Tag Archives: Ass

Lo’s Lysistrata

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“No!” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“You know very well why,” she said, turning around, standing on her tiptoes and pushing out her naked bum.  “If you want this,” she added, slapping her ass for emphasis, “then you’re going to have to earn it.”

A little backstory here is in order.  We were in a fight.  Lo was upset with me.  She was more than upset with me.  She was furious with me.  I had recently hired a red-headed, buxom, bombshell of a woman to do Public Relations for my business.  The fact that she was a red-headed buxom bombshell was most certainly not the reason I had hired her.  She had an impressive résumé, impeccable credentials, and stellar recommendations.  She had found me via LinkedIn and had offered her services to me at just the time when I was thinking of expanding my business into a new market.  In short, there were very good and eminently rational reasons to hire this woman, none of which had to do with her looks.  But Lo couldn’t get beyond the surface appearance.

“A ruby red Jessica Rabbit?!  Really?  You just had to have a complete set, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“Your secretary is a blonde bimbo.”

“She’s not a bimbo.”

“Your PR person is a ginger.  And I’m brunette.  You’ve got all your bases covered.”

“Lo, that has nothing to do with it.  Sheer coincidence.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.  I’m not even attracted to redheads.”

“All three of your previous girlfriends were redheads.”

“Exactly my point.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“All my ex’s are redheads.  I broke up with them.  Clearly red is not my color.”

“Well, no sex for you until you fire her.”

“I can’t just fire her.  That would be a violation of her rights.”

“What about my rights?” she said, thumbing her chest.

“What about them?”

“Don’t I have the right to peace of mind, quiet enjoyment, not to mention, my conjugal rights?”

“Lo, I’m ready to conjugate right now,” I said, pulling out my hard cock.

“Phhhht,” she replied, “Not until Jessica Rabbit is gone.”

Just to be clear, dear reader, the new PR person was not named Jessica, but for the purposes of this story, we’ll stick with Lo’s derogatory name for her.

“I know you’re a jealous woman but. . .” I began, trying to restate my defense.

“What sort of PR professional posts pics of herself in a thong bikini on the beach on her Instagram page?”

“You looked up her Instagram page?”

“Of course I did.  And I know you did too!”

“I most certainly did not.  But can I see?”

That little attempt at humor was definitely ill timed.  Lo put on her panties and work clothes and walked out of the room in her heels as she lifted her right hand to flip me the bird as she slammed the door behind her and called out, “NO SEX FOR YOU!”

I know that Lola wasn’t thinking rationally because what sense does it make for a nymphomaniac to go on a sex strike in order to get her way?  Nonetheless, she was upset.  Very upset.  And somehow I had to make things right.  But I didn’t know how.  Would she eventually come around?  Would I have to dismiss Jessica?  Would they have a knock down drag out cat fight?  Who knows.

One thing I was confident about was that Lo wouldn’t last long with this protest of hers.  How could she?  Unless she was going to go out there and find someone else to bang, which was always a distinct possibility.

Two, then three, then four days (and nights!) went by and she stuck to her guns.  I wasn’t even allowed to sleep in the same bed with her, but I was subjected to her moans and groans of self-pleasure.  A tantalizing torture.

After the fifth day of this cruel and very unusual punishment, I could take no more.  I had come up with a strategy for winning the war.  I put things into place and two days later, Monday afternoon, my secret weapon arrived by mail in a non-descript cardboard box, about the size of a shoebox.  It had my name on it and I purposefully left it out on the dining room table for Lo to ponder like Pandora’s box.

Like clockwork, when Lo got home and saw it she asked, “What’s that?”

“Oh, just something for me that I ordered on-line,” I replied nonchalantly.

“What is it?” she asked again, picking up the box and shaking it.

“Don’t shake it!” I warned.

“Is it fragile?  Is it for me?”

“It’s really none of your concern,” I said, knowing how much that would piss her off.

“What the fuck is it?!  You’d better tell me right now.”

“Calm down,” I said.  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I’ll find out this instant!” she said, stomping her little foot.

“It’s just. . . just something to help me out.”

“Help you out?  How?  Is it a lifetime supply of Viagra?”

“Darling, I certainly don’t need any E.D. medicines.”

“That’s what you think.”

“But you are on the right track.”

“That’s it, I’m opening it up,” she said, making for the kitchen to get scissors.

She returned and violated the sacred law of the postal service – opening another’s mail.  And when she saw what was inside, she flipped out!  All going to plan.

“Stoya the Destroya Signature Fleshlight!”

“Yes,” I said calmly, talking the box from her hands.  “If you’re going on a sex-strike, then I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands,” I said.

“A surrogate pussy?!  You throw that thing out right now!  I will not stand for it!”

“Then get on your back and spread your legs for me.”

“No.”

“OK then,” I said, turning to leave with my pussy in hand.

“Where are you going?”

“To get laid.”

“The hell you are!”

I walked into the bedroom, removed my clothes, took Stoya’s pussy out of the box, read the extensive instructions and warnings, and began to follow the directions.  I was pleased to see that it came with its own small bottle of lube.

Lo walked in.  (I hadn’t locked the door.)

“You’re really going to fuck that thing?” she asked.

“Care to watch?”  (I knew that she wouldn’t or couldn’t resist.)

She sat on the side of the bed as I stroked lube all over my hard cock.  I then put lube on my fingers and began fingering Stoya.

“What are you doing?” she asked, perplexed.

“The instructions clearly say to lubricate the inside before use.”

“Wouldn’t you rather something that’s naturally wet?” she asked as she removed her panties.  She still had on her heels from work and her black dress.  She spread her legs on the bed and pulled at her pussy lips.

“Of course I would,” I said, “but Stoya is primed and ready for me.”  (I was purposefully being an asshole.)

“I’ve been primed and ready.  Wouldn’t you rather pump this,” she asked as she slipped in a couple of fingers.

“Are you really offering?”

“No.  You can’t have it.  I’m mad at you.”

“OK then,” I said as I penetrated Stoya’s soft and supple pussy.  I had two hands on the casing of the Fleshlight and I was sliding it on and off my cock as Lo fingered her own puss with one hand and then really upped the ante by fingering her ass and saying, “Is Stoya tight?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“As tight as my little ass?”

“I doubt it.”

“Do you want my ass?” she asked, fingering both her holes in front of me as I looked on hungrily.

I continued fucking Stoya, imagining I was fucking Lola.  “You know, there’s a Stoya anal Fleshlight as well,” I said.

“Then fuck that, because you can say goodbye to these!” she retorted as she turned around on the bed so she was lying on her tum, her head propped up by her hands.  I could still see her ass as her dress was flapped up over her waist.  I knew that something Lo loves is seeing guys masturbate.  She frequently requested that I jack it for her and she can never get enough since she can’t both watch me and have me.  That’s why she wants two men at the same time.

I did as she commanded and slid the pussy down and back on my rod.  I could see her grow visibly jealous of the device.

“What?” I said at her displeasure, “You have your Hitachi, your double-ended-dildo, your Remus, your. . .”

“Shut up and cum already,” she said.

“And you’re jealous of me because once, ONCE, in however many years I get a sex toy for myself?!”

“What about your sheath?  Your penis extender?”

“That was for you, not me.”

“Enough dialogue.  Fuck that pussy and cum if you’re gonna cum.”

“If you really want me to cum,” I said, “then hold it for me.”

“You want me to hold Stoya’s pussy so you can fuck her instead of me?”
“Well, are you willing to give me your pussy?”

She reached out and held onto the thick trunk of the sleeve.  I fucked more vigorously.  Her mouth opened.  At the crucial moment, I pulled out and, without warning, ejaculated the money shot all over her delighted face.  She was dripping in my cum when she said, “That. Was. Amazing.”

[p.s. – This installment of mysexlifewithlola was not sponsored by Stoya or Fleshlight, nor are we affiliated with them. (Though we’d love to be!  Hint hint.)

 

Slap Shot

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“Tell me about the hockey team,” I say.

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

“Oooohhhh, you mean the hockey team that I met on my trip.”

“Yeah, that hockey team.  Why?  Is there another I should know about?”

“There are a lot of hockey teams in the world.”

