Tag Archives: fans

“This is my body, given for you.”

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“What are those for?”
“These are for later.”

 

Lo is naked in bed.  “Come, Daddy.  Fuck me.”

“No, I’m writing.”

“Oh, please!!!!”

“Later.  Not now.”

“Then be a doll and fetch me a cucumber.”

I get her the vegetable from the kitchen and bring it to her in the bedroom.

“Now give me a condom.”

“Why?”

“You know what sort of stuff they put on this thing?  Insecticides, wax, who knows what!  Put a condom over any phallic-shaped object and you’re good to go.”

“Thanks for the free advice,” I say as I pull a condom out from my nightstand drawer.

“You’re welcome.”

I begin to leave the room.

“You sure you don’t want to get in on this?” she asks as she spreads her legs and puts the cucumber in her hole.”

“I’ll pass on the salad.  I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

“Well, you’re missing out.  The dressing is homemade.”

I leave the room and return to my computer where I try to continue writing.  My thoughts are disturbed by the moans, groans, and then screams and sighs that I hear my little nymphet producing like a primitive mating call, signaling to all within earshot that she is eager for cock, or pussy, or something.  I believe I read about that as an actual scientific theory in the book Sex at Dawn.  Women are louder than men when it comes to sex because their sounds are an enticement for other men to fuck them, thus increasing the likelihood of fertilization.

Just a fun photo I found featuring Sex at Dawn

That morning I was able to prove the theory true through the scientific method of replication of results.  No sooner had Lola howled to the heavens about how filling and nutritionally valuable her ‘vagetable’ was, than there was a knocking at the door.

Annoyed, I get up from my computer, where I hadn’t been able to write more than a sentence, and I answer the door – Lola’s sex-singing still quite audible in the background.  Standing at the door is a FedEx delivery guy.  He seems to be in his fifties.  Old, tired, rundown.  However, he hears the post-self-coital cooing coming from the bedroom.

“I have a package for delivery.  It needs your signature.”

I look at the package.  I see Lo’s name on it.  “Oh, it’s not for me.  It’s for Lola,” I say, looking up at him.

“Whatever,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.  “I just need a signature.”

I’m feeling particularly wily that morning and so I insist that it be signed by Lola.

“Lo!” I call, “Oh Lo,” I repeat in a sing-song fashion.

“I’m busy!” I hear bellowing down the hall and I also just perceive the sound of her Hitachi Magic Wand buzzing in the background like a distant hedge trimmer.

“There’s a man here to see you,” I say in a loud voice.  I look at the delivery man and give him a knowing wink.

Lo comes stomping down the hallway, barefoot, naked, her inner thighs glistening with the glaze of her last orgasm, her breasts flailing from left to right with each deliberate footfall.

“What?  Who?”

She stands behind me and sees the delivery man.

“Signature, ma’am,” he says, unflustered.

Lo wedges herself in front of me and stands, stark naked in the doorway, grabbing the electronic signature board, scribbling her name and taking the package.

“It’s a big package” she says, not about what is in her hands, but about the delivery man.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says.

“You need something?” she asks.  “A drink?  You look parched.”

“No ma’am,” he says, so politely, “I must be going.”

“OK, too bad,” she says, licking her lips.

He turns and walks to his truck.

“What is that?” I ask Lo of the package.

“The latest from ErosettiPress.”

“Oh really?!” I say, excited.

“Yep,” she says, tearing open the package.

She pulls out the very handsome hardcover book: The Anthology of Erotic Narrative, Volume I: Fetish.  “Look!  Our story!”  She shows me the chapter, “Crisscross,” which includes a sexy illustration of Lola, on her back, as sushi is displayed upon her for a nyotaimori feast.

“Dante Remy, the editor, had to condense it from the original,” she adds by way of explanation.

“I frequently have that problem – too much length.”

“Not with me you don’t,” she says.  “Oh!  And look!  They even included a little blurb about us!”

She reads from the bio page:

 

H.H. & Lola, based in the US, push the boundaries of conventional relationships, captivating their readers and followers with their unapologetic exploration of desire and the endless possibilities of a love that knows no limits.  Their large erotic cult following includes tribute artwork and photos from readers, often displaying their books in explicit context.  These fan images and art are published along with the stories in their books, and on their active blog and social media presence.  They are at the center of a community of erotic art and expression.  You can engage with them on their blog site mysexlifewithlola.com and their X and Instagram social media.

 

“What do you think?” she asks me.

“You didn’t write that?” I ask her.

“No, silly!”

“Well, I like it.”  I take the book from her hands to read it over once again.  “I especially like the ‘unapologetic’ bit.”

“Yes, that describes you,” she said, not without a hint of irony.

“And the ‘large erotic cult following.’  That’s nice.”

“Yep – and true.”

“He says we are ‘the center of a community of erotic art and expression.’”

“Well, aren’t we?”

“I guess.  I just never thought of us like that.”

“I’ve thought of me like that,” she remarks.

“Of course you have.  Too bad we have since been banned from X and Instagram.  If the Marquis de Sade lived today, he wouldn’t be locked up in the Bastille, he’d be banished from social media!”

“You keep on having grandiose thoughts of you and Sade and the evil electronic geniuses aligned against you, I think I’ll go back to my regularly scheduled programming,” she says, taking the book and walking down the hall.

“Hey,” I call to her.

She stops and turns around.  “Yes?”
“What’s put you in this Saturday morning self-abuse mood?”

“Do I need a reason?”
“No, but you usually have one.”

