Woof!

“Hello?” Lo said, answering her phone after looking at it with a quizzical look.  She didn’t recognize the number.

“Oh, Hi Scarlett!” said Lo into her phone, smiling and twirling her hair.

The rest is the one sided phone call I eavesdropped.

“No, that’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes.  Completely.”

“Got it.  Yes.  I will.”

“Thank you.  See you then!”

Lo hung up the phone and I could see that she was twitterpated.

“What was that all about?” I asked, a tad disturbed to see her so visibly affected by someone else’s voice.

“That was my editor.”

“Editor?”

“You know, for Collin’s project.”
“Which project is that?  He has so many, I get confused.”

“The Masturbatorium Museums.”

“Oh right.  The Wank-a-Way.”

She laughed.  “It’s not a Wank-a-Way.  It’s going to be a respectable museum.”

“Where men can go to wank off or be wanked off by a certified technician.”

“Well, yeah.  Like that, but. . .”

“But Collin has a way of making it sound more sophisticated.”

“Yes.”

“You best not be caught in there – I have a feeling he’ll get busted for prostitution within days!”

“It’s not prostitution.”

“I know, I know,” I said, repeating her oft invoked claim that “It’s a sperm donation site with fine art and technical assistants on hand for, well, to lend a hand.”

“That’s better.”
“Anyhow, what did your editor want?”

“I gave her a few binders full of women last week. . .”

“There’s got to be a better way of saying that,” I interrupted.

“And she said she wants to do a room that is just about summertime.”

“OK,” I said.

“So, she wants me to come over today and show her what I have in order to examine the possibilities.”

“Is that how she phrased it?”

“Yeah, almost word-for-word.  You know I have a quasi-photographic memory.”
“For certain things,” I said.  She knew what I meant because I knew that she meant she can remember just about every image of porn she’s ever cum to and every word her lovers have spoken in the heat of passion.  It’s really an uncanny skill.

“Why?”

“It sounds like she has ulterior motives.”

“I sure hope so.  She is hot!”

“I’m so glad for you,” I said and I couldn’t help sounding bitter.

“Oh,” she immediately chimed in, “are you jealous?  Jealous of my editor?”  She was rubbing the back of my head and looking concerned, but her tone was one of teasing.

“No, I’m not jealous.”

“Good,” she said, just as quickly stopping her caresses and ending her concerned tone, “because I have to get ready.”

“Get ready?  Ready for what?”

“To meet her, silly.  What should I wear?”

“Today?  Sunday?  She ‘s working?  You’re going to meet her?”

I followed her from the living room to the bedroom.  She was already going through her panty drawer.  It is extensive.

“Which ones should I wear?  Or maybe none at all?  No.  That would look too desperate.  Or slutty?  It might look slutty.  And she might like that.  But what if it just looks like I want to fuck her?  But I do want to fuck her.”

“Lola,” I interrupted her dialogue with herself, “are you telling me you’re going over there today?”

“Yes, of course today,” she said as she slipped into her pink lace thong.

“But weren’t we going to. . .”

“I’m sorry, I have to cancel.”

“Because your pussy is aching to kiss her pussy?”

“That’s a crude way of saying it,” she said.  “But I like it and it is accurate.”

I sat down on the bed, dejected.

She noticed.

“Aw,” she said, “I’m sorry.  I’d let you fuck me but I don’t want to be stretched out for her, nor do I want to be filled up with cum.  I don’t know her that well yet.  She might not like it.”

I wasn’t talking.  I just watched her get dressed.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.  “I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

She was applying her makeup.  She leaned over her bureau and looked carefully at her eyes as she penciled on the eyeliner.  Her ass was protruding outward from under her short black skirt and her breasts were exposed on the bottom from under her pink cutoff top, no bra.

After she finished her mascara, she turned and asked me, “Do I look too slutty?”
“Too slutty for what?”

“You know, too slutty.”

“Darling,” I said to her, condescendingly, “can a person be too rich, too healthy, too good?  No.  Of course not.  And similarly, Lola Down can never be too slutty.”

“Oh,” she said, “you’re no help.  I should have known better than to ask a perv like you if I’m too slutty.”  As she said this, she slipped out of the pink lace thong she had just put on and she held it to her nose and sniffed.

“What?” I inquired.

“Wet already.  Ah well, I’ll just throw them in here in case.”  And she stuffed the panties in her little bag.