“And you’re just the gal for each of them, aren’t you?”

“If you say so,” she says, batting her eyelids.

“Just tell me about the hockey team you began telling me about the other night.”

She had begun telling me about it the night she returned from her business trip, but I was so primed and ready for our reunification that I didn’t last long enough to hear any more than the teasing preview.  Now a few weeks had gone by of my living in ecstatic mystery wondering about her little hints and jibes and I felt ready to hear the full-length tale.

“First,” she says, “get naked and lie on your back.”

I follow instructions.

She pulls out the massage oil and drips it over my cock.  She begins to rub as the starts up where she left off.

“I told you, I was on my way back up to my hotel room when I got in the elevator with a bunch of guys who had arrived in town for a hockey tournament.  I think they positively could smell how horny I was.  They began to make small talk with me and I flirted back.  They told me that they had the entire ninth floor of the hotel.  I told them I was on the eleventh floor and I asked if they were up for coming up.”

“Let me guess, they were all very hard-up.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, caressing my member with both hands.  “Just like you. . . only bigger.”

“And?”

“Well, they invited me to their floor first and so I got off.”

“Off the elevator?”

“Well, I got off on my floor, went to my room, got myself off, freshened up, and then went to their floor.  All the doors were open on their floor and everyone was coming and going like in a dorm room.  I flitted here and there and some of them were changing or walking around with their shirts off and a few had just gotten out of the shower and had nothing on but a towel around the waist.  They were all gorgeous.”

“I bet.  I bet you didn’t even see their faces.”

“Oh, no.  I saw their faces and their arms, their chests, their lovely sculpted legs.  I saw just about everything.”

“But you wanted more.”

“More is my favorite amount.  So I invited five of them down to my room.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me.  A select five.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that.  How did you select them?”

“I had the whole team stand at attention in a row naked and I selected the five longest cocks.”

“You did not!”

“No, but a lady can dream, can’t she?”

“Anyhow, I selected the five nicest guys and we went down to my room and I told them a bit more about me before slipping off my panties.  I had my little black cocktail dress on and I bent over the side of the bed and let them take a look under it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  And I encouraged them to pull out their cocks and jack off behind me, which they did willingly.”

“I bet.”

“And then I said, ‘Go on, slap it.’  And one of them gave me a good, solid whack.”

“They were so kind and considerate.”

“I thought so too!  My fingers were down between my legs, caressing and pulling my long pussy lips.  They could see as they took turns slapping my ass.  First they were timid, but then they grew more confidant as I moaned and said ‘Yes.’  Then I asked who wanted to be first in.  One of the guys immediately got behind me and began thrusting as hard and fast as he could.  It was rough and manic like a jackhammer horizontally placed in my cunt.”

“And you loved it, I bet.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong.  But he came so quickly, deep inside me.  I crawled up on the bed and let the next guy in.  He was slower, more loving.”

“Loving?”

“Well, more gentle.  I turned over my shoulder and said, ‘You can do better than that,’ and his friends encouraged him.  They each had their puds in their hands, except for the guy who had just cum in me.  But guy number two couldn’t finish.  I guess it was a lot of pressure.  He pulled out and a lot of cum from the first guy dripped out of me.  One of them snapped a photo of me from behind just before the third guy went in me.  After that, I sort of lost track of who was where because then one of them got under me and entered me so that they were double penetrating my pussy just like I always wanted.  And later one was fingering my ass and then he let himself in there, cumming deep inside while a different guy was under me in my puss.  I have no idea who came where or how many times I came.  One of them even got in front of me and came in my mouth and on my face.  In the end, let’s just say that everyone had scored at least once.”

“Who says that hockey is a zero-sum game?”

“Right?  Win-win!”

“Any chance I can get a shot on goal?”

“It’s wide open,” she says as she gets on top of me and slides her puss down my pole.

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

“Smoother than ice, and a whole hell of a lot warmer.”

Pride Day

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Lola and I happened to be in the nation’s capital for Gay Pride Day.  It was a perfect sunny June day and we had just had brunch in our little B&B in the center of the city.  We looked over the events listed in the LGBTQ paper and had forged a rough plan for the day.  We began at Dupont Circle watching the crowd of ebulliently self-proclaimed “fags,” “dykes,” and “traps” congregate.  We wandered along with the flow of folks until the stream we were in grew to a mighty river of revelers.  The party and parade were in full swing and we were cheering on the costumed and carousing throng.

After a while of this, we grew thirsty and hungry and we wondered off the main route to some smaller streets to find someplace to replenish our energy.  As we walked about in a neighborhood we didn’t know, we saw two guys, obviously a couple, in their mid-forties or so and we asked them for a recommendation.  They stopped just long enough for one of them to say, “If you turn right down this alleyway, there’s a small bar with good food and cold drinks at the very end.  But,” he looked us over quickly and immediately concluded that we were a straight couple, “it probably isn’t for you.”

I took great offense at that, but Lo brushed it off or, more accurately, she took it as a personal challenge.

We followed his instructions and sure enough down a long alleyway, just wide enough for us to walk single file, we found a door.  There was no name.  There was nothing to announce that this was any sort of dining establishment.  Just a door.  There was nowhere else for us to go, so we went in.

On the other side of that mysterious door was a dark room full of men of all ages.  There were no windows so not even a hint of the glorious day filtered into this shady hole in the wall.  Guys were playing pool, others were sitting around the bar drinking beers, and some others, but very few, were at tables having lunch.

Instead of sports games on the various TVs in the bar as you would see elsewhere, there was a seemingly endless slideshow of naked and semi-naked men projected on every screen.  Each man was buff, handsome, and totally gay.  Lo was practically drooling looking at them.

“Hungry?” I asked her.

“You have no idea,” she said before snapping out of it and asking, “You mean, for lunch?”

“Lunch, or whatever,” I said back.

“I could do whatever.”

We sat at the bar and got a few odd looks from the patrons.  She was the only women in there and the fact that I was with her made it even more of a spectacle.

We ordered some food and two cold beers.  We were parched.

As we waited for the food to come, one affable fellow with less xenophobia than the rest started up a conversation with us.  He asked us where we were from, what brought us to D.C., how we were liking it, and our experience of the Pride Parade.  He was tall, about six feet, and easy going, as if from the south – or further south than D.C.  He had a moustache and a chiseled jawline.  He made us feel at ease and the fact that he was talking to us was a sign to the rest of the guys that it was ok.

After we ate and had about three beers, Lo was feeling like playing pool and so she challenged this gent to a game.  He laughed, as if Lo couldn’t possibly beat him, and accepted her offer.  Lo’s pride was at stake and she marched up to the table and racked up the balls.  She picked up the cue ball and said, “Do you want to break or shall I?”

“You can,” he said with a chuckle.

“What?” asked Lo, “You think I don’t know how to handle some heavy balls and a long stick?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, amused.

Lo bent over the table, revealing a bit under her denim skirt, and took her shot.  Nothing went in.

“You might be able to handle balls and a stick, but getting it in the pocket is the trick,” he said.

“Trust me,” said Lo, “I know how to get it in the hole.”

He laughed again as he took his shot.  It was an easy shot but he did it with the cool and confidence of a pro.  I was worried for Lo’s pride.

The game went on with his taking five shots to every one of Lo’s.  He quickly vanquished her.  But he was kind about it.  He offered to buy us both a drink to show no hard feelings.

“No hard feelings,” said Lo, as she took a sip of her beer, cheersing him, “but is anything else hard?” she asked.

“You got yourself a woman who really likes a challenge,” he said to me with a playful wink of his eye.  Then to her, “If you want to find out, follow me.”

He put down his drink and started to walk off toward an even darker corner of the bar.  Lo looked at me as her tongue ran its way over her lips, and she followed him.  They sat at a small, private round table in the shadows and from where I stood at the bar I could see them making out.  His big hands found their way up her skirt and I could see her convulsing.  She then repositioned herself, straddling her legs over his knee as she sat looking at him and kissing him, her right thigh rubbing up against his crotch.  I saw her right hand reach down between his legs and rub his cock while he buried his face in her breasts.

