Tag Archives: art
Protected: A Linguistically Mysterious Voyage into the Unknown
The Orgasm Heard ʼRound the World or Orgasmic Orchestral Accompaniment
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May is Masturbation Month, but Lo’s self-pleasure cums three hundred and sixty-five days a year. It turns out that May is also Mental Health Awareness Month. Coincidence? I don’t think so. A large part of mental health is sexual health, sexual pleasure, and sexual self-stimulation. So, go for it. Yes, you may! Yes, you should!
In honor of this annual celebration of manual manipulation of the genital variety, I bought Lo two gifts: a Lovence Lush remote-controlled vibrator and concert tickets to see the philharmonic.
These were separate and distinct gifts, but leave it to Lo to combine the two.
She put on her sexy, contour-fitting blue dress with a little black jacket over it and her new toy securely and secretly inserted in her hideaway under it.
Lo, Dressed for Success
Off we went to hear some beautiful music.
On the ride there, Lo said to me, “I want to take this sexy little pink plaything for a test drive during the performance.”
“But Lo,” I tried to protest.
“But Lo nothing,” she said, shutting me down. “The vibe is a gift and so are the tickets and I want to enjoy both simultaneously.”
She is a master debater and am no match for her oral skills.
We filed in and the show began with a contemporary violin concerto with which I was unfamiliar. Lo had her right hand on my left knee and indicated that she was not impressed. But then, without intermission, the main event of the evening began – Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony.
Lo indicated that now was the right time to test out her new gift. I inconspicuously pulled out my phone and turned on the toy. Throughout the first movement I gently and thoughtfully applied the vibrational intensity to the mellow and subdued melody of the orchestra. But, as the piece transitioned to the second movement, increasing in passion and drama, I followed suit with the controller I had in my pocket. I could feel Lo’s grip on my knee holding on for dear life and I saw her bite down hard on her lower lip.
Her legs pressed tightly together. The she crossed her legs, one over the other, pressing her inner thighs against each other as she rocked back-and-forth a little. She began to perspire just a bit on her brow. And then, she let out a primal scream like I had never heard before that echoed and reverberated throughout the acoustically dynamic hall.
From my long experience with Lo, I knew that this meant she was also simultaneously squirting and that her Kegel strength was clenching on the small but powerful device. I immediately shut off the remote and pretended to be looking forward as if nothing were happening, but as soon as she regained control of her vocal emanations, I could see, without drawing attention to it, the small puddle that had accumulated under her seat.
Thankfully, the band played on and eventually, people stopped staring at us.
It was impossible to get up and leave in the middle of the piece without further drawing the ire of the polite audience upon ourselves and, in the process, demonstrating Lo’s very wet bottom. But as soon as the symphony was over, we made our way out of the concert hall as the audience around us was still applauding. Lo held in her hand the little pink conductor whose baton had caused her crescendo. She placed it in her clutch and we slipped into the night.
Little did we know that her vocal accompaniment to the concerto would be caught on tape and that her little performance would headline the evening. Perhaps she has a future as an opera singer.
One thing is for sure, Lo’s lullaby proved that there is a permeable line between art and porn.
The End
Protected: V-Day is Cumming
Protected: Frankie Gets Fucked
Protected: Transforming Lola into Art
Protected: Feeling Bullish?
Imitation is the Best Form of Flattery
Art by Al
The perennial question: Does art imitate life or life imitate art?
“Daddy,” Lo said, as she was lying down in bed. It was one of those rare mornings that she woke up before I and was already engaged in her favorite activity – pleasuring herself to something on her phone – “I’m reading ‘Paint me like one of your slutty girls,’ and I want you to know how much your writing turns me on.”
“That’s nice, Lo,” I said, slowly opening my eyes.
She was in her red top and matching red bottom satin pajamas, one hand down between her legs under the satin, the other holding her phone.
“You know,” I said further, “that story has nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, but you wrote it.”
“About you and your admirer and his obsession with you.”
“That’s what I love about it.”
She brought her hand out from under her satin shorts and licked her fingers before replacing her hand on her crotch.
I reached my left hand over and placed it between her legs so I could feel her fingers moving and her hand pumping up and down as she inserted her fingers to her hole. I tried to slide my hand under her satin bottoms and she said, “Uh uh. Only over.”
I relented and resigned myself to merely feeling her feeling herself.
She dropped her phone and pulled her tits up and over the V-cut of her top and said, “Suck them, Daddy,” which I did.
“Pull my nipples, Daddy.” I did that as well. She orgasms quite easily to the feeling of pain caused by pulling and pinching her nipples.
She moaned.
“What’s got your engine revving so this morning?”
“I told you,” she whispered in a breathy sigh, “I was reading. . . your story.”
“And?”
“And Al sent me a drawing of what he would like to do.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a drawing of him and his wife in bed, getting off to my photos on their TV.”
“Oh, I see.”
“He wishes he could tell his wife that he has been jackin’ off to me regularly for months now. He wishes he could tell her what a slut I am – that I like to go A-to-M and A-to-P and P-to-M and P-to-A-to-M.”
Before speaking I thought that if the Secret Service ever needed a code name for Lo, it would be: MAP PAM
“Yes, you are a dirty slut.”
“Say it again, Daddy.”
“You are. . . ,” but before I could say it, she was back to Al.
“He wants to tell his wife about me, about how I’m a hotwife and sleep with men and women. He wants to have her read the books and blog and get her to do the same. He wants her to fuck other guys in the bed next to him.”
She came in a gush of good feeling. I felt it wash over my hand.
As she was recovering, I looked at her phone.
“Lo, that’s not a painting,” I said.