“If you must know, I’ve been getting a lot of fan mail ever since we posted the interview with Hani Miletski.”

“Totally Taboo?”
“Yeah, that one.”

“What sort of fan mail?”

“Why don’t you cum and read it with me?  I mean, wait, reverse that.”

“Very funny.”

I follow her down the hall to the bedroom where she has the cucumber, her Hitachi, and her laptop all spread out over the bed.

She turns the computer screen toward me and shows me an image from a female fan.  It is of a young, mid-thirties woman, in bed, a towel wrapped around her hair as if she had just got out of the shower, with her two children, a girl and a boy, suckling at her breasts.  Above and behind her, on the wall, are mounted two framed paintings from the blog.  One of MILF Meri and her son, the other of Lola as a little girl with her panties over her head, standing naked and defiant.  Both artworks were made by our dear Ukrainian friend Sergii.

Pam at home breastfeeding with art by Sergii above her

“And who is this?” I ask.

“Her name is Pam and she’s a housewife raising twins – a boy and a girl.  She doesn’t believe in setting an age for ending breastfeeding.  She told me she’s inspired by Sophie Rose.”

“Who?”

“Oh, never mind.  It’s a movement to breastfeed kids later into life.”

“That’s a movement?”

“Yeah, but she’s on the fringes of that movement?”

“What’s that mean?”

“She is advocating for breastfeeding-self-care.”

“Now you’ve lost me.”

“She enjoys a wank-spank under the covers while the twins are latched onto her tits.”

“And that’s a movement?!”

“Well, not yet, but she is hoping to make it one.”

“You find all kinds,” I said in astonishment.

“It’s not all that uncommon,” remarked Lo, rather clinical about it.  “Pam discovered, like a lot of women who breastfeed, that it is or can be stimulating.  Sexually stimulating.  She got all tingly between her legs.  One day, at the airport no less, she was breastfeeding and, to her complete and utter surprise. . .”

“You mean udder surprise,” I suggest.

“Just full of wit this morning, aren’t ya, ole man?  She suddenly squirted, right out of the blue, right there in public!  She realized later that it was probably a combination of being sexually frustrated – she was going to see her husband who was stationed across the country for work – and the excitement of having her breasts exposed in public where she was getting a lot of stares.”

“Don’t they have special rooms for that?”

“I don’t know,” says Lo, returning the cucumber to its holster inside her as she places the Hitachi on her clit and looks at the photo again.  “But now she does it all the time.  She says it creates the most intense orgasms and bonding experience she’s ever felt.  Now she’s trying to spread the word.  That’s why she wrote to me.  When she saw the interview with Melitski, she thought that our blog would be a good way to publicize the masturlactation method, as she calls it.”

“A portmanteau of ‘masturbation’ and ‘lactation’ I assume?”

She is too fully engaged in her own masturbation to answer me.

Without looking at me, she simply says, “Suck my tits, Daddy.”

I comply, leaning over to latch onto her left breast while my right hand fondles and pulls on her right nipple.  She instantly climaxes – her clenching pussy shooting the cucumber straight out of her pussy like a torpedo!  That is followed by a tsunami of squirt.

“Holy FUCK!” she says, as she apparently surprised even herself.

“Feel better, Love?” I ask.

She laughs to herself.

“What?” I ask.

“As I was cumming, I had the weirdest thought.”

“What was that?” I ask, realizing that we have been in the realm of weird for quite some time.

“I wondered if all those millions of images of the Madonna and Child – you know, of the Virgin Mary and Jesus as an infant at her breast – I wondered if in all of them, if the Holy Mother is in the state of orgasmic bliss.  Isn’t that weird?  I mean, wouldn’t that be something?”

Mary and Baby Jesus

“Only you could have a theophany to put you over the edge.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to write.”

“What are you going to write?” she asks, skimming through images of the Madonna and Child.

“All about you.”

Caravaggio – Madonna and Child with St. Anne

Fan Photo

Totally Taboo: Interview with Hani Miletski

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WARNING! THIS POST MAY NOT BE FOR YOU. IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, JUST IGNORE IT.

But, it may also be educational for you.

Statue of “Lola Takes a Lover” surrounded by art of Lola on the Left and Right, and MILF Meri, center.

Totally Taboo

For all you devoted readers of MySexLifeWithLola, you are probably aware that some of our posts are on the more risqué side of sex blogging.  Various of our friends – MILF Meri, Lilly, and even Lo and her sister Robie – engage in sexual practices that are not to everyone’s taste.  We have heard from a lot of you and, for those of you who love these relationships and those of you struggling, we bring you this insightful interview with the pioneer researcher and therapist of some of the most ticklish taboos: bestiality and incest.  Consider this your trigger warning.

Taboos – Popular, Hidden, and Unthinkable – and Interview with Hani Miletski:

In her groundbreaking work on Mother-Son incest, Hani Miletski says about her study that it “provides arguments to support the assumption that the apparent rarity of mother-son incest has more to do with society’s inhibitions and inability to accept the fact that this form of incest exists than with the actual taboo’s strength.  It is as though the taboo is about preventing the belief that mother-son incest exists rather than about preventing it from actually happening.”  Over a hundred years since Freud’s famous “Seduction Theory” shocked the Victorian Age by suggesting that incestuous relationships (mostly involving minors and abuse) happened far more frequently than anyone suspected or was willing to admit, society is still unwilling to admit one form of incest – that involving a desiring mother.

Match, Cinder & Spark on Audible dot Com

Mom & Daughter have “the talk.”