Though the others in the bar could see it if they chose to look, they simply ignored it.  Lo’s left hand was rubbing up and down the man’s right bicep.  Knowing Lo, I was sure that she was squirting all over the guy’s jeans.  Then there was a moment when they both froze, as if the movie was on pause.  Then they moved really slowly.  The guy went to the bathroom.  Lo sauntered proudly back to me at the bar.

“Did you pay the tab?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good, let’s go.”

“But you didn’t say goodbye to your new friend.”

“That’s ok.  He’s going to be a while cleaning up.”

And just like that we walked out, down the long alley, and back into the sunlit celebration of sexuality.

“Do you know what made me cum?” Lo asked.

“Rubbing his strong arms?”

“Well, yes, that, but also he said to me that he wished you would join in and he could suck your cock while I sucked his.”

“Did he now?”

“Yeah.  How do you feel about that?”

“Well, it’s too bad you didn’t tell me earlier.”

“Would you do it?”

“I guess we’ll never know since you took care of him all by yourself.”

“Well, why didn’t you follow me to the table?”

“You looked like you had things well in hand.”

“But you could have joined.”

“I guess,” I said, “but I like to be asked.  It’s a matter of personal pride.”

“Naked Brunch”

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“Lo!” I called from the bedroom into the bathroom through the closed door.  “LO!  What are you doing in there?!”  As if there were any question, really.

“Grrrrr, you’re not helping, you know!” came the response.  “This water pressure sucks!”

“Jim will be here in fifteen – no, ten minutes.”

You see Jim, of the “doppelganger” couple, was to come over for brunch that Sunday morning.  Lilly, his girlfriend, was out of town for a week and he had called me and asked if I would have time to talk.  When I told him that Lo and I were free Sunday morning, he clumsily apologized and said, “Oh, I meant just you and me.  I’m going through something and I. . .”

He was clearly uncomfortable and I felt bad for my assumption.  I didn’t put him through having to explain it all on the phone, so I simply said, “No worries.  Come on over at eleven and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Well, now it was ten to eleven Sunday morning and Lo had been in the shower, no doubt sitting on the tub’s floor with the showerhead between her legs, for the better part of half an hour.  She was supposed to be out of the house by now and I was getting irritated by the lack of consideration.  When I presented the plans to her, in typical Lola fashion she took umbrage at not being the center of attention.  “What could he possibly have to say to you that I can’t hear?  Do you think he’s breaking up with Lilly?  Do you think she left him?”

“Lo,” I said, “I don’t know.  But I do know that he’s a friend in need and I will find out the whole story on Sunday.”

“Well,” she said, insulted, “I have two ears just like you do.  I’m a good listener.  I can dole out advice.  I’m a comforting soul.”

“All of that is true, Lo,” I said, “but, hard as it is to believe, maybe he needs to talk man-to-man.”

“Harrumph!” she said, dramatically, “I could have a penis too, if I wanted one.  I’ve got like four or five different strap-ons under the bed.  Maybe if I had a penis he’d want to talk to me.”

“Lo, most men want to talk to you most of the time – penis or no penis.  Can’t you accept that this one time a guy wants to talk to me. . . alone?”

I got her to promise that she’d let us alone for a few hours so that I could hear whatever it was that Jim had to say to me.  But now she was dangerously close to intruding upon that precious one-on-one time.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a plume of steam into the bedroom.  From within the cloud, the naked body of Lola appeared like the epiphany of a goddess out of heaven.  Under normal circumstances, this would be the perfect opportunity to bend her over the edge of the bed and get on my knees to worship her posterior.  But we had a guest – no, correction, I had a guest – scheduled to arrive in mere moments.

“You like, Daddy?” she asked, seeing me soak her visage in with my eyes.

“Lola,” I said in my Ricky Ricardo to Lucy voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a jiffy!”

I took her word for it and went into the kitchen to take out the ingredients for the brunch I was preparing.  The doorbell rang and I welcomed Jim in, explaining that Lo is just getting a bit of a late start.  He greeted me with a smile and a bottle of champagne, “For mimosas,” he said.

“Wonderful idea!  Shall I pour two now?”

“It is brunch time,” he said.

I went into the kitchen and popped the cork and poured the bubbly in two long-stem glasses with OJ.  The kitchen is half-way between the living room and the bedroom.  From where I was in there, I could hear Lo beginning to moan.  I hastily grabbed the two glasses and returned to the living room where I said, “Some music?”  I turned on a Sunday blues station louder than was necessary, exclaiming, “I love this song!”

“Oh, who is it?” asked Jim.

Truth be told, I had no idea.  I just wanted something to drown out the inevitable cries of pleasure that would reverberate down the hallway.  “I forget, but I haven’t heard it in a long time,” I said as I felt beads of sweat on my brow.

We sat in the living room talking in raised voices over the music, just catching up with each other since it had been a while since we last spoke in person.

“Refill?” I asked when I saw his glass was empty.

He passed me his glass and I went to the kitchen.  I went to refill his glass and quickly darted over to the bedroom where I peered in the door.  Lo was naked on the bed, Hitachi between her legs.  She looked over at me and whispered, “Sorry.”

“Are you done?” I whispered back, accusingly.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I closed the door and brought out the mimosas to the living room, turning down the music now.  We chatted some more and then Lola walked into the room wearing her thin, tight, black yoga pants and a crop top, exposing her midriff.

“Hi Jim,” she said, flirtatiously.

“Hi Lola!”

“Don’t mind me.  I’m just on my way to the gym for a yoga class.  I know you boys want your time alone.  I just have to get my gym bag.”  Though her gym bag was in the hall leading to the living room and she could have simply picked it up, she made a production of turning around, bending over, protruding her tail in the air and then picking it up.  It was a classic stripper move designed to provide the best view for Jim.

“Doesn’t that class start at eleven?” I asked facetiously.  “You’d better get a move-on.”

“I’ll hightail it there, D—”  She almost said “Daddio,” but stopped herself mid-consonant.  “Don’t worry about me,” she stammered.  She gave me a kiss goodbye and was finally out the door.

I observed with keen interest how Jim’s eyes followed Lo’s ass as she sauntered away.

When she was definitively gone, I got up and said, “Want to accompany me as I prepare the brunch?”

He followed me into the kitchen where I sliced and diced, fried and prepared the meal as he made some small talk.  We sat down, ate, drank some more mimosas, and then, finally, he got to that which was on his mind.

“You know that Lilly is in Miami now,” he said.

“Yeah, how’s that going?”

“Well, she’s been away for four days and. . .”

I thought he was going to tell me that they had broken up and she wasn’t returning back, even though – or perhaps because – they had just moved in together.  But that’s not where he was going with this.

“Well, you might not know this,” he continued, “but she and I are in an ‘open’ relationship.”  He made air-quotes around “open.”  No.  No, I had not known that.  Does he know about Lo and me?  I hadn’t told him.  Had Lo?  Why bring this up with me?  Had he found our blog?  So many things ran through my mind at that moment.

“Until now,” he continued, “it really was an understanding between us, an operating principle, but it wasn’t put into practice.”

“Ah ha,” I nodded, indicating my understanding.

“But she called the other night – it was the first night she was down there – and she asked if she could sleep with a guy she met at the bar.”

“Oh,” I said.  “And?”

“That’s just the thing – I was already asleep.  I didn’t get the message until the next morning and by then it was too late.”

“Too late?” I didn’t know if he meant the opportunity had come and gone or if the opportunity had cum and stayed.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?  Did she?”

He swallowed hard and admitted, “Yes.  She didn’t hear back from me and, operating on our understanding, she slept with him.  She did try to ask permission and she waited for a reply,” he said in defense of her before I even had a chance to react.

“How are you doing with that?”

“That’s just the thing, I’m doing horrible with it.”  The distress was clear on his face.

I still hadn’t figured out why he had chosen to confide in me about this.

“What, exactly, is upsetting you about it?”

Let’s be clear here, in most situations if a fella came to his friend’s house and told him that he just found out that his girlfriend had slept with another man, there wouldn’t be any question as to what, exactly, was upsetting about it.  But this wasn’t most situations.  He got that and I did too.