She put on her strappy black leather heels and then gathered up some more binders.  She piled them about five high in a stack.

“Summertime, eh?” I asked, fingering the binders.

“Yeah, you know: dogs, wieners, and buns.”

“Are you listing three foods or naming what you like to fuck you, what you like to put in your mouth, and what you like to see on the beach?”

“I don’t have to be subjected to such ridicule,” she said, haughtily as she picked up her binders.

“Well, tell Scarlett I say hello.”

“I most certainly will not!”

“Then be sure to. . .”

She didn’t let me finish.  She was out the door and hopping in her car.  She gave a “toot toot” from the street and waived with her fingers at me as she drove away.

She was driving to Scarlett’s house, not the office, since it was Sunday.

Lo arrived at Scarlett’s suburban house.  It was quaint.  Built in the fifties, it retained the façade of clean, wholesome, country living.  As Lo pondered it, sitting in the driveway looking at the white house with red shutters, she thought that it was the sort of house you might see in Home & Garden.  All the flowers were in bloom.  Everything was perfectly placed to look just a little out of sorts, but by design rather than by chance.

Lo grabbed her binders and strutted to the front door.  She rang the bell.  Through an intercom, she heard Scarlett say, “Just come in.  It’s open.”

Lo opened the front door that was, indeed, left ajar.  She stepped into the entrance way and heard Scarlett’s voice ring out, “In here!”

Lo followed the sound of the sing-song voice to the kitchen where she found Scarlett sitting at a portable desk in her kitchen.  Lo looked around and marveled at the incongruity between Scarlett’s sexy red lips, her disheveled hair that Lo just wanted to grab as she forced her to face fuck Lo’s clit, Scarlett’s seductive cleavage revealed by the strategically nonchalant blouse that was unbuttoned just enough, and the kitchen, which could have been right out of her grandparent’s house.

Scarlett was looking down at some notes she had scribbled next to the portfolio Lo had left with her last time.  But what caught Lo’s eye was that Scarlett was drinking from one of the limited edition tea cups made with Lo’s naked hips in full color on it.

“Hi,” said Lo, bashfully.

“What did you bring for me today?” asked Scarlett, getting right down to business.

“Well, you asked for a spread of ‘Summertime,’ right?”

“Yes.”

“Here you go.”

Lo felt oddly like a religious supplicant bringing an offering to her goddess, placing it before her for the goddess to approve or disapprove.

Scarlett looked through the photos.  As she turned the pages, she said, “You took my words literally.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dogs, wieners, and buns.”

Beach Babes

Wet and wild Bryana Sparks it up in the pool

Daizha Morgann

Daizha Morgann

Jennifer Battistoni Kincade

Jennifer Battistoni Kincade

Jennifer Battistoni Kincade

All Bodies are Beautiful

Beach Babes

Buns

“Well, I aim to please.  Do you not like them?”

“Oh, I like them a lot.  Especially this one,” she said, pointing to. . .

Just then, startling Lo, a large dog came bursting into the kitchen from the back door.  He was wet and muddy, and he immediately stuck his cold, moist snout up and under Lo’s short skirt and began licking rapidly and with the enthusiasm that only a happy-go-lucky devil-may-care dog can have.

“Woe there!” exclaimed Lo in a high-pitched voice.

“Down Reilly!  Down!”

The dog paid no heed to his mistress.

“Reilly!” commanded Scarlett once more.  He just continued to lick and nudge at Lo’s bottom, pushing her forward into the kitchen island until she had to brace herself with her arms holding onto the granite countertop.  He began to get up on his hind legs.  Scarlett jumped to action and grabbed him by his collar, careful not to let his wet and muddy fur soil her cute dress.  She pulled him down, off of Lo, who spied from the corner of her eye that the friendly furry fiend had a large, pink, wet erection.

“I’m so sorry,” said Scarlett in a rare display of contrition.  “He goes wild for women.”

“Oh,” fluttered Lo, trying to be polite, but displaying her confused emotions in her voice, “it’s ok.”

“It’s just the two of us here.  He’s the man of the house, if you will, and just loves to dominate any woman who walks in the door.”

“So, I’m nothing special.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Scarlett as she led Reilly out the back door and threw a tennis ball for him to fetch, before shutting the door and making sure it was securely shut.  Lo could hear Reilly when he returned scratching at the door and whimpering pathetically to be let back in.  “He shows unusual exuberance for you.  He must detect something very special about you.”

