Lo kept on inquiring of him about his personal habits.  “How do you stay so fit?  How do you keep in such great shape?” she asked, as she rubbed her hand down from his broad shoulder to his elbow. 

            He, for his part, was lapping it up.  He went on and on about his workout routine as Lo licked her lips just imagining it. 

            What Stephanie felt or thought during this, I don’t know, but in order to avoid any bad feelings, I inquired of Stephanie how her work was going and how the kids were doing.  It was boring polite dinner talk.  I really wanted to blurt out and ask her, “What do you think of my little slut making moves on your hunky husband?” 

            However, all this flirtatious frivolity came to a screeching halt when Julie approached our table.  Julie is a woman who moved to our neighborhood recently and has earned the ire of Lo.  She is just about Lo’s age with a teenage son, which means that she must have been pregnant when she was about 16.  She’s single and she gives Lo a run for her money.  She’s tall and has an All-American look about her that says she’s nothing but innocent sweets and smells of apple pie.  She uses this to her advantage in order to charm every guy she meets.  She hasn’t spoken more than the casual hello to Lo (or any other woman in the neighborhood), but will go out of her way to chat up any of the men on our block. 

How Lo Pictures Mark out to eat with Stephanie

            Julie happened into the restaurant alone, but I doubt she planned to leave it that way.  Seeing us – or rather, seeing me – she approached and gave me a warm hug hello with a kiss on the cheek.  To the other three, she merely waived and flashed her sparkling whites at them.  I felt Lo kick me hard in the shin under the table.  I was glad of it.  After all the torment she had given me thus far that evening, it was my chance to return the favor. 

            Though Julie was only going to say hi, I asked what brought her to that restaurant that night.  She said that her son was at a sleepover and that she just felt like getting out.  Much to Lo’s silent consternation, I insisted that Julie join us and get to know Mark and Stephanie.  At first Julie declined the invite, but I insisted. 

            “I couldn’t possibly.  There’s not enough room at this table,” she said.

            “Nonsense.  I’ll make room for you right here,” I said, sliding my stool over and grabbing another one for Julie so that she was very cozy between me and Mark. 

            Lo’s eyes were shooting ICBM warheads at me.  Ha!

            Despite Lo’s displeasure, the addition of Julie really helped the evening’s conversation.  The awkward pairing of Lo and Mark trading googly eyes at each other while Stephanie and I tried to pretend like nothing was happening was disrupted by Julie’s asymmetrical addition.  Now Lo was forced to pay attention to me at the expense of her romantic overtures to Mark.  I enjoyed that very much. 

            The night came to an early end for us because Lo insisted she had to get home “at a decent hour” in order to prepare for some fictitious event.  When I began to express perplexity at this excuse, I received another swift kick to my other shin.  I wasn’t sure how I’d walk home on those two injured legs of mine. 

            As soon as we were out of the restaurant, Lo stormed off at a brisk pace ahead of me. 

            “What?” I asked insincerely innocent.

            Silence.

            “Lo, come on.  Slow down and talk to me.  What’s the matter?”

            “You know very well what’s the matter,” she said from ten feet in front of me.

            “No I don’t.  What’s the matter?  Come on?  Please slow down.”

            She waited for me. 

            “Oh, Julie, there’s plenty of room for you.  You can come here and sit on my lap,” she said in a mocking manner. 

            “I did not say that.”

            “Whatever.”

            “Does it upset you?”

            We had just arrived at our apartment.  We got inside.  She went right to the bedroom and got naked.

            “Mmmmm, you look good,” I said.

            “This,” she said, sliding her hands over her sexy body, “is not for you.”

            “I suppose it’s for Mark,” I responded.

            “It’s for anyone except you,” she said curtly. 

            I got naked and into bed and she slid under the covers next to me and shut out the nightstand light. 

            From the darkness I heard, “Daddy, do you like her?”

            “Who?”

            “You know who.”

            “Julie?”

            “Yeah, Julie, that slut.”

            “Careful Lo, ‘slut’ is a compliment in your book.”

            “Only for me.  And you’re only for me.  You hear me?”

            “Yes, Lo, I hear you.”

            She reached down and grabbed my cock and began rubbing it.  “This is mine.  You got that?”

            “Yes Lo.”

            I was getting hard.  She dove under the covers and began sucking my cock.  When she reemerged, she asked, “Do you want me?”  