“When I agreed to an open relationship, I did so because I knew that that was what she was used to and what she wanted.  It was at the beginning of our relationship when you feel like nothing could derail the connection.  But. . .”  He took a deep drink of mimosa and I refilled his glass.  “But since then we’ve had some issues. . .”  Long pause again.  “Intimacy.  She says that we don’t connect sexually and spiritually.  She says she loves me in every other way, but. . . and this is really hard to admit, she’s just not satisfied with my performance in bed.  So, to hear about her with another man, it’s driving me nuts!”

I thought to myself, “You can either let it get to you or embrace your inner cuck and love your hotwife for who she is.”  I didn’t say that to him, of course.  I just lent a compassionate ear to his tale of woe.  I gave some worldly advice, perhaps revealing more about myself and my relationship with Lola than I had intended, but not stating anything explicit about my relationship with her.  I was eager to find out the root of their sexual disconnect, but careful not to pry.  I knew that, had Lo been there – had she been the Lady Confessor – she would have been able to coax it out of him.

No sooner had I thought this than in the door appeared Lo.  Jim put on his best smile and greeted her.  “How was the yoga class?”

“So good,” said Lola.  “How was your brunch?”

“We’re just finishing up,” said Jim as he cleared his plate and, as it seemed to me, hastily began to say goodbye.

As soon as he was out the door, Lo looked at me and said, “Did I scare him off?”

“I think you did,” I said, as surprised as she by the abrupt departure.

“Good,” she said, “now we’re alone.  Tell me everything!”

“First, young lady,” I said in a scolding manner, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Hearing my rebuking tone, she turned tail and said, “I’m sorry, Daddy, spank me!”  She bent over in her yoga pants and put her bum in the air.  I gave her a good, hard, thrashing with my flat, open hand.  It was clearly having an arousing effect upon her.

“Why are you spanking me, Daddy?”

“First,” I said, giving her bum a whack, “for jilling it in the shower.  Second” and another whack, “for being late out the door.  Third,” Whack! “for jilling it in bed.  Fourth,” Whap! “for walking out in those yoga pants.”

“You noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“I think you know.”

“Your cameltoe?”

“So you did notice?  I didn’t wear any panties under the yoga pants.  I pulled them up tight so that when I walked out my pussy, with all its clearly outlined folds, would be eye-level with Jim as he sat in the living room.”

WHACK!

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, licking her lips at the pain and pleasure.  “I was bad.  I purposely teased him.  Did you like that?”

I pulled down her yoga pants and spanked her bare bottom now.  “Fifth, for returning so early and teasing him again!”

“Take me in the bedroom and tell me what happened.”

I took her and told her the whole story.  She masturbated to each detail and then said, “Do you think he came to you because he suspects I’m a hotwife?”

“Yes,” I said, “and not only that, but I think that what’s really going on is he’s feeling threatened that Lilly will get all the action and he’ll get none.  I think his coming to me was his way of asking permission if it would be ok to fuck you, just so he can play too.”

“Really?!” asked Lo, very excited.  “What makes you think that?”

“Just my gut.  But I think he’s way too shy or uptight to actually come out and say it.”

“Do you think he has a small cock?  Or trouble getting it up?  Or. . .”

“Lo, I really don’t know.  I haven’t put too much thought to it, but I’m sure you could be the cure to whatever ails him.”

“Oh, Daddy, hurry up and get in me!”

As soon as I had penetrated her puss to the hilt, she came in waves, gushing all over me.  It took nothing more than that initial lance before she was convulsing upon my hard shaft.  When she was done, she asked, “Did he like your brunch?”

“I think he would have preferred to have your naked peaches and cream.”

Original art by Jo Koss

Sexy Shorts: Punctuality

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It was one of the first really cold days in November and we went to a football game together.  When we returned home around 4:30, we were both cold.

“My hands just can’t get warm,” cried Lo.

“Put them down my pants,” I said, “I wore long johns.”

“You would,” she said as if implying something, but that didn’t stop her from putting both hands down there and cuddling my cock and balls in her chilly palms.

“Thanks,” she said.

“My pleasure.  Truly.”

We were expecting company, but not until 6:00.  After her hands warmed up, Lo began to stroke her pussy with one hand while tugging on my cock with the other.  Suddenly the doorbell rang.  “Who the hell?” I asked, upset at the interruption.  I had to hop out of bed to answer the door.  Lo stayed in bed.

It was our guests.  I felt like telling them that punctuality is a deadly sin in my book.

I popped my head in the bedroom to announce our guests to the lady of the house.  She was decidedly not impressed by their promptness.  “Whatever happened to fashionably late?!” she asked, pulling her panties up and scrounging for something to wear.

Later that night, as the company was going out the door I said, “Come again.”

After the company left, Lo said to me, “I can’t believe they came so early!  I had plans.”

“What sort of plans?”

“I was going to jill it and cum and you were going to do me and cum and I was going to jill it some more and cum again.”

“Those are the best sorts of plans.”

“Yeah. . . the best laid plans.”

We’re Good

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Once, while doing a little internet search to find out if any other guy is in a similar situation as I, I came across the following plea for help to some advice columnist:

 

I recently found out that my girlfriend waits for me to go upstairs and take a shower, or goes upstairs to the shower herself so that she can masturbate.  I have never, ever rejected her for sex.  I have even told her many times that she could have me whenever and wherever.  We have been together for almost five years.  When I caught her – long story – she claimed that this has only been going on for a few months before I found out.  I was really upset about it.  When I confronted her about it, she said that it only happens ‘six out of every ten times’ that I’m not home.  So, more than half of the time that I’m not there, she would rather fuck herself than me.  She acts happy and she tells me she loves me multiple times a day.   She says that everything in our relationship is good.  However, over the past six or seven months, she only had sex with me maybe once or twice a month.  (When we started dating we were having sex at least once or twice a day!)  She claims that she wants sex, but she just would rather masturbate than have sex with me – even when I’m at home.  I just don’t understand why.  And now I feel like I just don’t know who she really is or that our relationship is as truthful as I thought it was.

 

I felt really bad for the poor dejected boyfriend, especially because it could easily have been written by Lo’s ex-boyfriend – the guy she was with just prior to me.

You see, she was with this boy, Steve, for close to three years.  The first year was wonderful – so she tells me – but the last two, not so much.  At some point she fell out of love with him.  It happens.  Now, Lo being Lo, though the love was lost, she couldn’t just turn off her libido.  And, if she were very honest, she would tell you that she stayed with this fella because he did have quite an amazing cock – over 9” in length and thicker than her forearm in girth.  As a result, she resorted to the methods of the hapless fella’s girlfriend as quoted above.  She would masturbate in bed after he fell asleep.  She’d masturbate in the shower when he was home with her (at his parent’s house).  She would masturbate when he wasn’t around.

What’s more, when Lo began to deny this strapping youth the pleasures of worshiping at her alter, he, being virile himself, would often jack it in the bed next to her.  She could feel the bed moving, his breathing growing heavy in short quick breaths, and sometimes even the warm ejaculate upon her back.  Through it all she remained stoic and still, feigning sleep until it was her turn.  She knew that only a few moments after he came she would have her chance.

Yet, every once in a while she still craved that cock of his and she would get her fill.  On occasion she would open her mouth to receive all nine inches of that rod; she’d bend over to take it in her puss or her ass; she’d get on her knees to have him cum on her face.  And this was enough to give Steve hope and keep him returning to the well for more.

Much of this relationship was while Lo was in college and Steve, who didn’t go to college and lived at home with his parents, was none-the-wiser of Lo’s various “boyfriends” she kept at school.  There was Gerald and his diminutive endowment enhanced (or, rather, the opposite of enhanced) by the use of steroids.  There was Teddy and the massive member he carried around with him like a Smith & Wesson 500 Magnum.  And there was the elusive Ryan.  These play-things were good for some thrills, but Lo was unable to extricate herself from the place she carved out in Steve’s nuclear and extended family.

She went through all the motions of Thanksgiving and Christmas, birthdays, and family vacations with them.  Yes, the first year she entirely enjoyed him and his family.  In truth, they were a very good group of people – so good that when she felt herself falling out of love with him, she lamented leaving them more than leaving him.