Mom & Daughter

In addition to Miletski’s work, there is also the fine scholarship done in 1992 by Beverly Ann Ogilvie who wrote The Experience of Mother-Daughter Incest, and one earlier work, from 1987, by Karen Louise Kenney, who wrote, Maternal Incest: An Annotated Review of the Literature on Mother-Daughter and Mother-Son Incest.

Desiring Moms

Crime & Punishment

Taking the taboos of society one step further, there is the radical study by Miletski, Understanding Bestiality and Zoophilia, in which she engages in primary research with 26 men and 6 women, all of whom engaged in some degree of bestiality and/or zoophilia.  The research was undertaken to understand these people and how they understand themselves.

MILF Meri and son

If you’re interested in this work, then you will want to read this brief interview with Miletski.

  1. You really tackle the most difficult, taboo, and even repressed topics – Mother-Son incest and bestiality. Why? What originally got you interested in these topics?

I like to research topics that I don’t know much about.  It makes any research project much more interesting.

Mother-Son Incest started as my master’s thesis.  I was doing my MSW at Catholic University in DC, and I knew I will be pursuing my certification in sex therapy as soon as I graduate.  So, I wanted my thesis to be about some topic related to sexuality.  But, being at a Catholic university, I couldn’t write about orgasms or erectile dysfunctions, for example, so I chose to write about sexual abuse.  My advisor wanted me to be more specific, so I chose incest.  That was not specific enough for my advisor, so I chose mother-son incest because I had never heard of it at that time, and I was thinking that my thesis will end up being about why mother-son incest never happens, until I started researching it…

Understanding Bestiality and Zoophilia started as my doctorate dissertation.  At that time, I was already working as a sex therapist, and one of my clients was into sex with dogs.  I had already started researching the topic because I didn’t know what to do with her, so when it came time to choose a topic for my dissertation, that was an obvious choice, as there was really nothing out there about people who cannot stop thinking of, and wanting to, and having sex with animals.

Lola and Woman’s Best Friend

  1. What was your approach with that patient who was into sex with dogs then and how would it be different after you did your research?

My approach has not changed.  I believe the most important thing as a therapist is to be non-judgmental, open-minded, empathic, curious, attentive, and supportive.  The answers to any questions/problems come from working together with the client, as a team, as we explore various possibilities until we find the best solution.  In my client’s case, she felt extreme shame about her behavior, and she wanted to stop having sex with dogs, but could not.  I helped her realize and accept that this was a sexual orientation that she, obviously, did not choose for herself.  I helped her realize and accept that she was not doing any harm to the dogs (she only had sex with male dogs – they were penetrating her).  And I helped her learn how to be careful so she doesn’t get caught.

Movie Poster from a mainstream movie about bestiality

  1. You mentioned that you had been turned down by at least ten publishers. Did you find it difficult to get your work peer reviewed and published? What sorts of obstacles did you face? What did publishers or even your colleagues say about your work?

I tried to get the book Understanding Bestiality and Zoophilia published, but no publisher wanted to touch this subject.  They simply told me that this is not a topic they were interested in, so I ended up self-publishing the book and I have not tried to get it published by a publishing house anymore.   This was 22 years ago.

My colleagues were against my writing my dissertation about this topic, let alone publishing it.  They thought it would pigeon-hole me and it would make potential future clients shy away from seeking my help.  I obviously did not listen to them.  There were probably people over the years who did not contact me for this reason, but the people who did always told me that they felt comfortable telling me all their hidden secrets because if I could deal with bestiality, I could probably deal with everything else.

Art by Pulpbrother

  1. In Understanding Bestiality and Zoophilia, you explicitly open up the question as to bestials or zoophiles being a “sexual orientation.” But you don’t ever take that approach with the mother-son study. Do you think that there is a certain contingent of women out there who are only attracted to either their children (sons, daughters), or to young people? In the wake of every sensational news story about women who seduce minors, especially if the perpetrator is attractive, like Debra Lafave, people always ask, “Why would she do that if she could get anyone she wanted because she’s so beautiful/sexy?” But they don’t seem to understand that it’s not merely about getting physical sexual needs met. What do you think?

Debra Lavave and Ex-Husband, Owen Lafave

Debra Lafave

Debra Lafave

Not Debra Lafave, but purported to be.

Tampa, the Novel inspired by Debra Lafave

I believe there are women who are sexually oriented toward minors, just like some men are.  I honestly never thought about a sexual orientation toward one’s own children, but I guess anything is possible.

  1. Have you read the book Tampa? If so, what are your thoughts?

I have not read this book, but just from the write up about it, it looks like a similar story to the Mary Kay Letourneau scandal, in the early 90s.

  1. When you published Mother-Son Incest in 1995, were you aware of or had you read Beverly Ann Ogilvie’s 1992 study, The Experience of Mother-Daughter Incest? If you’re familiar with it, what similarities and differences do you find in the two taboo relationships?

Mom & Daughter Tease

Unfortunately, I have not been aware of this study.  I was aware of Rosencrans’ (1997) study of 93 daughters and nine sons who had been sexually abused by their mothers.  Nine men heard about her study and asked to participate in it.  She ended up adding a chapter in her book (The Last Secret: Daughters Sexually Abused by Mothers) about these nine men.  Although all nine men admitted to having had incestuous relationships with their mothers, 89 percent of the sons (eight men) believed they had a normal childhood, compared to only two percent of the 93 daughters.  All nine men felt they were their mothers’ lovers and did not perceive themselves as victims.