“His name is Reilly?”
“Yeah,” laughed Scarlett.  “He always reminded me of the actor, John C. Reilly, so I called him Reilly.”

“I can see the resemblance.”

“As a result, I have a mad crush on John C. Reilly,” added Scarlett enigmatically.  Scarlett looked at Lo’s bare legs and her skirt.  “Oh no!  Look at you!  You’re a mess!”

Lo’s legs were splattered in mud and she was dripping from her inner thighs.  Dripping from the wet dog or from the wet pussy?  Not clear.  Probably both.

“It’s nothing,” said Lo politely and demurely.  “I enjoy being a dirty girl.”  Her turn to be enigmatic.

“No, no,” said Scarlett.  “We must clean you up.  Come.”

Scarlett led Lo to the large bathroom on the first floor.  It too was white tile and looked very mid-century.  It had a large, white porcelain, claw-foot tub in it.

“Here,” said Scarlett, “sit.”  She patted the edge of the tub.

Lo removed her strappy heels and swung one leg then the other over the edge of the tub.

“Let me clean you up,” said Scarlett, running the water and testing to see if it was too hot or too cold.  When it got to the temperature she approved of, she wet down a washcloth.  “Here, give me that pretty foot of yours.”

Lo lifted her left leg and allowed Scarlett to hold it with one hand, cupping the ankle with her palm, and ever-so-gently wipe it down with the warm washcloth with the other hand.

Involuntarily, Lo let out a long moan.

She heard herself and caught herself and said, “Sorry. . . it feels so good.”

“No need to be sorry,” said Scarlett, staring deeply into Lo’s eyes a second too long.

She looked back down at Lo’s leg as if embarrassed, and then slowly wiped Lo’s shin, from the knee down.  Then she rinsed out the washcloth and rung it out before daring to start again at the middle of Lo’s thigh.  She ran the wet cloth all the way down, ever-so-slowly, down to Lo’s toes.  Lo bit her lower lip and moaned again.

Rinse, repeat, but this time Scarlett dared to lift Lo’s dress up above her waist.

“No knickers,” observed Scarlett in a non-judgmental, flat tone.

Lo giggled.  “That’s such a funny word – knickers,” said Lo.

“Panties,” corrected Scarlett.

“When I hear the word ‘knickers,’ I think of a sixty-year-old English woman who milks cows.  I certainly don’t think about a pink lace thong.”

“So ‘panties’ is sexy and ‘knickers’ not?” asked Scarlett.

“For me, at least.”

“You know what is most sexy?”

Lo’s and Scarlett’s eyes locked as Scarlett asked this.  Lo could only mouth the word “No.”  The breath was not filling her vocal cords.

“No panties at all.”  Scarlett then pushed Lo’s legs further apart and applied the warm washcloth to Lo’s aching pussy.  “He loves to lick,” said Scarlett absentmindedly.

“Does he?” whispered Lo.

“Oh yes.  Did I mention, it’s just the two of us here.”

“Yes.”

“He’s very good company.”

“I’m sure.”

“Fills up those otherwise empty, lonely nights with all sorts of silly games and furry fun.”

“I can just imagine,” said Lo.

Scarlett’s right hand held Lo’s thigh tightly as her left hand held the washcloth, but Lo now felt a finger graze her labia.

“So,” said Scarlett in a hushed tone, “when another woman comes. . .” she paused dramatically, “he thinks that she just wants to play too.”

Lo now distinctly felt Scarlett’s fingers slide over her pussy.  The washcloth dropped into the tub.

“I love to play. . .” now Lola paused dramatically, “with dogs.”

“Animal lovers are so. . .”

Scarlett leaned over and her lovely, red, lush lips parted.  Lo couldn’t resist.  She leaned in and did what she wanted to do since the moment she laid eyes on Scarlett.  She kissed her passionately.

Scarlett’s left hand no longer played coy.  She slid two fingers up and into Lo’s slit and her right hand slid around Lo’s waist so that, with the pressure between her legs, Scarlett wouldn’t push Lo right off the side of the tub.

When their lips finally parted, Scarlett said, “Turn, so I can wash your right leg.”

Lola obediently followed Scarlett’s instruction and lifted her left leg out of the tub and, with a very unlady-like move, straddled the curved edge of the tub.  The toe of her bare left foot just touching the white tile floor and her right leg steadying her in the tub as her crotch was fully exposed, resting on the white porcelain edge of the tub.