She opened her eyes. “Oh, that? No. That’s from Jane and Andrew. I sent them Al’s art and, guess what?! They reproduced it in real life! And they improved upon it. Look at Andrew! He’s locked in his cage. And look what else!”
Andrew & Jane
She used her dry hand to enlarge the photo so I could see that Andrew and Jane had printed up art of Lola and framed it around their television. “Isn’t that amazing!”
“You are a sexual celebrity.”
“A tempter for Andrew’s celibacy!”
“I sure hope he’s not celibate with a wife that sexy!”
“Maybe they both cum to you when she gives him permission.”
“I want him to look at my photos and lose control and cum even in his cock-cage.”
She saw my cock twitching under the sheets. “Oh, Daddy, do you need to cum?”
“When I see you like that, I do,” I said, which wasn’t the whole truth. I am actually even more turned on by her voice, her tone, her moan, and her dirty talk than by seeing her. She could make me cum over the phone, which she has actually done many times.
Art from Al
“What do you need?” she asked.
“Stroke me.”
She grabbed the hand lotion next to her on the nightstand and put it in the palm of her left hand. “Give me that cock,” she said.
She wrapped her hand around my hard rod and the cool cream made me even more hard than before. She began sliding her cupped hand up and down my shaft. She slid her palm down to my balls and cupped them before moving even further down.
“You like how life imitates art?”
Andrew and Jane
I couldn’t answer. She knew why. “You’re going to cum,” she observed. “Where do you want to cum?”
“You tell me,” was all I could say.
“My face.”
At those words, I pulled back and got up, straddling her torso, grabbing my throbbing organ and coaxed my creative juices to climax, baptizing the crown of her head in hot white spurts that dripped down her face. She licked around her mouth and said, “I bet Al would like to show his wife how I do that too.”
“Maybe he’ll paint you like a Mona Lisa drenched under a dripping Jackson Pollock.”
“Classic, abstract, and pornographic all at once. I like that!”
“You should, it describes you perfectly.”
Imitation #1
Imitation #2
Protected: “Paint me like one of your slutty girls.”
Op-Ed from the Politico-Parody Press
Breaking News: Sanna Marin, the thirty-six year old, female, Finnish prime minister had fun!
Prime Minister of Finland Sanna Marin
Yes, there is evidence and she has even confessed to it publicly. At a news conference, she admitted to being “boisterous” with her friends at a party. Subsequently, a photo of two women, kissing, and revealing their breasts, though covered by a sign that said “Finland,” appeared on the TikTok of Sabina Särkkä, a thirty-three year old “influencer” and friend of the Finnish prime minister. She was one of the two women engaged in the now infamous kiss/flash, though Sanna Marin was not the unknown second woman.
This appalling, immoral scandal raises serious political questions, not only for Finland, but for us all across the globe. If women must be politicians and national leaders, where are the respectable, upright, joyless, sexless prime ministers such as Margaret Thatcher, Angela Merkel, and Golda Meir? They didn’t party. They didn’t dance. And they certainly didn’t pose for an official photoshoot in just a pantsuit and jacket, no bra, with a neckline that goes down to the navel!
Do you see cleavage on Sanna Marin?
Ever since the United States Food and Drug Administration approved contraceptive pills, or “the Pill,” in 1960, it would seem that women were given license to enjoy sex without consequences, that is, to be licentious. Historically, for millennia, that right was the exclusive province of men. And so, in the face of such unabashed enjoyment by the female sex – that has had many other culture-controverting effects such as women in the workplace, in the armed forces, and even in politics! – it is entirely appropriate to censure Sanna Marin for her public display of enjoyment, even if she was enjoying in private.
Finnish Prime Minister Sanna Marin visits the Rogue’s Gallery, before a portrait of the author, HH.
Women enjoy dancing, singing, and displaying their breasts has the desultory implication that they may also enjoy sex. This cannot be! Such heresy to the patriarchal hierarchy that has existed since the dawn of civilization must be excoriated from our society. To that end, we are beginning to see the pendulum shift in the other direction. In America, the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization has put an end to the formerly constitutionally protected right for a woman to obtain an abortion. There are many new laws that have either been passed or at least proposed to make it illegal to purchase, sell, or mail contraceptives and/or “abortion pills.” A few states are making it illegal for parents of so-called “transgender” youth to seek gender reassignment surgery and/or for doctors to perform it. States such as Texas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Utah, and Florida have passed or proposed laws censoring books deemed “sexually explicit,” “obscene materials,” “sensitive materials,” and “pornography.”
To this end, America should reinstate the Comstock Act, criminalizing using the U.S. Postal Service to mail any obscenity, contraceptives, abortifacients, or sex toys and authorizes the postal service to confiscate birth control sold through the mail. That will teach women that sex is not something to be enjoyed!
Is it really surprising that Sanna Marin has exhibit such behavior? After all, she is a woman who is the product of divorce and was raised by two women in a loving relationship. Perhaps it is due to this lesbian influence that Marin was recently spotted at a preview for the scandalous art exhibit, the Rogue’s Gallery, featuring the notorious nymphomaniac and porno-star, Lola Down. If ever a woman took pleasure, delight, and enjoyment in the act of sex – whether between her and a man, her and many men, her and a woman, her and many women, her and women and men, or with herself (most often) – it is Lola Down. The whole exhibit should be shut down and confiscated as deplorable depictions of degenerate art! Most damning of all, Sanna Marin is reputed to have said about the Rogue’s Gallery that it was “stimulating to both mind and body.”
Need I say more?
Prime Minister of Finland visits a preview of the Rogue’s Gallery and admires the paintings and drawings depicting Lola Down
Anti-Lola protester
Pro-Lo supporter of sex for women