Mom & Daughter

  1. When you did your study on bestials and zoos, you mention a few times about how new the internet is and how new you were to it. Since then, the internet has developed quite a bit. Have you seen what people are posting now depicting bestiality? What are your thoughts?

Knotty Fairy getting off to Lola

Last I checked, it’s all about pornography.  All the online groups/listservs/websites/etc. that used to be around when I was doing my study, they all disappeared.  The ones that came after, came and went.  They always face threats from outsiders and sometimes even from within the community.  It’s a shame.

Fan pic, getting off to Lo

Fan pic, getting off to Lola

Fan Photo Getting off to Lola

Fan Photo, Getting Off to Lo

Fan Photo, Getting off to Lo

Fan Photo, Getting off to Lo

  1. Desiring women have become more prevalent in popular culture, whether we’re talking Frankie Shaw’s character in MILF, Mary-Louise Parker’s character in Weeds, Zooey Deschanel’s character in The New Girl, or Y tu mamá también. All these popular shows include the desirous dimension of women in ways that were taboo not long ago. Do you think that, as a culture, America is ready to explore the famous “dark continent” of women’s sexuality, as Freud called it?

Marie-Louise Parker

Frankie Shaw of SMILF

Frankie Shaw, SMILF scene

SMILF with Frankie Shaw Look Carefully and you’ll see what gets Frankie Shaw off.

Zooey Deschanel

I think this question is too theoretical.  I think the U.S. has come a long way regarding the acceptance of women’s sexuality, but the U.S. is very large, with a huge population, many various cultures, and countless opinions, so I would not attempt to make such a guess.

Art Appreciation 101 – The Minotaur

  1. Both bestiality and mother-son incest are among the more prevalent themes in Greco-Roman mythology. How do you account for that?

Meri and son – very Oedipal

They are among the most taboo in practically every culture.  The more something is taboo, the more curious people are about it.  It’s human nature.  And, by the way, these two themes are also among the most popular pornographic themes and the most visited sites.

  1. One of the most obvious, yet least discussed, images of mother-son incest is in the depiction of Venus and Cupid/Aphrodite and Eros.  They are considered mother and son and often depicted in sexually suggestive poses.  Given that these are the mythical origins of sexual desire, do you think there is something deep in our psyche that ties sexuality with this primary relationship?

There probably is something deep in our psyche that ties sexuality with this primary relationship.  I talk about it in my book.

From the Bible – Lot and His Daughters

Sisters – Lo and Robie

  1. What about mother-daughter incest?  Though you call mother-son incest “the unthinkable broken taboo,” wouldn’t mother-daughter incest, since it is almost never depicted (in myth, legend, art, or psychological studies), be even more “unthinkable” for that very reason?

Very possible.  In my book/thesis I was focusing on mother-son incest, but that does not mean that mother-daughter incest is not, or maybe even more, unthinkable.

MILF Meri

Match, Cinder & Spark: Volume VI – Slut Life Review by Emme Witt-Eden

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Our latest publication by ErosettiPress, Match, Cinder & Spark: Volume VI – Slut Life, was reviewed by the popular erotic author, Emme Witt-Eden. Here’s what she had to say.

Five-Star review of Slut Life by Emme Witt-Eden:

Emme Witt-Eden, a.k.a. Mysterious Witt, with her first MC&S volume.

Slut Life is the second book I’ve read of the Match, Cinder, and Spark series—and take two doesn’t disappoint. Penned by H.H. to capture more hot tales of his life with his lusty lady Lola Down, I just can’t get enough of this couple’s libidinous antics. Stories about their vacations at a beach house seriously delight, and I love hearing about their fun with their friends, even if some are (shockingly!) quite judgmental.

Take one hypercritical mate, who dares call Lola a (gasp!) “fuck-crazy whore.” As if that’s not a compliment! But this particular “friend” wouldn’t let up with the condemnation of Miss Down, asking if H.H. wasn’t “embarrassed” by all of her fucking around with other people.

Mais non! H.H. only pities the poor soul, whom he declares is still caught in “the slut/stud, sinner/saint, virgin/whore dichotomy that has plagued Western sexuality since Eve and Lilith and only became worse with the whole cult of the Virgin that blossomed in the 12th Century.” (Yup—what you get when you read erotic literature written by a professor at a small liberal arts college in New England.) H.H. ends his lecture by telling this judgey character that he will never be happy with any woman until he learns that love is not “limited or limiting.”

H.H. goes on to school another one of their less-than-broad-minded female pals, who also doesn’t get his open relationship with Lola. “I mean, her having sex with other guys—it sort of implies that you’re not enough for her; that you’re not enough of a man. Doesn’t it upset you?” To which H.H. replies: “No, it doesn’t upset me at all. I encourage it.” To further enlighten this female friend, H.H. adds, “…her demand outstrips my supply…” And then the clincher: “The other part of it is, it turns me on to see Lo with other guys, and with other women too…”

H.H. defines this desire as “cuckolding,” but as someone with a bit of experience in this department (did I mention I’m a former pro-domme?) I’d say he’s actually describing the practice of “hotwifing.” See, cuckolding is about humiliation, and I don’t think H.H. feels degraded by Lola’s erotic adventures with other people, but more proud (and aroused) that he calls such a hot and frisky babe his partner.

This isn’t to say that H.H. is wholly confident in their relationship. He shares he’s not jealous of the sex Lola has with others but *is* insecure. And yet, he writes that “flirting with this danger line makes the whole thing all-the-more exciting. It becomes an adrenaline rush—a high that is simultaneously incredibly uncomfortable and addictive.”