            “Yes,” I said.

            “Well get behind me and fuck me.”

            I did as she commanded.  She was wet and willing.  She came within seconds of penetration. 

            “Why do you want me?” she asked when she caught her breath.

            “Because Lo, I’m like a dog.  If you reach down between my hind quarters and fondle me and suck me till I’m hard, I’m going to want you.”

            That had her cumming again.

            “Either I get to have you,” I said, “or I’m going to be left painfully hard-up and full of liquid desire for you.”

            She loves the thought of me (or men) suffering physical anguish in the groin for her sweet release.  This made her climax a third time.

            “Cum in me.  Use me.  That’s what I’m here for.  You don’t need anyone else.  Just me and my cunt.  Fuck me, you horny dog.”

            I did as she commanded, filling her full of my froth. 

Filled, but not Finished

            She fell forward and I cuddled her.

            “Daddy, do you love me?”

            “So much,” I said.

            “Then why do you make me so jealous?”

            “Honestly Lo, it’s just to reassure me that I’m still your favorite.  I don’t mind sharing you, but I do really fear losing first place to someone else.”

            “Daddy, you’re silly.  You know that more than half the reason I flirt with other guys is because I want you to fuck me fiercely.  I want you to fight for me and subdue me with your cock.  Make me know that you’re my Daddy.” 

            Hearing her talk like that got me hard all over again and so I mounted her again and asked her what she was.

            “I’m your bitch.  I’m your horny, slutty, dirty bitch.”

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.” 

Fan Male (and Female)

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“Our vices always lie in the direction of our virtues.” – Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

            It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon and Lo and I were about to go for a brisk walk through the neighborhood when, as we exited the front door, we found a package addressed to Lo. 

            “Were you expecting a special delivery?” I asked.

            “Not that I recall,” she said. 

            She picked up the brown box and we brought it inside, unwrapped it, and we found two beautiful paintings of Lo somehow done on thick panes of glass.  One was of her puss. 

On seeing the striking resemblance up close, Lo remarked, “The illustration really captures my essence.” 

Painting by Blackbook Artist

            By now, it’s no secret that Lo has a lot of admirers, both in person and virtually.  Her fans love to send her gifts and those gifts range from the common, run-of-the-mill dick pic to beautiful original paintings and artworks that arrive by mail at our doorstep.  I have no issues with any of her accolades.  I am more than satisfied to bask in the glory of her brilliance, like the moon illuminated by the sun.  I will also admit that many of those admirers pay at least lip service to the writing.  And, given that Lo’s lip service is something I get on a regular basis, I have no reason to complain.  But it is nice, every once in a while, when an enthusiastic and attractive woman writes to me to express her appreciation for all the hard work I do. 

            This has happened on a few occasions and, despite the disproportionate attention that Lo gets compared with yours truly, it never ceases to amaze me that she still gets jealous.   

            Recently, I received an email from an admiring female fan that read: “Hi there, HH, I recently came by your blog through another site.”  Interesting turn of phrase – “came by your blog,” rather than “came across your blog.”  Do you think she was intentionally ambiguous?  And our fans always say, “through another site,” but never say through which site – perhaps embarrassed by the seedy sites and searches they use.  I digress.  The letter continued, “Someone in my network was going crazy about how they’re jacking off to LOLA and your stories about 50 times a day and how she’s probably the most intense woman alive in our times.  Of course, when I checked your website out, I was blown away after reading the explicit as well as brilliantly written episodes.” 

My darling correspondent was kind enough to purchase our books and also take some photos with them and send some sexy pics to me.  I hardly have to add that Lo was flattered by the letter as well (which is probably the only reason why it slipped passed her watchful eye and was brought to my attention by her). 
            I will say, dear reader, that missives such as this have dwindled in number since we began this little sexcapade of a blog.  I attribute this diminished return to the rapid advances in technology.  Not only can one watch porn on their phones, but other porn progress, such as 3D porn and realistic porn video games, have made the market for pure erotic writing with occasional still photographs a quaint relic of our pornographic past, like Playboy Magazine and the pin-up calendar. 