She remained in this limbo, as I said, for about two strained years.  I knew her during this time and, on occasion, we would see each other.  It would only be years later, after she and I became a couple, that she revealed to me that she had a thing for me all that time and that frequently, after we would get together for a coffee to catch up, or an innocent meeting at a concert or bookstore, she would jill it to thoughts of me.  (Flattering.  Very flattering.)

But then, in some magical way, sparks of romance began to shoot back and forth in our Platonic relationship.  Soon enough she was slipping away from Steve in order to meet with me for the illicit dark alley kiss; the so very risky blow-job in my office, or the unrestrained fuck in the front seat of my steamed-up car.

Then came that fateful day that she and I were at a remote bar, staring into each other’s eyes, talking, after having two or three drinks, when she revealed to me something that cut me to the quick.  “So, last night, after we met and you got me all riled up,” she began, making reference to our long, lustful make-out session that resulted in her cumming a number of times without any actual penetration, “I needed it.  I had to have it.  I went home and I woke Steve up from bed and I sucked his cock till he was good and hard.  I spread my legs and, as he was going at me with that massive cock of his and I was just on the verge of cumming and cumming in a BIG way, I found myself unconsciously saying. . .”

“Saying what?” I asked, on the edge of my seat when her words trailed off.

“Saying your name.”

“Out loud?!”

“Well, loud enough that I heard it.  I don’t think Steve heard me.  He was going at me furiously.  When I finally came, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming your name cause, you see, I was imagining that it was you fucking me and not him.”

These words of hers poured into my ears like a mixture of poison and elixir.  They swirled in my chest and elicited the most confused concoction of emotions I had ever known.  At one and the same time I was delighted to hear this story; excited to imagine it vividly in my mind; repulsed by the image; disturbed by the thought of her going home to him for sex, even if she was thinking about me.  I had no words for any of this.  Waves of heat descended over my body from head to toe.  All I could do was look into her lovely eyes and gaze at her beautiful and oh-so-dirty mouth.  And, without knowing what it was that I was doing or saying, I grabbed her hands and my mouth pronounced the words, “Lo, I need to tell you, I love you.  I love you desperately and deeply.  I love you in a way that I have never, ever known.  I love you and I have loved you and every day I fall deeper in love with you.”

She looked at me with confusion and joy on her face.  We were in the middle of some dive joint in the sticks, country music playing on an old jukebox, the bar filled with sad, drunk people.  This was hardly the place that I would have picked to profess my love for her and I think that the confession came as quite a surprise to her as well.  But her response to my unreasoned and untoward words surprised me equally.  She said simply, “I love you too.”  It wasn’t the sort of pat, formulaic response that is said out of politeness.  It was heartfelt.  They were four simple, monosyllabic, yet very weighty words pronounced with measure and sincerity.  Perhaps more than the words, the look in her eyes as she said them lent them the reassurance of truth that reading them on the page fails to do.

Her hands clutched mine and I knew that we had something, something real and something special – something that we had to do something with and about in order to become the people we were.

Sometime after this mutual exchange of love, I said to her, “Lo, but there is one thing I need you to promise me – to promise me very solemnly.”

“What?”

“I need you to swear that if ever you fall out of love with me like you have fallen out of love with Steve, you will tell me.  You will have the kindness and courage to say it to my face immediately.  You will never string me along.  You will never stay with me out of convenience.  You will never fuck me and whisper to yourself the name of some other man.”

Little did I know back then what I know now – that I would give my blessing to Lo’s fucking as many men and women as she pleases.  Yet one thing still holds true – I demand her love.  I know that when she fucks someone else, it is I whom she loves.  I know that when she masturbates to wild fantasies, it is I whom she loves.  I know that when she lusts for men and women whom we pass in the street, it is I whom she loves.  As long as I know that, we’re good.  We’re very, very good.

[Image, of Lola Masturbating by JoKoss.]

Cake & Bar – Interview with a Kinky Amateur Porn Couple

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In the past we have periodically featured some letters and guest posts from some of our readers.  Because we’ve received so much mail in the past year, we are now including a regular feature of kinky letters and write-in questions.  To start us off, we begin with a lovely couple that go by the names of Cake & Bar (you’ll find out why below.) They have a Tumblr and they post short films of their sexy passion for each other:

Q: Let’s begin with the name.  What’s Cake and Bar all about?

A: Well, Bar loves cheesecake (the actual food) and also loves Cake’s ass, so her name came easy. Bar has a very veiny dick and looks like a big Snickers when it’s fully erect, so that was the inspiration. The name is are also a play on us being an interracial couple.

Q: It looks like you started your Tumblr in July 2017.  Is this exhibitionism something new for you two?  How’d you get into it?

A: We started our Tumblr after being suspended from Twitter permanently for some odd reason. Tumblr was another way for us to share our sexuality and advertise for our porn movies on Manyvids. We’ve been on Manyvids for a year now, so yes we guess you could say we’re new to exhibitionism and porn making in general. Bar has always loved taking pictures of Cake, so one day he asked if we could start posting pictures anonymously to see the feedback we would get it from other people and the rest is history. For the most part it has been nothing but positive experiences.

Q: How long have you been a couple?

A: We’ve been together 15 years and been married 5 years and we have 2 children.

Q: Are you currently monogamous?  If not, what’s the relationship like?

A: Yes, we’re monogamous.

Q: How has been the response to your posting pics and films of yourselves?  A lot of Tumblr folks complain of people being rude or having derogatory things to say.  That hasn’t been our experience.  What about you?

A: For the most part we’ve had positive responses to the things we’ve shared. There’s always going to be some negative, but we take it in stride because it’s expected with the internet.

Q: You don’t show your faces in the pics/vids.  Do you worry that you’ll be found out?

A: We don’t worry per se about being found out, but we like anonymity and the masks give us something else to set the scene with.

Q: Do any of your friends/family know about your kinky side?

A: Only 2 of our friends know we make porn and they’re totally supportive of us.

Q: What do you each like (in terms of sex/porn)?

A, Bar: Straight amatuer porn, mostly Interracial and Black. Some professional porn like the Greg Lanskys stuff.

A, Cake: Doesn’t enjoy watching porn as much as she likes shooting it.

HH & Lo: Thanks so much!!!!

Cake & Bar: You’re welcome and thanks for your patience with our response.

Some photos from Cake & Bar getting off to Lola (more can be found at their Tumblr and at loladown.tumblr.com):

 

 

Red-Handed

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Sunday morning and, uncharacteristically, I slept late.  I usually “arise” hours before Lo – meaning, due to her lovely slumbering, naked body next to me, my cock is up before the sun and then I awake and, wishing to avoid disturbing her, I sneak out of the bedroom and perch myself on the couch in the living room writing erotica about her until she wakes and is ready to have me.

However, that morning was different.  For whatever reason, I didn’t get up before dawn and when my eyes did finally open, I awoke to find Lo on her tum next to me in bed.  Her phone was carefully placed at the head of the bed so she could read or look at something on its screen, her left hand was between her legs caressing her wet pussy lips and her right hand was casually giving my erect cock a hand-job.

Just as my eyes were opening in order to take all this in and attempt to make out the digital numbers on the clock, I heard her orgasm ramping up as she moaned into the pillow.  Her right hand let go of my cock and assisted her left in caressing her pussy.  The moans grew louder and her ass lifted in the air as if she were being penetrated by a phantom lover behind her.  She looked like an inch-worm as her ass slowly descended flat again with the passing of the ecstasy.

Without words, I gently pushed her over onto her back and spread her legs, entering her very wet pussy.  Her orgasm must have been blissful because she was unaware of anything at that moment, allowing me to see what was on the screen of her phone as it was still on, tilted against the headboard.  It showed pictures of Brian.  Apparently he works out a lot and he has a whole page of various images of himself bench pressing, curling, and doing sit-ups – all shirtless.  Lucky Lo.

I whispered to her, “Lo, you’re a bad girl.”

“I know, Daddy.  I’m sorry.”  She didn’t even try to deny it.  She was caught red-handed.

“As a punishment,” I said, feeling particularly entitled to demand whatever it was that I wanted, “you will have to do something for me.”