Scarlett didn’t look at Lo’s dark, hairy bush, but instead, rinsed out the washcloth with warm water again and rung it out before leaning over starting again down at Lo’s naked right foot and slowly moving her way up Lo’s calf to her knee to her inner thigh.  Scarlett then said, “Maybe I could clean you better if I hopped in the tub.”

Lo didn’t object.  Rather, her heart skipped a beat when she contemplated that Scarlett would have to get naked to do this task.  But that’s not how it happened.  Scarlett, to Lo’s surprise, climbed into the tub, fully clothed, but for her shoes, which she left on the bathmat.  She then got down on her knees in the little puddle that was on the bottom of the tub.  She ran the warm washcloth up and down Lo’s leg with the care and attention of an art connoisseur delicately dusting a priceless alabaster statue.  Scarlett was staring intensely at Lo’s crotch as she slid the warm, wet washcloth from Lo’s knee to her inner thigh.

Lo’s head dropped back and she was just about to reach out in front of her, grab Scarlett’s head and pull her in for a good smooch of her lower lips when suddenly there was a CRASH!  Both women froze and Scarlett looked up and said, “Reilly!”

Scarlett stood up from the tub and hopped out.  Lo followed.  They went into the living room and saw a lamp shattered on the floor.

“Bloody hell!” said Scarlett.

Poor Reilly was cowering in the corner.

“What happened?”

“Oh, he probably was humping a pillow on the couch – he does that when. . .” she didn’t complete her thought.  “And then the movement caused the lamp to slide off the end table.”

“I thought you put him out?”

“When he’s determined, he finds a way.  He must have used his snout to push the door open.”

Lo recalled how forceful his snout was up and under her skirt.  He nearly pushed her over with it.

Scarlett disappeared for a moment and returned with a dustpan and a hand broom.  She crouched down to clean up the shattered porcelain fragments.  As she did this, Lo sat down on the couch and crossed her legs.  She picked up a book from the coffee table.  It was a large photo book.  On the cover, the words “Irina and Eva: Lust for Innocence and Innocent Lust” were embossed in an Art Neuvo gold across the top and a black-and-white image of a little nude girl wearing a Jazz Era hat, furry white vest (covering her non-existent breasts), and a couple of bracelets stood below.  The lighting of the image of the girl was such that a shadow from the brim of the hat concealed her eyes.  From under the hat, beautiful flowing golden curls unraveled down the girl’s shoulders.  Her face was that of a young girl, but she wore luscious red lipstick on her beautiful full mouth.  But for the items already mentioned, she stood naked with her arms at her side.  The light illuminated her torso, drawing the observer’s eye to the chest and down to her navel.  Below the navel was a pale stripe that indicated the small bathing suit or panties that barely protected her swimsuit zone from tanning.  And within that white stripe was the outline of a smooth, hairless triangle that tapered in darkness between her small legs that were pressed together.  Her body leaned at an angle resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but her head was cocked in the opposite direction.  Her nails were manicured and painted and she gave off the aura of a mature courtesan waiting to be chosen by the young patron of the brothel.

Eva Ionesco

After disposing the remains of the lamp that had broken, Scarlett returned to the living room and sat on the couch, to Lola’s left.

“What’s this?” asked Lo as she leafed through the pages, each of which had a glossy photo of the same young girl who was on the cover.

“Oh, that’s a prized possession of mine.”

Lo had turned to a page that featured the young nude blonde girl in a black-and-white spread that covered both the left and right pages.  She was lying on her tum, her head propped up by her hands, her blonde ringlets crowned by a garland of flowers, and her little legs in black, knee-high stockings and wearing black shoes.  From her knees to her garland, she was naked and the center of the photo was her cute, curved, bare bottom.

Irina Ionesco’s photo of her daughter, Eva Ionesco

Lola’s version

As Scarlett told Lo about the book, her right hand slowly caressed the glossy page.

“It is a book of Irina Ionesco’s photos of her daughter Eva.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lo, “but I don’t know them.”