Fan Submission

The digital age has afforded great benefits to authors such as myself – a vast, almost instant platform to reach across the world, the ability to communicate directly with one’s readers, and a streamlined mechanism for typing.  (Recall that Jack Kerouac had to feed industrial spools of paper into his typewriter while he drank his whiskey in order to not interrupt his flow by having to replace the sheets of paper.)   For all those boons, it’s hard to compete in the age of digital diversion.  The smartphone has all the bells and whistles.  All I have is my story.  And yet, every time I go see some block-buster action film in which the stunts and special effects are on steroids, I often leave feeling let down.  Sure, the visual CGI was on a galactic scale, but the story!  The story!  Without a good story, all of the other stuff falls flat.  It’s like a cake composed entirely of icing, or a tricked-out car with no engine. 

Fan Pic

I digress again.  Maybe I should stick to my story.  I was telling you about my lovely letter from a fan.  Though I write out of sheer delight, on occasion (many occasions actually), it feels as if it is an obsessive compulsion.  But when I receive a compliment from a reader, it seems to justify the excess.   

“See that, Lo,” I said, “Maybe it’s not just the scribblings of a madman.”

“Oh, darling,” she said, “They’re lucky that you have something good, worthy, and important to contribute, unlike most of the drivel that people write.”

I love a careful reader!

“You just think that because I write about you.”

You see, dear reader, it is difficult to get an objective opinion from Lo.  But she is self-aware, to a degree.  Once, when I returned from a business trip to New York City and was telling her of the nude women at Times Square trying to turn a buck by selling a selfie with them, she said, “You’re just telling me this to get in my pants.”  She knows that I know that her reaction to jealousy is to seduce me. 

            “How did this become about you and sex?” I asked.

            “Everything is about me and sex.  I’m a nymphomaniacal megalomaniac.” 

            She then undressed and reclined on the sofa.  I just looked at her. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, impatiently.         
“I’m an author of erotica and a philosopher – I’m contemplating your navel.”

After reading the letter from my admirer, I suppose I was grinning from ear-to-ear.  My delight triggered Lo’s jealousy and I warned her that I would expose her bad side if she kept it up. 

“Bad side?”

“Yes,” I said, “Everyone has a bad side.”

Lola turned around and showed me her ass and pussy from behind and asked over her shoulder, “Is this my good side or my bad side?”

After reading this blog entry to Lo, she said to me, “You know, we should have another tagline.  Instead of “The nymphomaniac next door,” we should say, “Mysexlifewithlola – come for the pics, stay for the story.”

“That’s good,” I said.

“Or maybe,” she mused out loud, “Cum to the pics, stay for the story.”

“Or,” I said, “you could cum for the camera, they stay for the story.”

“No,” she said, “I like mine better.” 

“You always do,” I responded. 

She then fiddled out of her bra and cuddled up to me, her nipples hard and erect under her blouse. 

“Don’t you like mine better, Daddy?” she asked.

“I do think you persuaded me.”

“You never can argue with me when I wear this.  I must have a couple of great points.”

Yes, you do make a couple of good points, I must admit.

To which I said, “I’ve got it!  The tag should be: Lola Down – clever lines, sexy curves.”

Sex & Death

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“We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity – in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.”

                                                       Anne Morrow Lindbergh – Gift From the Sea

            For a few months now, Lola and I have been like the dancers upon a large stage – not like the partners doing a sexy Spanish tango, but like performers of some contemporary choreography who move at a great distance from each other, yet always aware of the presence of the other.  Her work has demanded long hours and travel around the country.  My work has kept me at the office on weekends.  We have seen each other only occasionally – hastily preparing and eating dinner, a ride to and from work, a quick fuck before sleep. 

            Realizing the monotonous irregularity of our relationship, we consciously made an effort to set aside a weekend for a “love-in”: two days of nothing but lying in bed together, rediscovering each other’s bodies, reading naked next to one another, watching movies, and preparing luxurious meals – all in the comfort of our own home.  Laundry can wait.  Work can wait.  Life can be put on hold. 

            But fate had something else in store for us.  On the Friday that was to kick off our cocoon habitation, Lo got word of the unexpected death of her friend Cammy’s husband’s aunt.  When Lo relayed this to me, at first I thought, “So?”  I didn’t expect that such a tangential relation would in any way impinge upon our reunion weekend.  But, it turns out, Cammy is very anxious about death and dying, is prone to panic attacks, and since her new husband would be needed at the memorial and funeral services, Cammy pleaded with Lo to come along for moral support.  Lo graciously agreed.