“What Daddy?” she said with some fear in her voice.

“First, turn over.”

She complied.  I got up behind her as if I were that phantom lover.  I penetrated her and began working at pleasing her pussy.

“What Daddy?” she asked, apprehensive of my wishes.

“When you cum,” and I knew she was going to cum soon, “I want you to call out his name.”

“Whose name?” she asked, poorly feigning innocence.

“You know who.”

“No, Daddy.”  My demand for her to own up to her unfaithfulness during sex seemed too much for her.

I spanked her bottom.  She moaned with delight.  “Yes, Lo.  Brian.  You will call out Brian’s name when you cum.  Do you hear me?”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Good.”

I went at her as I’m sure she had been imagining when she came the first time and, sure enough, within thirty seconds of agreeing to my punishment, she began whispering, “Brian.”  Her invocation grew louder and then she was calling out, “Brian!  Yes!  Brian!  Yes!  Fuck me!  Brian, I’m cumming!”

Hearing her call out another man’s name, knowing what she was thinking about, and visualizing all those photos that turned her on so much was too much for me.  I held out as long as I could and then I called to her, “Turn around and get on your knees!”

She jumped off my cock and swung around as I got to my feet on top of the bed and grabbed my throbbing cock.  I came all over her face as she submissively basked in the rain of cum.

When I was done, I simply said, “That’s my good girl.”

“All I want is to be your good girl, Daddy,” she said.

“I know that’s not all you want, but you’re lucky I’m such a good Daddy and I’m willing to give you whatever it is you want.”

“I know, Daddy.  And you’re lucky that you have a dirty little slut like me,” she said as she ran her tongue over her cum-covered lips.

Bigger, Harder, Longer

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Carrying a mug of coffee, I walk in on her just as she is squirting, pulling the Hitachi away from her clit.  Her hands scrunch up the sheets under her and her legs are spread.  Her head lifts and her breasts heave as she breathes quick breaths, screaming, “Oh Fuck!  Oh FUCK!  OH Fuuuuck!!!”  She looks over at me and says, “Don’t just stand there, get me a towel!”  I do so.

“I just came to tell you breakfast is ready.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Daddio!”

“When you’re ready, I’ll see you at the breakfast table.”

“But you didn’t kiss me good morning.”

“Yes I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I did – all night long.”

“Yeah.  I had to punch you to get you to stop and let me sleep.”

“Well, those were your good morning kisses.”

“I want one now.”

I lean over to kiss her good morning.  She lets me kiss her on the lips before pushing my head down between her legs.  “I meant there,” she says.

“Lo, I’m not going to eat you out before I eat breakfast.  It’s on the table getting cold!”

“Just one kiss, Daddio.  Please.”

I indulge her.  One kiss turns to a full-on tongue-fuck-fest of every area between her legs from the small of her back to her bellybutton.  Luckily she cums quickly.  I pull back and go into the bathroom to splash water on my face.  Her juices have a way of soaking my beard and mustache.  I look up, into the vanity mirror over the sink and see her preparing to pound herself with a dildo.

“OK, that does it!” I call to her.  “I’m just going to throw out the breakfast I made.”

“No, Daddio, I’ll be there in. . .”  Her words trail off as she becomes preoccupied with the instrumental manipulation of her puss.

I walk out of the bedroom, my hard-on leading the way.  I sit down at the breakfast table alone and eat the luke-warm eggs and toast while I hear her sing-song voice of oohs and ahs crescendo from the bedroom.

When we’re both done, I stand up, put my plate and glass in the sink and I bring her her breakfast on a tray.

“Oh, breakfast in bed!” she squeals, leaning over to put her toys away safely stashed under the bed.

“If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Mohammed.”

“Daddy, I’ll cum to anything.”

“Don’t I know it!  What did you cum to today?”

“I’m sorry Daddy,” she says, looking guilty.

“Why?  Because you let your eggs and toast get cold?”

She shakes her head, no.

“What is it then?  That you used my mouth, but kept all the orgasms to yourself?”

Again she shakes her head in the negative.  Keeping orgasms to herself gives her no guilt.

“Then what?”

She passes her phone to me.  I look at it.  It’s a photo of a giant black cock.

“A friend of yours?”

“Not yet, but I hope someday.”

“Who is it?”

“Just a fan.”

“A fan of your pics, not my writing I assume.”

“I don’t know.  I didn’t ask him about it.”

“What’s he have to say for himself?”

“I don’t know.  He just sent me this pic and. . .”

“And it’s got you all preoccupied.”

She shook her head yes with a guilty look on her face.  “I want it, Daddy!” she said like a girl asking for a big lollipop at the circus.

I turn to leave the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To do the dishes.”

“I’ll do it!”

“No, I’ll do it.  I don’t like the way you do it.  Besides, you have to eat your cold breakfast.”

“Why do you wish to maintain control all the time?”

“It’s not a matter of retaining control.  It’s a matter of maintaining standards.”

“You have so many standards.  Double standards.”

“I only have one standard. . . the best.”

“That’s my line,” she says, followed by, “but, if you’re speaking about me, then go on.”

I finally walk out the bedroom into the kitchen.  As I’m in the midst of putting dishes into the dishwasher, Lo saunters up to the entrance of the kitchen naked as the day she was born, she turns to me and says, “Are you jealous?”  She’s always trying to get me jealous, to no avail.

“Lo, you’re standing right where the neighbors can see you through the window, you know.”

“Does that make you jealous?”

“No.  But it may make the neighbor’s wife jealous!”

“Phhh,” she sounds dismissively, bending over to give the neighbor a more explicit view.  As she’s bent over, she says, “I’m just a hotwife with an exhibitionist’s streak and a loving man who can use his fingers to type out stories that make people come back for more.”

“I don’t think your big friend was coming back for my writing.”

“Well, I can’t help it if behind every good nympho is a line of men waiting to fuck her and behind every bad nympho is a longer line.”

“Which one are you?”

“Fuck me, Daddy, and you’ll see.”

“No, Lo, I already know.  I was just testing to see if you would admit to it.”

“The line behind me is very long, very hard,” she says as she reaches over and grabs my cock.

“That doesn’t make sense.  How is the line hard?”
“Fuck me and I’ll show you.”

She bends over, this time with her rear towards me rather than toward the window.

“Are you still doing the same old thing?” I ask.

“You mean you?” she asks, looking at me from between her legs.

“Very funny.  This ‘old thing’ is going to work.”

“Work on me!”

“Didn’t I make you cum this morning? – and you squirted all over me and the bed!”

“That was a drop in the bucket.”

She wiggles her ass, like she’s playing charades.  So I guess, “You’re horny.”

She sees the bulge in my khakis.  “And you want me.”

“Yes, Lo.  I always want you.  But sometimes I have to actually go to work.”  I walk over to her and give her wiggling bum a good smack.

“Mmmmm,” she moans, “again!”

I repeat.

“I love spankings,” she says, “they’re like applause, but on my ass!  Let me hear how much you like my ass.”

I ‘applaud’ her five or six times.  But I do no more than applaud.  I then walk out of the kitchen.

“But Daddy,” I hear her call down the hallway, “what about my encore!”

I leave the house and go to work, but on my way home that afternoon, I stop and run a special errand for Lo.  For a while now I’ve wanted to try a cock sleeve.  I run into my local adult toy shop and peruse the possibilities.  After a careful review, I decide on one that is a total of 11 inches, dark brown in complexion, very realistic, and best of all, has a ring to wrap around my balls to anchor the sleeve in place.

Back at home I find that Lo has invited a few people over for a little get-together.  Unaware that we were expecting company, I have to find a way of sneaking the rather large box in the house inconspicuously.  I decide to pop my head in, say hello to the guests, and declare that we need some more beer.  I run out to the local store and pick up a six-pack.  I throw the toy in the plain brown bag and rush in, crossing my fingers that no one stops me on the way.

They are all in the living room and I call out, “I’m back!  I’ll just pop these in the fridge and be right there.”  I head to the bedroom first, hide my stash under the bed, and then put the beer in the fridge, removing one for myself first.