As if Slut Life can’t get any better, I love the way H.H. incorporates tidbits of wisdom from the book The Love Elite by Arthur H. Hirsch. Explains H.H.: “A woman who is part of the ‘love elite’ understands she is free, asserts her equality with man. She is at odds with society’s values (which are based on women’s subordination). She rejects the notion that she is a fallen woman when she loves freely.”

Yes, yes, and yes! Can I say how many times my own desire to seek erotic couplings with multitudinous partners has been misconstrued as evidence that I don’t respect myself? But that’s not true at all! I’m simply exercising my right to pleasure as a human, demonstrating that I, too, have the same privilege as a man to orgasm with whomever and whenever I want. I’m not “lesser” for seeking out many casual carnal experiences in my life; I’m simply free.

What a pleasure to read this smart, sleek volume of erotic stories that not only inspire the body but the mind, too. Highly recommend!

Emme Witt-Eden looks good cumming or going.

Here are two more reviews.

Feedie for a Night

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A.I. Lola

“Daddy,” said Lo one morning as I was tying my tie and just about ready to leave for work.

“Yes?”

“Am I free this Friday?”

“Lo, you are always free.  Free and easy.”

“I mean, do we have any plans?”

“Not that I know of.  Why?”

“I have an admirer.”

“You have many admirers, Lo, and I’m your biggest admirer.”

“Depends on your metric for size,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“You know that I’ve had bigger, right?”

“I wasn’t speaking of my anatomy,” I said.  “I have to go.”

“But Daddy,” she pouted, “I didn’t tell you about Friday yet.”

“Out with it.”

“So bossy.  I like it.  Rrrrrrrrrr.”  She rolled her ‘R’ with her tongue to make a revving sound.

“What is Friday?”

“Well, it seems that your story, ‘A Linguistically Mysterious Voyage into the Unknown’ got the attention of one of my fans.”

“Probably many fans.”

“And this particular fan wants to take me out.”

“On a date?”

“Yes, on a date.”

“Did you vet him first?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Well, he’s not exactly my type.”

“Lo, everyone who is into you is your type.”

“That’s just what I mean.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure he can get into me.”

“I’m sorry, you lost me.”

“He is morbidly obese and, to make matters worse, he has a tiny penis.”

“You really performed quite the thorough vetting process.”

“Proper research is a must.”

“But you still want to go out with him?”

“He read that story and he said that he has a fetish for feedies.”

“Oh, he’s a chubby chaser.”

“He read about you calling me fat.”

“Is that ‘phat’ with a ‘p-h’ or ‘fat’ with an ‘f’?”

“I don’t know.  You wrote it.”

“Just checking.”

“Anyhow, he said he would simply like to get dinner and a movie.”

“He wants to see you eat?”

“Apparently.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“You know me.”

“Biblically.  But I’m afraid I don’t know what that means in this context.”

“I’m a ‘trysexual.’  I’ll try anything at least once.”

“So you are willing to indulge this guy’s fetish for feeding you?”

“It’s rare I meet a kink I don’t like.”

“Well, suit yourself then.  Just be safe.”

“OK.  Love you!”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Pet the cat.”

“We don’t have a cat.”

“You know what I mean.  Pet.  The.  Cat,” she said as she patted her pussy with her right hand.

“And then what?”

“Feed the kitty.”

“Feed the kitty?”

She grabbed the double-ended dildo out from her nightstand drawer.

Lo and her Toys

“Oh,” I said, comprehending.  “No work today?”

“I have a Zoom meeting in fifteen minutes?”
“Do you have enough time before the meeting to both pet the cat and feed the kitty?”

“Who said I have to get all that done before the meeting?”
“You’re certainly not going to do it during the meeting?”

“Oh, Daddy!  You have such stodgy standards.”

“Well, just don’t become the next female Jeffry Toobin.”

As I was putting on my shoes, I saw her put on a white, business-attire blouse over her bare breasts.  Her breasts could be seen swinging from side-to-side as she moved.  She grabbed her suction-cup dildo and affixed it to the work chair she had in her special home work station, and she slid her naked bottom down onto the dildo while setting up her computer for the Zoom meeting.

“Have a good day at work,” she said over her shoulder.

“Enjoy your meeting,” I replied, closing the door behind me.

Lo looked forward to Friday with much anticipation.  Her chub-chaser admirer, whom we shall call Mr. Biggs, was quite the control freak.  With each passing day he gave Lo ever greater detailed instructions for how she should dress and prepare for their meeting.

All week long, Lola was popping out to the shops to buy this skirt, that top, these heels, those panties, etc.  Each day when she received a different instruction, description of an item, or photo of specific piece, she’d tell or show me, then she’d go on her scavenger hunt to find said object, bring it home, and try it on for me.  I can’t say that I found any of this objectionable, except that she was taking orders from another man.

Each night she would fantasize about her date while riding me.  She’d articulate out loud her vivid imagining of how it would go.  I’ll elide over these various fantasies since frequently I wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer than, “Then we’d sit down to dinner. . .” before I’d explode inside her and she would have to resort to her Hitachi and her silent imagination to bring herself to a not so silent orgasm.

Finally the Friday date night arrived and Lola put on exactly what Mr. Biggs had ordered – black, patent leather strappy heels, nylon stockings, a short black leather skirt, a white, transparent top, no bra, and a short black leather jacket.  She spent a good amount of time blowing out her silky, shiny black hair, doing her makeup and making sure her manicure and pedicure were perfect.  I was somewhat suspicious of all this preparation.  I mean, she was doing this date as a sort of whimsical frolic – to be another man’s feedie for a night.  But Lo took her role seriously and, no matter the paramour, she aimed to impress.  Was she trying to impress her date, those in the restaurant, or to make me jealous?  She was probably going for all three and I had no doubt she’d succeed.