            “It’s only for Saturday,” said Lo.

            “That’s fifty percent of our love-in.”

            “I’ll make it up to you,” she said, seductively.  “Promise.”

            “Can’t Cammy handle this herself?”

            “No, she can’t.  Besides, I already said I’d go with her.” 

            I was in a foul mood.  I grunted something incomprehensible, but clearly expressed my displeasure.

            “I’ll be back tomorrow night and we still have tonight.”

            It was no use.  My mood was spoiled.  Lo said to me that I was spoiled, and, in retrospect, she was right. 

            Friday we went to bed and I rolled away from Lo as she lay there naked next to me in the dark.  “Daddio, you realize don’t you that you could have me now.”

            Grunt.

            “Do you realize how many men would pay – would die – to have a naked nympho next to them in bed, wet, waiting, and willing to fuck?!  Do you?  You big grouch.  Come here.  Put your face in my cleavage, suck my tits, grab my ass and fuck me,” she said, pulling on my arm. 

            “No,” I said like a child.  “I don’t want a quick fuck and then sleep.  I want to have you all weekend, all to myself.” 

            She didn’t respond.  She just reached over and grabbed my cock and began to rub it under the blankets. 

            “I can feel you getting hard.  I know you want to have me.”  She was right.

            After some manipulation, I rolled over to her.  I got on top of her, spread her legs and entered her. 

            “That’s it, Daddio.  Have me.  Use me.  Use me like so many guys have used me.  Fuck me.  Get your rocks off on me.”

            She continued to encourage me like that.  Though her voice was soft and breathy, I could tell she wasn’t getting off herself.  Her breath wasn’t becoming short and rapid.  Her hips weren’t moving to meet mine.  She wasn’t using her body to help herself climax.  But she kept talking to me and the sound of her sexy voice was enough to stir me to a swift conclusion. 

            “Yes.  Cum on me.  Cum on my face.  Cum on my tits,” she said without cumming herself. 

            When I was done, I said, “You didn’t like it.”

            “No, Daddio.  I did.”

            “Then why didn’t you cum too?”

            “Because, I just wanted you to use me.  Sometimes I like to do that.”

            “You like to fuck.  You like to orgasm.  You like to do it all again.  I know what you like.”

            “Sometimes I just want to be your fuck-toy that you use to get your rocks off.  It was so hot seeing you cum on my face.”

            As odd as it sounds, when Lo doesn’t cum, even if I do, it leaves me feeling like our romp was anticlimactic.  I went to sleep feeling worse than I did before. 

            Saturday came and Lo got decked out in her little black dress and black leather boots. 

            “Do I look ok for a funeral?”

            “You look like the stereotypical mistress who follows a funeral.”

            “What?!”

            “Lo, your skirt doesn’t even cover your knees and that top really makes your chest. . . er. . . prominent.” 

Look Daddy, No Panties!

            “You think so?” she said, perking up.

            “Yeah.”

            “Shucks, you know how to compliment a lady.”

            “Good grief!”

            “Wish me luck,” she said as she gave me a peck on the cheek.

            “Luck?” I asked, surprised. 

            “Or, whatever one wishes when one goes to a funeral.”

            Off she went and I went to the office, thinking that she’d be rather late returning. 

            Half past three, and I before I even had a chance to go to lunch, I got a text from Lo – “I’m home.  Where are you?”

            I closed up shop and sped home to see her.  When I got in, there she was, greeting me at the door. 

            “Oh, hello,” I said, seeing her still in her mourner’s basic black.

            “Hello ole’ man.”

            “How was your, er, funeral?”

            “My funeral.”

            “I mean, the funeral you. . .”

            “It was fine.”

            “Fine?”

            “Well, better than fine – for a funeral.”

            “What do you mean by that?”

            “Come to the bedroom and I’ll tell you.”

            When I got to the bedroom, she had already hopped on the bed and lifted her skirt up over her waist, showing her bare ass.

            “Lo!” I said, taken aback, “You didn’t wear panties to a funeral in December?!”

            “How else is a girl supposed to amuse herself at a funeral?”

            “Seriously?”

            “Don’t you like?” she asked, wagging her ass in the air.

            “Um.”

            “Well, I can tell you, there were boys at the funeral who were very happy to see me.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Get yourself out of those pants and I’ll explain.”