Walking in on our little circle of friends, I take a look at Lo and see that she has put on a stunning little number.  Her heels, her short-shorts, and her black tank-top with her one-size-too-small push-up bra under it, giving her quite the shelf popping out of the top.  What’s the reason for this, I wonder.

I give her a kiss hello and tell her I’m famished, looking at her quizzically.

Lola complains that the meal she prepared didn’t come out the way that she was hoping.

I say, “You know, I don’t think love is blind so much as love is deaf.”

“What does that mean?” she asks.

“You could go on complaining like that all night, but because you look so good, I don’t hear a thing.”

I get a little laugh from everyone there and then the ‘guests of honor’ arrive.  Two young men from across the street who had moved in recently were invited by Lo.  Brothers.  Built.  Did I mention young?

“HH, you remember Roy and Gary,” she says, that look of desire in her eye, her tongue running over her lips as she introduces us.  “I just thought,” she says innocently, “since we were having people over, I’d invite them as well.”

“Very neighborly of you,” I say.

The rest of the night goes on with Lo dancing that fine line between being a charming hostess and a wicked vixen.

Finally, past eleven, all our guests leave, including the brothers from across the street.

Lo goes into the bedroom and when I emerge out of the bathroom, cock sleeve firmly in place, Lo nearly jumps in fear and fawning over the giant extension between my legs.

“What the hell is that?!” she cries out.

“Just something special I bought for you today.”

“What?  Why?  Today?”

“Yes.  Because you were so enamored of your fan who sent you that pic that was longer than your forearm.”

“But Daddio, you know I love you,” she says, reaching out to grab the long appendage and feel its heft and girth.

“Yes, but you long for bigger, longer, thicker, and bigger.”

“You mentioned bigger twice.”

“I like how indignant you are.”

“Indignity is my forte.”

“No, lack of dignity is your forte.”

“Daddy, I have loads of dignity.  I just prefer to be degraded in the bedroom.”

“Well, do what you do best and get on the bed, spread your legs, make yourself good and wet, and let me pound you with this monster cock.”

“I thought you’d never ask.  Oh, and by the way, I’m already super wet.  I have been all night.”

“The brothers?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

I do as she wishes and I have to admit that it was a little difficult to fit the bulbous bad-boy in, but once in, Lo takes all of it with grace and gratitude.

“Can I use my Hitachi?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say, since with this sleeve it’s easy for me to lean back and give her enough room to fit her Hitachi over her clit.  With the sleeve on, there is significantly less sensation and I welcome the vibrations of the Magic Wand.

Within mere moments Lo is saying, “Pull out!  PULL OUT!  I have to squirt!”

I do as she says and an impatient stream of spray shoots out on me.

“Holy shit!” she says, as if she had never cum like that before.  Maybe she hadn’t.  Maybe every time it feels like the first.  But just as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she rolls over and says, “Take that silly thing off now and fuck me rawdog!”

I obey and begin from behind her and say, “Lo, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t even feel you.  That sleeve spread you so wide.”

“Don’t you take this the wrong way,” she says over her shoulder, “but I can hardly feel you.  Now fuck me like you mean it.”

I do as she commands and as I pound her from behind, all the wetness covering her ass splish-splashes with each thrust and it makes a slick slapping sound.

I continue harder and faster, hoping to register something within her, and after much striving I finally succeed.  I hit my target and she cums even harder than she did the first time.

But then something I’ve never seen before happens.  She literally passes out mid-orgasm.  She faints from fucking.  She swoons from sex.  She is out cold for about three or four minutes.  When she comes to, she just asks to hold me.

“What happened Daddy?”

“I don’t know,” I say.  “One minute you were cumming, the next you were out cold.  How much did you have to drink tonight?”

“One glass of champagne.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.  I swear.”

“Have you ever fainted from fucking before?”

“No Daddy.  Never.”

“How do you feel?”

“Great.”

“Did you cum in me Daddy?”

“No, Lo.  I didn’t cum at all.”

“Are you sure?” she asks feeling between her legs.

“Yes Lo.  That’s all from you.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.  You were wonderful.”

“But I passed out – literally on you.”

“It’s ok.  I took it as a compliment.”

“You would.  You have such a big ego.”

“If you’re talking about this,” I say, holding the sheath, “then you’re right.  It is big.  I had a big ego before, and now it’s even bigger.”

“Daddy, a man’s ego is not his cock size.”

“No.  I agree.  But the bigger his cock size, the bigger his ego.”

“Well, you’d better watch out.  You know what they say?”

“No, what’s that?”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“Oh?  Is that how it goes?  I thought it was, the harder they cum the harder they pass out.”

 

Fuck Noir

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It was one of those weeks when I was feeling low rather than feeling Lo.  A depression had settled in and, too depressed to do anything, I felt like trying to shake it was as futile as anything else I had tried to do in my life.  Dark thoughts.

Lo had been trying to seduce me all week.  “Fuck it out,” she’d say, “you’ll feel better after.”

“Lo,” I’d reply, “you know that depleting my Chi energy through ejaculation is a certain method for moving my mood from the ground floor into the basement.”

“Well, then just don’t cum.  I’ll cum enough for the both of us!”

Though I found her determination amusing, it did little more than evoke a wry smile from my lips.

As a direct result of my lack of amorous affection for her, Lo felt no desire to keep herself primed and ready for a good romp – with me or anyone – and she let her hair-down-there grow out.

Coming to bed one night, I saw her lying naked over the covers.  “Wow,” I remarked, unaware of the words escaping my mouth, “you’re looking very 1970’s!”

She immediately pulled the blanket up and over herself, saying, “I suddenly feel a cold draft.”

I can be cruel when in the throes of depression and so I responded with, “You shouldn’t be cold, you have a warm fleece.”

I climbed into bed and opened a book.  Beginning to read next to her, she turned to me and said, “With that facial hair you look like a movie villain.”

“You know, don’t you, that the villain of every story is the hero of his own story?”

“Yeah, well you’re the villain – even in your own story.”

“I can live with that.  You know that Milton’s great dilemma when writing Paradise Lost was that he had drawn the Devil in such a villainous way that he became the most compelling and interesting character.  God didn’t have a chance when the Devil was on stage.”

“Really?  Milton?  Really?  You are the most literary narcissist I ever did meet!”

“I take that as a compliment,” I said to her.

She reached over, more lovingly this time, and she said, “Daddy, you really do need to trim your beard.”  She rubbed my rough beard with her hand and tugged a little on it.

“When did you masturbate?” I asked.

She looked guilty and then said, “A little while ago.”

“When?”

“Just before you came into the bedroom.  How did you know?”

“I can smell you on your fingertips.”

“Well,” she replied, “if you’re not going to finger me, then someone has to.”  As she said this, she moved her hand down to my crotch.

Never one to miss a moment to spoil the mood when my mood is foul, I called out, “Why are your hands so cold?!  Were you giving the Ice Man a handjob before he cometh?”

She wrapped her legs around my bare legs and I felt her feet on my feet.  I followed my first question with another, “A foot job too?”

“The Ice Man has a warmer heart (and bigger dick) than you!” she said, rolling away from me and grabbing her phone.

I fell asleep to the tap-tap-tap of her texting with someone.

The next day was Saturday and it was a beautiful spring day.  Lo was up and about and I was lying on the couch in the living room.  Lola approached me like a puppy and said, “Come outside with me!”

“No.”

“Yes.  It’s so bright out there.”
“But it’s so dark in here.”

“Look,” she said, opening the blinds, “it’s the first beautiful day of spring!  Let’s get out and enjoy it!”  She proceeded to open all of the blinds and the windows to let the warm breeze flow through the room.

Like a vampire mortally injured by the light, I got up to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Are you going to come in the bedroom? – Because I’m going to take a nap.”

“I’ll probably cum several times. . . anywhere.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I said, as I went to the bedroom and locked the door.  She followed and was nonplused at finding the door locked.

“Let me come in!”

“No, no!  Go, go!”

“I’ll come in, you’ll cum in.  It will be even!”

“No.”

“Then at least come out.  Look, to get out of this depression you need to do something.”

“Well, I’m not doing you.”

“That was my first suggestion, but I’ll settle for going for a walk or to the gym.  Physical activity will help.”