Lola’s Date Night Outfit, A.I.

Mr. Biggs also aimed to impress.  He spared no expense on his date.  He chose one of the finest restaurants in town – one which had a commanding view of the city’s skyline.  A perk of remaining anonymous as a writer is that when Lo goes on these dates, I am able to keep tabs on her by sitting at the bar without concern that her part-time lover will suspect anything since there is no way I could be recognized as the man on whom Lo is cheating.

I went up the elevator up to the restaurant on the 29th floor first and I walked into the full, but oddly quiet, even staid establishment and took a seat at the bar.  This was an expensive, fancy restaurant where people spoke quietly and politely.  Most of the patrons were over fifty, dressed formally, and not one of them looked like they were having a good time.  It seemed more of a duty or a chore to go through the motions of eating dinner than having a fun night out with one’s partner, or paramour, however the case may be.

I was situated on a stool at the corner of the bar, the better to see wherever my Lo and her date were seated.  I looked around the room and didn’t see Mr. Biggs, whom I would have recognized from his photos that Lo insisted he send prior to agreeing to the date.  He was at least 300 pounds and there was no way he would have simply blended in with the crowd if he was already in the restaurant.  I became worried however, because none of the tables for two were empty or had the little “reserved” card on them.  Where would they sit?  Would I be able to see them?  I saw the elevator doors open and Lola walk up to the hostess, telling her the name for the reservation.

The hostess walked Lola over to a four-top and seated her, saying the rest of her party should be there soon.  Lola looked very much out of place in this stuffy dining room with its fancy China and white linen tablecloths.  Her black leather skirt and matching leather jacket, contrasting with her see-through white t-shirt (no bra), caused her to look like she had walked in from a Harley Davidson biker gang.  I was actually afraid the hostess would turn her away due to the dress code of the joint.  But she didn’t.

Lola sat alone at the table for four.  She was facing me and gave me a little, discrete wink.  I think she was just as confused by the table for four as I was.

Then, all of a sudden, a man shaped like a boulder entered the room.  He was one of the largest humans I had ever set eyes on!  He was dressed nicely – it must have been custom-made clothes – in black pants, a white pressed shirt, and a small blue and pink bow tie.  He wore no jacket over the shirt.  His waste line must have been 60 inches, at least!  He was probably just under six feet tall, with unusually small feet, at least compared with the size of the rest of him.  He looked down at Lola and smiled, politely.  From across the room, I could see that he was sweating on the brow of his bald head.  He sat down.  Now I understood why Lola was seated at a table for four.  He took up nearly the entire side of the table.  He had to move the second chair to the side in order to fit awkwardly.  I thought to myself, how does this guy ever fly on an airplane?  Or any public transport for that matter?  There is not a chair large enough for him!  As it was, I was worried about the structural integrity of the chair he was currently occupying.

A waitress came by and, after a word with Mr. Biggs, she removed the two extra place settings.  She then brought over a bottle of champagne.  At least the guy did his homework and knew Lo’s beverage of choice.  They clinked glasses.  Lola smiled coquettishly at him.  They opened their menus and a brief discussion ensued before he ordered for the two of them.  Lola seemed charmed by him.  Or, at least, she was laying on the charm – smiling seductively with a twinkle in her eye.  She must have found him to be endearing or else she wouldn’t be trying to hard to impress him.

From my vantage point, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the words hardly mattered.  All the communication was exchanged between glances.  Lo allowed her leather jacket to flap open, revealing her hard nipples through the thin, transparent fabric of her blouse.

Lo, flaunting it. A.I.

The first course was served.  It was a creamy, thick soup.  It was only served to Lo.  Mr. Biggs sipped his champagne and intently watched Lo eat.  She brought the spoon up to her lips and daintily downed the soup.  She could see how enticed Mr. Biggs was by her polite performance and she relished in pushing the envelope.  She took a spoonful of soup and then, after eating it, she licked the spoon with her tongue very erotically.  Mr. Biggs’ eyes opened wide.  I do believe he was salivating at the sight.  I had to remind myself, he’s a feeder.  This is porn to him.

The next course came.  It was arancini balls, with a drizzle of cheese sauce on top.

I didn’t have to hear Lo to be able to read her lovely, lush, red lips saying, “Mmmmm, I love balls.”

Mr. Biggs watched as Lo slowly, indulgently took a bite of each ball from between her index finger and thumb as she used her hands to eat them.  Lo seemed to enjoy putting on the performance.

The third course was the main course – a beautifully creamy beurre blanc sauce over a filet of sole.  I could see by the look on Lo’s face that she was beginning to feel full.  But, nevertheless, she self-sacrificed for her friend’s food fetish fantasy.  Lola ate slowly, “accidentally” (on purpose) dripping a little of the white sauce on her chin.  She had Mr. Biggs eating out of the palm of her hand, even though she was the one doing the eating and mesmerizing him in the process.

She tried to make some small-talk, but he was too enraptured by her ingestion too converse.  Lo gave up on the conversation and continued to seduce by taking satisfaction in the sole.

Mr. Biggs’ abstention from partaking in the meal and his careful observation of Lola didn’t go without notice by the other patrons and the waitress, but that didn’t impinge upon his or Lola’s delight in the scenario.

Lo cleaned her plate, as she felt was the expectation.  This provided a brief interlude before dessert for her to get to know her dinner companion a little better.