            I dropped my trousers immediately and pulled up behind her.

            “That’s it, old man.  Pound it.  Drive it home.”

            “Lo, why are you so randy today?”

            “When am I not?” she retorted, followed by a moan.

            “What got into you at that funeral?”

            “You should be asking who got into me.”

            “Lo, you didn’t.”

            “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I was like the song.”

            “The song?”

            “You know: ‘I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.’  Bad habits, you know.”

            “They say bad habits never die.”

            “Ha,” she laughed, “It wasn’t a funeral for my habits, that’s for sure.”

            “What did you do?”

            “Remember the wedding we went to?”

            “Which one?”

            “The one where we got it on in the powder-room.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, that’s what I did, but at a funeral.  Same difference.”

            “But, I wasn’t there.”

            “I had no idea you were so fond of funerals.”

            “I had no idea you were so irreverent.”

            “Irreverent?  Don’t you think that it’s very respectful of the dead to enjoy life?”

            “Not that way!”

            “Sex is the emblem of life and orgasm its crowning achievement.”

            “The French call orgasm le petit mort – the little death.”

            “Well, then I died many times at that funeral!  Slay me once more.”

            “Lola!”

            “Do you like fucking me knowing that two other guys were in me earlier today?”

            I went at her with great vigor and she came as she talked dirty to me about it.  After she did, I pushed her body flat on the bed and ejaculated all over her back. 

            “Fuck!” she yelled out, “My dress!”

            Her mourner’s gown was now my cum rag.  I fell down next to her on the bed.  Between deep gasps, I said, “That’s how you should greet me every time I come home.”

“Even from work?”

“Especially from work?”

“Even when you just go out to the bar?”

“Yes, when I go out to the bar.  When I go out to do grocery shopping.  When I take out the trash.  When I enter through that door you should greet me just like that.”

Express Yourself

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            It was Mother’s Day and Lo was bent over the bed, looking at her phone.  Her red dress was flipped up and over her hips, exposing her ass and lovely pussy lips.  I mounted her and she told me the following story:

            ‘Fuck!’ I heard her call from the bathroom.  A few moments later, ‘God damnit!’  I was nervous.

            I was feeding the little one in his high chair and the other two were watching TV. 

            ‘Can I help?’ I asked through the closed door.

            ‘Yes,’ I heard after a moment.  ‘Lola can you come in here?’

            I slowly opened the bathroom door to find her, the mom whose kids I’d be babysitting that night, struggling with her manual breast pump, trying to express some milk for the baby.  Her long green gown was folded down over her hips, leaving her torso completely exposed.  She was clearly stressed. 

            ‘Lo,’ she said, ‘I can’t get this damn thing to work.  It’s not sealing properly around my nipple or something.  I know this is awkward, but can you. . .’  She didn’t finish her sentence.  She thought of how to say it.  And then she just came out with it.  ‘Can you hold the bottle for me over my nipple?’

            I wasn’t one to say no to her, ever.  I walked up to her.  She unscrewed the suction cup top of the bottle off and passed the container to me.  I held it up to her breast, shyly at first.  She used one hand to pull on her long nipple and then she used both hands to gently squeeze her breast.  It was awkward, to say the least, with me standing in front of her half-naked body as she milked herself. 

            She looked right at me and said, ‘Thank you.  I’m already late and that thing is so cumbersome to use.’

            ‘No problem,’ I said, smiling foolishly.  I had a crush on her since the day I met her.  She had frequently gotten naked in front of me, as if it was no big deal.  But now she was taking things to a different level.  I looked at her big, full breasts and I almost leaned in to suck them myself. 

            The bottle was about half full and she said, ‘My fingers are cramping from this.  Would you mind?’

            What?!  She wanted me to milk her?!  Would I mind?  Nothing would make me happier at that moment, except, as I said, sucking her tits myself. 

            I got behind her and she held the bottle to her other breast.  I gently squeezed with both hands.  She used one hand to pull on her nipple and get the milk flowing.  Soon I was expressing her like a pro, squirting it out into the jar.  She was so full, so ready. 

            She said, ‘Oh, God that feels good,’ in a way that sounded like I was making her cum.  She added, ‘You have no idea how painful it can be to skip a feeding.  It just has to come out.’

            It was all over way too quickly.  She dried off her nipples.  A task I would have happily done with my mouth.  And then she put on her special bra and I helped her with her dress, zipping her up from the back. 