I unlocked the door.  She entered the bedroom.  “Fine,” I said.

Getting ready for the gym, I put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“You’re not really going to wear that, are you?” she asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like a senior-citizen mall-walker.”

“And?  I’m just going to the gym, not a cocktail party.”

“And won’t you be hot?  Aren’t you going to break a sweat in that?”

“Oh, gosh, I certainly hope not!”

She was naked and sitting on the edge of the bed.  “Come here,” she asked seductively, spreading her legs and putting her hand between them, using her fingers to spread her pussy lips.

“No.”

“Don’t you want it, Daddy?”

“No.”

“But I want you.  I can see the outline of your big, thick dick in those sweatpants.”

“Lo, what are you going to wear to the gym?”

“Come here and I’ll tell you.”

“No.”

“Please.”

I gave in and walked over to her, convinced she wouldn’t succeed in her seduction.  As soon as I was between her legs, her knees clamped on my legs, capturing me and holding me tightly.

“Lo, you’re a human Penis Flytrap!”

“I think you must have Adult ADD.  One of the symptoms is relentless bad puns.”

“You’re saying I have AADD?”
“If you want to put it that way.”

“Sounds like my report card from high school.”

“You see, perfect example!”

“I heard once that among entrepreneurs there is an inordinate proportion of people with Adult ADD.  I heard that those entrepreneurs are good at multitasking and that they surround themselves with lots of competent people who stay on task.  That’s what I do.  I’m a captain and I have a lot of first mates.”

“Oh really?”

“Well,” I said more kindly, “my dear, you’re my first first mate.”

“I’m my own captain.  I’m no one’s first mate,” she said, putting her thumb to her sternum, pointing to herself proudly.

“Captain, eh?”

“That’s right, and I like to be surrounded by lots of semen.”

“And you say I have bad puns.”

“Give me some semen, Daddy, please,” she asked, pulling my cock out from my sweatpants and putting it in her mouth, to no avail.  Having failed in her attempt, she then got on the bed on all fours, flaunting her ass in front of me.  “What do you think?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Booty-full,” I said.

“Punny,” she said sardonically.

“Honestly, Lo,” I said, “I wish that I felt well enough to put my penis in your vagina.”

“Daddy!” she exclaimed, feigning shock.

“I’m sorry dear, I couldn’t think of a more poetic way of phrasing that.”

“That’s ok.  I like the direct route.”

“Are we going to the gym or what?”

“Yes,” she said, “because if we’re going to go to a nude beach this year, then we have to get in shape.”

“We?” I asked.

“Yes, we.  Us.”

“I’m in a shape.  In fact, I think I look flabulous.”

“Flabulous?”

“Yeah.  I might not have abs.  I might have flabs, but they look flabulous.”

“Well, then,” she said, “at least I feel like I have to get in shape.  I think I gained four pounds this winter.  Does it show?”

“Lo, you know that I would be happy if you gained forty pounds!”

“That’s nice of you to say but. . .”

“You know, there’s a kink out there called feederism, or something like that, where gaining weight is considered sexually arousing?”

“So, I have to get fat in order to get you up?”

“I’m not saying that.  I’m just saying all bodies are beautiful bodies.”

She rolled over on her tum and asked, “All?”

“Well, dear,” I corrected myself, “yours most of all.”

“That’s more like it.”

On the way to the gym, I remarked to her, “I was listening to Billy Joel the other day.  Some of his lyrics are just brilliant.”

“Like, ‘I heard about sex but not enough’?”

“Of all his lyrics, that’s the one lyric that you remember?”

“It speaks to me.”

“Well, I was thinking about the song, ‘I Go to Extremes.’”

“What about it?”

“It speaks to me.”

When we got to the gym, Lo wanted to start in the weight room.  Our gym is co-ed, obviously, and in the weight room there are lots of big, burly men who love to look at themselves in the full-length mirrors that surround the room on all the walls.  Lots of mirrors.  There are, of course, some women who, truth be told, also like to look at themselves in the mirrors.  They just don’t make as big a show of it as the guys do.

Lo likes looking at everybody, including herself, and, this particular morning, I found out in the worst of ways, she liked to be looked at as well.  She went right for the bench press and, asking me to spot her, she got on her back under the bar, her feet flat on the floor, her legs spread, and she asked with great deference, for my advice on lifting the twenty pounds (plus the weight of the bar, of course).

I gave her a few pointers and then stood behind her head, my hands cupped under the bar just in case she needed a little boost.  She looked up from the bench where her head was perched perfectly between my legs.  Had we been alone at home, she would have had a perfect angle for some fun play.  Her tongue ran across her sparkling white teeth and she mouthed the words, “Oh, Daddy!” as her eyes roamed to my crotch.

I rolled my eyes, but soon saw that some of the guys in the gym were stealing glances our way.  “Lo, try to get it up, will you?”  I honestly didn’t mean to say that.  I was talking about the bar, but it just came out that way.

“I’ve been trying all week,” she said.  “I think that with this good, hard, steel rod, I can make some progress.”  She went to lift the bar and lower it to her chest.  With a controlled exhale, she pushed the bar back up.  “That was good, right?!”  She was very excited by her accomplishment.

“Excellent!” I said, trying to be encouraging.  I looked up and noticed more guys’ eyes looking at her.  Was it that her legs were spread?  Was it that her face was down by my crotch?  Was it her breasts heaving as she lay flat on the bench?  I couldn’t tell what the interest was, but across the room the guys doing curls with free-weights, causing their already large biceps to bulge, were looking right at Lo.  It seemed like she was giving them inspiration.

After bench pressing, we did a few other strength exercises and we didn’t exact quite as much attention.  She told me that at the top of the hour a yoga class was starting and she encouraged me to join her in it.  “Yoga will be good for you.  It’s known to reduce depression.”  Reluctantly, I agreed.

In the yoga studio, the mats were arranged in five rows of four deep.  People gradually entered and chose their spots and began stretching out.  Lola took the front-center mat in the room and told me to take the spot behind her.  I did so.  I tried stretching.  Touching my toes was a challenge.  When the room was full, the instructor came in and she stood right in front of Lo.  We began easily enough and all was fine, until “Downward Dog.”  That’s when I figured out what the guys in the gym were looking at – Lo wasn’t wearing any panties!  Here little green yoga shorts were loose-fitting enough for her pussy to peek out when doing the bench press and now at yoga.  She looked over her shoulder at me when she came out of the pose and she knew that I knew what a bad girl she was.  Needless to say, part of my body was not as limber as it should be for yoga after that.  I think that I wasn’t the only one to notice my little slut’s slutty ways.  I played it off like I wasn’t with Lo.  Who?  Her?  That one in the front row showing her joie de vivre to the class?  Nope, don’t know her at all.  I’m just right behind her for the best view.

When the hour was over, Lo made it clear to the class that I was her man and she was my hotwife by grabbing my arm and congratulating me on getting through the entire class.  She looked down at the protrusion in my sweatpants and said, “I think you need to walk that off.”

I gave her a deriding look.

All the way home, she walked in front of me wiggling her little ass.

When we got home she said, “I’m so wet from working out.”

“I bet you are,” I replied.

“I’m going to take a shower.  Care to join?”

“No.  I’ll take one later.”
“Fine,” she said in a huff, “I was going to masturbate in there anyhow.”

“I figured.”

She was in there almost an hour.  When she was done, she walked stark naked into the kitchen and began slicing a tomato.

Hearing her futzing about, I came into the kitchen and asked, “Did you take a shower?”

“Yes.”

“Did you jill it?”

“No.  I made myself smooth.” She turned from the counter toward me and displayed her silky white skin of her mons pubis to me.

“Then why aren’t you bent over the bed?”

“Because I’m making you dinner.”

“Can’t I have an appetizer first?”

“Oh, now you want it?  What happened to your depression?”

“I’m just asking for a small taste to whet my appetite.”

“Just a taste?” she asked, incredulously.

“Yes.  April is abstinence month.”

“Really?  Since when?”

“I just proclaimed it such.”

“Well, this month sure won’t last long.”

“I’m telling you Lo, it’s Celibate City for me.”

“Forget it, Daddio, it’s Vaginatown.”