“It’s a story of love – dark love.  You see, Irina, so the story goes, was conceived by the unholy union of her father and his daughter.  But that’s just the mysterious and unconfirmed backdrop to this story.  Irina became a circus performer and gave birth to her one and only child – Eva in 1965.  She began photographing her when she was four years old, which would be fine, but she treated her just like any of her older nude models.  These were the so-called “Lolita Photos.”  In the seventies – the zeitgeist being what it was – she exhibited her photographs and instantly gained notoriety in the artsy professional photography world.  She continued to photograph her daughter – and even lend her out to be the muse of other photographers as well! – until social services intervened and removed Eva from the artistic exploitation of her obsessed mother.”

Eva Ionesco

Lola’s mouth was gaping as she flipped the glossy pages, gawking at the scandalous photos.

“This,” added Scarlett proudly as she again rubbed the smooth pages with her open palm, “was a limited, private print.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Oh,” said Scarlett as if it was no big deal, “it was a gift of Collin’s.”

“Of course,” said Lola looking at Scarlett knowingly.

“You like what you see?” asked Scarlett.

“It’s terrible,” said Lo enigmatically, as her fingers turned the page to look at another photo.

Eva as a cover girl

“She reminds me of you,” whispered Scarlett as her eyes locked on Lo’s and together they put the book back on the coffee table.  Lola’s and Scarlett’s lips locked again as Scarlett fell back towards the pillow on the couch.  She was now horizontal with Lo on top of her.

Eva, on loan by her mother to the photographer Jacques Bourboulon

Eva in Playboy 1976

They were passionately making out and Lo was running her hand through Scarlett’s hair when suddenly Lo said, “Oh no!”

“What?” asked a concerned Scarlett.

Lo sat up and showed Scarlett her hand.  It was wet.

Scarlett sniffed it and turned around.  Looking at the pillow that was under her, she said, “Reilly!”

“He, he, he came on the pillow!” said a horrified Lo.  “And now it’s all in your hair.”

Scarlett sat up too and the sticky liquid stretched from the pillow in gossamer threads to her hair.

“How did we not see that?” asked Lo.

“I guess we were just focused on other things,” replied Scarlett, trying to prevent the mood from souring and attempting to pull Lo back down onto the couch with her.  Scarlett’s head fell back onto the K9-cum-covered pillow. She reached to pull Lo down with her.  Lo hesitantly fell back into her arms.

Lo was lost in Scarlett’s wet, warm, red, lush lips as they kissed passionately.  Lo’s legs were squeezed together between Scarlett’s which were spread wide to welcome her.  Just as Lo was loosing herself in the lust she felt for this older woman, she suddenly felt that same cool, wet, insistent nudging pressing on her mons pubis from behind.

Lo immediately lifted her head and looked behind her.  There was Reilly all riled up again, nudging his nose up and under Lo’s short skirt.

“He’s relentless,” said Lo.

“He’s horny,” replied Scarlett.

“He just came!” protested Lo.

“Oh, he usually is good for like three or four rounds.”

Indeed, it looked like Reilly was eagerly getting ready to mount Lo as he had mounted the pillow earlier.

“Let’s switch places,” said Scarlett as she nearly wrestled Lo on the couch and forced her into a submissive role under her on the couch.  Scarlett through the soiled pillow on the floor so as not to get Lo’s thick, dark hair all sticky as hers was now.

Lo was flat on her back on the couch and Scarlett was lying on top of her, making out with her as she squirmed out of her pants and “knickers.”

Then Lo could feel the rhythmic thumping happening as well as some painful scratches from sharp nails on her ankles and feet.  Scarlett was moaning.

Lo looked up and over Scarlett’s shoulder.  There was Reilly, mounted on Scarlett’s ass, going to town on her as he had on the pillow only a few minutes earlier.

“Is he in you?” Lo asked.

“Knotted in place, yes.”

Lo squirmed out from under Scarlett.  Scarlett desperately tried to hold her there.

“What?” asked Scarlett.  “Don’t go!  Kiss me.  Fondle me.  Please.”

Lo had already gotten up and was looking down at Scarlett and her pooch.  The latter was rhythmically and forcefully filling and thrusting the former’s wet hole, his front paws on the back of her blouse.  She was rendered immobile by the activity.

“Wait!  Please!” begged Scarlett.

“I think I should go,” said Lo.

“No.  Please.  You can be next.  Promise.”

Lo slipped into her heels and said, “Call me when you have an opening free for me. . . in your schedule,” said Lo.

There was nothing Scarlett could do or say.  She was knotted firmly and was at Reilly’s mercy, if he had any, until he came and his knot became detumescent.