            ‘Thank you, Lo,’ she said as she put the nipple on the top of the bottle.  ‘Hopefully that will be enough for tonight.’

            As Lo told me this story, she was looking at various videos of lactating women and I was going at her from behind.  She had never before told me her kink for lactation, but I was very, very glad to hear it. 

Bathroom Amenities

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Mmmm Blue Hawaii

            Lo was in the tub.  I was in my business suit.  I looked down at her and said, “Lo, how long have you been in there?”

            “Why do you ask, Daddy?”

            “Because there’s so much steam in this room that the paint is peeling.”

            “Just a little while,” she said demurely. 

Cheese & Crackers

            “I see you have all your bath toys,” I said, looking at her glass dildo in her hand, her suction cup dildo stuck to the wall, and her hand-held showerhead dangling. 

            “Everything but my rubber ducky.” 

            “A rubber and a dicky?”

            “That would be nice too, but without the rubber.  Why don’t you get out of that stodgy old suit and join me?” she asked.

            I began loosening my tie and unbuckling my belt.

            “That’s it, Daddio,” she encouraged.

Red Wine

            “I’m going to change, but I’m not getting in there with you.  It looks like you have things well in hand already,” I said, as she reinserted the glass dildo. 

            “Well, I’ll be out in a just a bit and then we can play ‘Hop-on-Pop.”

            “You know,” I said as I was hanging up my suit jacket and pants, “the Twittersphere was all agog this week with memes and a bruhaha about women in bathtubs.”

            “Really?” she said, preoccupied by her pussy.

Hearts

            “Yeah,” I said, “Apparently some company is marketing bath trays for women and the ads show all the wonderful things that a woman can do in the tub with them.  But it’s backfired because, I mean, really – who eats a five course meal and watches a movie in the tub?”

            To my rhetorical question, I heard moans and then gasps of pleasure, followed by “Fuck, Fuuuuuuck, Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” 

            “I know, right?” I said. 

            When she finally emerged from the bath, like Venus from the froth of the sea, she said, “I haven’t just been doing myself, Daddy.”

Lola

            “Oh really?  You had company?”

            “I wish,” she said.  “No, I also did the laundry.  It’s clean and dry now.”

“Oh, just the opposite of you.”

Waiting for a Lyft

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            “How do I look?” she asked, doing a little twirl on the toes of her shiny black boots. 

            “Just Peachy,” I said.

            “Peachy?”

            “Yeah.”

            “You’re so old,” she replied.  “Do you like the lipstick?  Too much?” she asked as she puckered up.

            “Depends.  What do you plan on doing with it?”

            “Hopefully something naughty,” she said as her tongue ran over her pearly whites.

            Lo was all decked out for a date she had with a new gentleman caller.  About a half hour earlier she had emerged out of her steamy shower, silky smooth down below.  She showed me saying, “Hopefully he’ll appreciate this.”

            “You are eager for him to get up your skirt,” I said, nonchalantly, though I was upset that she wasn’t offering it to me.

            “So eager that I’m not going to wear panties.”

            “Why don’t you shave for me?  Only when you’re going on dates?”

            She walked up to me and made a pouty face, and teased, “Oh, is my ole man jealous?”

            “No,” I said, “Not jealous.  But I appreciate a slick, wet, whistle just as much as the next guy.”

            “I know,” she said condescendingly.  “But don’t you like my muff too?”

            “Lo, I like all of you in every way,” I said, “But maybe you could just keep the mons pubis polished all the time, especially for when I go down on you.”

            “But Daddy, it’s winter.  I might catch a chill.”

            “Wear a merkin.  I hear they’re coming back in style.”

            “Funny.”

            “I’m serious.  I read an article about it.  It was all the rage for Fashion Week in New York.”

            “Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said dismissively. 

            “You don’t seem to be too worried about catching a chill today,” I observed.

            “I plan to have his warm mouth on my va-jay-jay soon enough,” she retorted. 

            “Are you just trying to tease me?” I asked, adding, “Cause you could have my mouth on it right now.”

            She was applying moisturizer to her tits, tum, and mellifluous legs and puss.  “Will you get my back?” she asked, applying some lotion to my palm and turning around.