“Tell me about you,” said Lo.

“What would you like to know?”

“Well, single, dating, married?”

“Married.”

“Oh, does Mrs. Biggs know you’re on a date with me?”

He chuckled and said, “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?  We’re just having dinner together.  How’s the sex-life?”

“Nonexistent,” he said with a frown.

“Oh no!  Why?”

“Look at me.”

That comment broke Lo’s compassionate heart.

“I’m diabetic, I have high-blood pressure, my circulation is terrible, and, if you haven’t noticed, I’m morbidly obese.”

Lo wanted to say, “And why don’t you have sex?” but she refrained.

“Also,” he continued, “she just gave birth – our first baby – and she’s exhausted, stressed, and has zero libido now.”

“Well, at least you did it once,” said Lo, lighting up.

“It was artificial insemination.”

“No!”  The exclamation escaped Lo’s lips before she knew what she was saying.

“Yes,” he said.  “We just aren’t, well, physically compatible.  I’m over three-hundred pounds and she’s a petite buck-ten.”

“There has to be a way.”

“Nope.  I mean, there was when we first got together.  But then when we wanted to get pregnant, over a year ago, I was already too large for her.  So we got professional help and, actually, that’s how I found you.”

“How’s that?” asked Lo, lighting up now that the topic of conversation had turned towards her.

“I was doing some research on-line about the process and I came across your story, ‘The Master,’ I think it was called.”

“Yeah,” said Lo.  “You came across it?” she asked for clarification.

“Not in that sense.  Well, I mean, later in that sense.”

“Good,” said Lo.

“But I found that story and then I found you and I was like, ‘Wow!  She’s hot!’  And then I saw a post about, what was it? – ‘A Wet Workout and a Wank.’  Was that it?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, and you were so sexy in that photo that I knew I had to contact you!”

“I see.”

Just then the waitress brought the dessert for Lola.  But it was also the dessert for Mr. Biggs’ eyes.  They were beaming at the melted chocolate lava cake à la mode that the waitress set between the two of them with two spoons.

“Aren’t you going to have some?” asked Lo, pouting cutely.  She asked not only out of concern for her date, who hadn’t eaten a thing all night, but also because she was beyond full.  She couldn’t imagine eating that entire portion herself!

“Oh no,” he said, “watching you eat is pleasure enough for me.”

Lola wanted this culinary cumfest to be as hot as possible.  She excused herself and went to the bathroom where she removed her t-shirt and returned with only her leather jacket on, unzipped, so that when she moved in just the right way, you could catch a glimpse of her naked breasts.

Flash and feed.

She sat back down at the table, moving in just the right way for Mr. Biggs.

She dug into the lava cake with her spoon and seductively licked the chocolate off of it.  Accidentally, a little of the chocolate lava dripped on her chin.  She went to wipe it off, but he said, “Please – that looks so good.”  Her hand holding the napkin froze midway to her mouth.  She realized that this turned Mr. Biggs on like nothing so far.  Lola put her napkin back on her lap and picked up the spoon.  Slowly, keenly spying Mr. Biggs’ reaction, Lola descended the spoon into the soft cake.  She got a little cake, a little lava, and a little vanilla ice cream on the spoon and raised it to her open mouth where her tongue was prominently placed to receive the helping.  But, at the very last moment as her hand made its slow-motion trajectory toward her parted lips, she diverted the delivery and smeared a large splotch of the sloppy serving around her lips.

Mr. Biggs’ eyes nearly popped right out of his face.  Lola repeated the performance, this time getting it on her chin.

Soon she sat with a goatee of chocolate and vanilla dripping down her neck.

The waitress came over and asked if everything was ok.  Lola looked up at her and smiled, saying, “Just fine.” She caught the waitress gazing down at Lo’s bare chest.

Mr. Biggs, looking to prolong Lola’s humiliation, politely asked for a cup of tea.  Neither Lo nor Mr. Biggs acknowledged the obvious – Lo’s messy mug.  The waitress was confused.  Soon other patrons in the restaurant were staring.  Lo, aware that this was a performance that pleased her paramour, played along, smiling back seductively at the guests who were embarrassed on her behalf.

She continued to smear cake on her face as Mr. Biggs sipped his tea patiently.  Soon it was spread from ear-to-ear.  Mr. Biggs could take no more.  He asked for the check.  He paid and soon the two of them were in the elevator going down.

Lo still wore her dessert on her face and Mr. Biggs said, “May I kiss you?” once the doors of the elevator shut.

“Yes.”

He didn’t so much kiss Lo as greedily lick what he could from her face.  He was in an ecstasy of culinary concupiscent rapture.  As he kissed her face, Lo reached down, under his substantial stomach, and grabbed his crotch.  To her amazement, she felt nothing.  She recalled his comment about high blood pressure.  The elevators arrived at the lobby and the two of them got out.  Both of them had chocolate on their faces now.  They walked through the crowded arcade of shops and restaurants on the ground level until they were in the parking garage.  It was an empty garage and Lola could spot Mr. Biggs’ car right away.  It was the SUV parked in the handicapped spot to the right of the doors.  He clicked the remote and it lit up.  Lola stepped up onto the elevated footstep and hoisted herself in.  Mr. Biggs got into the driver’s side and turned to Lo.  He was breathing heavily.  He continued to kiss her face.

She pulled back.  “You said dinner and a movie.  What movie?”

“Well, we can’t go to my house.  My wife is there.  And I would like to go to a movie with you, but I also want so much more.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I would love a blowjob.  I haven’t had one in ages.”