            I began to rub it into her shoulders and then down her back.  She bent over, exposing her rear.  “Get it in good there, cause I want to be silky sweet for him when he has his face where your hands are now.”  I was circling my middle finger around her anus and she was moaning. 

            After a little while of that, she got on the bed, lying on her back, her legs up.  I thought for sure this was my invitation.  But no!  Instead she said, “Don’t forget my toes.  Get right in there.” 

            I applied the lotion to her heel, her arches, her toes and between her toes, one foot at a time.  She was almost climaxing from the sensation.  I was hard as a rock in my slacks and protruding noticeable.  I could see her pussy glistening. 

            “Do you plan on giving him a foot-job as well?”

            “I plan on giving him whatever he wants.”

            “Lo, why are you torturing me so much?  I’ll just pull out my cock and you can give me a foot-job.  Think of it as warm-ups or practice,” I said as I unzipped my pants.

            “I’m already hot.  I don’t need warm-ups.  And are you saying I need practice?”

            “Practice makes perfect.”

            “I am purrrrrfect,” she said, “or at least so I’m told.”

            She got off the bed and began rummaging through her wardrobe.

            “Out!” she commanded.  “You’ll see when I’m done.”

            I left the room and then, a while later, she appeared in the living room asking me how she looked.  I was starving for a taste of her.  When I said, “Just peachy,” I was thinking about eating her peach, which now was more like a nectarine. 

            She lifted the hem of her short skirt to show me her bare nectarine.  Then she bent over to pick up her purse and pull out her phone. 

            “Lo, the whole world can see how nicely you prepared yourself when you do that move.”

            “That’s what I was going for.”

            I rolled my eyes.

            “You won’t miss me too much?” she asked.

            “Lo, I’m going to tell you the truth.  As soon as you shut that door, permission or no permission, I’m going to pull out my Fleshlight and cum so hard into Stoya’s pussy.”

            “NO!” she exclaimed.  Horror of horrors.

            “But, I’m so worked up right now.  I can think of nothing else.”

            “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “I just ordered my Lyft.  It will be here in exactly four minutes.  Go get a condom.” 

            I ran to get a condom from the bedroom and appeared back in the living room, eager to fuck her, but I had another thing coming. 

            “Put it on,” she said, looking at her phone. 

            I obeyed. 

            And then, instead of bending over the couch and letting me enter her, she grabbed my covered cock with her right hand and began jacking it. 

            “What?” I asked perplexed. 

            “I’ll jack you off.  You have about two minutes,” she said, not even looking at me. 

            “Why won’t you let me fuck you?”

            “Because, I’m pretty as a picture right now.  I don’t want to risk messing up my outfit.”

            “Really?”

            “A minute and a half.  Do you want to be hard-up all night?”

            “OK, ok,” I said, letting her tug, “but why the condom?”

            “No mess,” she said, her hand moving mechanically.  “Speaking of pictures. . .” she said as she manipulated her phone with her other hand.  She raised up her arm and smiled at the camera as she shot a selfie without me in the frame.  No one would even suspect she was giving me a hand-job as she flashed her smile at them.  She sent the pic to her date with a message, “Coming.”

            She looked again at her ride app and saw the car turn onto our street.  She got closer to me and ever-so-gently licked my earlobe with her tongue as she increased her wrist motion.  “That’s it Daddio, think about how he is going to lick my clit later.  Think about how he’s going to cum all over my puss and make my skirt all dirty with his hot mess.  I’m your little trollop, your little. . .”

            She stopped mid-sentence.  The Lyft was outside our window.  I came into the condom.  She let go.  I grabbed my cock and stroked it as I watched her through the window getting into the car and blowing me an air kiss. 

            She is truly devilish. 

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.

Ocean Spray

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Nude Beach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lo,” I said.

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

“How you feeling about this?” I asked.

“Whatever,” she said, disappointed. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course they do,” I said flatly. 

Her tongue ran over her sparkly white teeth.

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

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

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

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

Fresh Meat

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

“It’s hot,” I said, “care to go in?”

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

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

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

“You mean I should go and watch you.”

She smiled. 

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

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

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

“Did you enjoy that?” she asked.

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

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

“Then why’d you do it?”

“For you.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well, for them too.”

“Altruism abounds!”

“Oh, shut up and fuck me.”

“What?”

“You heard me, ole man.”

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

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

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

“Come on!” she called back. 

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

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

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