Lo unzipped his fly and pulled out the little pud that she found hidden in there.  How could this outsized giant have such a below average cock?

“Do you mind if I watch a movie?” he asked.

Lo’s lips were already wrapped around his pud.  She didn’t reply.  He took out his phone.  He began watching all sorts of BBW (Big Beautiful Women) and SSBBW (Super Sized Big Beautiful Women) porn.  Lo’s thick mane was between Mr. Biggs’ legs as he held his phone on the steering wheel and watched the porn in the largely vacant parking garage.  Every once in a while Lo would come up for air, look at the porn, give him a kiss, and then go back down for more.

This continued for quite a while, until, in fact, Lo’s jaw began to get tired.  And then Lo began to get tired.  She had had a full bottle of champagne all to herself at dinner.  Gradually, Lo’s sucking and bobbing slowed until she was merely lying in Mr. Biggs’ lap, reduced to nothing but a cock-warmer as he continued to gluttonously engorge on porn of large women.

Lo had no idea how much time elapsed as she was snoozing in Mr. Biggs’ lap, but the next thing she remembers was feeling his large hands in her hair, gently pushing her face down on his diminutive dick as his hips pushed up.  Up-and-down, in-and-out, he was manipulating her to face-fuck his cock.  Perhaps he found just the right video to engage his libidinous desires.  Perhaps he needed to cum and wanted to bring the night to its ultimate conclusion.  Maybe he found her unconsciously covering his cock to be a real turn-on.  Who knows?  Lo was roused from her slumbers and, though surprised at first, she eventually engaged enthusiastically in the effort until, with much wheezing, quick thrusts, and a few grunts, Mr. Biggs unloaded into Lo’s mouth as she lapped up every stray drop from his small pud.

Lo sat up, her hair disheveled, her mouth dripping with cum and her face covered still in drying chocolate, and she looked at Mr. Biggs.  He did not look well.  He pulled out an inhaler and took a few quick puffs.  He was perspiring.  Lo actually asked if she should call for help.  He assured her he would be ok.

When he finally caught his breath he looked at the clock and said, “Thanks Lo, but I have to be going.  Will we see each other again?”

“I had a good time.  When would you like to get together?”

Lo actually had no intention of seeing him again, but she is always polite.

“Halloween is coming up in two weeks and I have an invite to a very special party.  Perhaps then?”

“Sure,” said Lo as she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  She popped out of the car and pulled out her phone, texting me.  She knew I wasn’t far.  I told her where I was and soon she was in the car with me and she relayed the blow-by-blow to me as we drove home.

Lola was receiving detailed instructions from her paramour who grew more perverted by the pound.  The special Halloween party, he informed Lo, was to be for kinksters only.  All invitees were expected to arrive in an outfit that would be outlandish and sexy at the same time.

Perhaps this does not come as such a great surprise, but Mr. Biggs, in addition to being a chub chaser, was also a total nerd who had a thing for Star Wars.  As a result, the costume he had fixated on for him and Lo was Jabba the Hutt and Princess Leia respectively.  But there would be an interesting twist on the costume.  Instead of it being a pairing of ginormously fat and rail thin, it was ginormously fat and Lo, in the sex slave outfit, proudly parading her prominently rounded rolls.

Lola was worried about this since she was self-conscious of the weight she had gained in the past couple of years.

“Lo,” I said, reassuringly, “you are gorgeous.”

“But. . .”

“No but.  I mean, beautiful butt!  Beautiful big butt – I cannot lie.  Besides, beauty, sex-appeal, the feminine mystique, it’s all about the mind, attitude, confidence, and persona anyway.”

“Slut is a state of mind.”

“Exactly!  I mean, just look at our friend, what’s-her-name.”

“Oh, funloving BBW?”

Funloving BB@

“Yeah, her.  By conventional standards. . .”

“Conventional standards of beauty constructed by men,” Lo interrupted.

“That’s what I was about to say.  By conventional standards she would not be beautiful.”

“Beauty is such a malleable thing.  I mean she might be just what Rubens considered the ideal of femininity.”

“Of course, but I’m not talking about Rubens.  I’m talking about Hugh Hefner, Bob Guccione, Larry Flynt.”

“They defined beauty for a few generations.”

“But look at what’s happening now,” I said, “with content creators like Faye Daniels, Dirty Little Diva Nicole, Chelle Silverstein, and even people like our friends, Samantha Massie, Sara Anne, Jennifer Kincade, and Karla Mott Nowak – they’re all so beautiful in their own ways and people appreciate that today.”

She gave me a sidelong look, revealing her jealousy.  She can sometimes behave just like Tinkerbell with that razor edge of possessiveness.  I knew I was in trouble.

“I mean, no one compares to you, of course.”

Funloving BBW

Believe

Funloving BBW

Moo

Funloving BBW bikini

 

Funloving BBW

Faye Daniels

Faye Daniels

Faye Daniles

Faye Daniels

Faye Daniels

The glamorous Faye Daniels in Rose Shaped Sunglasses

Faye Daniels and friend

Faye Daniels and friend

Dirty Little Diva Nicole and friends

Chelle Silverstein

Chelle Silverstein and husband Brenden Basil

Hotwife Sara Anne

Hotwife Sara Anne

Sara Anne

Samantha Massie

Samantha Massie

Jennifer Kincade

Jennifer Kincade

Jennifer Kincade

Karla Mott Nowak

Karla Mott Nowak

Karla Mott Nowak

Karla Mott Nowak