The Body Politic

[An excerpt of the following appeared today in Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine, November, 2020 issue.  Waring, political stuff ahead.]

It’s November of an election year.  And not just any election year, but perhaps the most vitriolic, divisive, and ugly election year ever.  Well, except for 2016.  As I’ve stated before, this sacred, sexy space of ours, this small column in the vast expanse of contemporary writing, steers clear of politics, except for the fact that nothing is a-political anymore.  Writing about sex, celebrating sexuality, and depicting a strong, independent, sexually explicit woman like Lola Down is itself a political act.

Lola as depicted by Roman Doodle

But in this very politicized climate, it is nearly impossible to provide a playground where the ubiquitous partisan battles don’t bleed over the boundaries we have created.  People on the right have appropriated the term “cuck” as a pejorative for the left.  Queer men on the left have appropriated “Proud Boys,” to the consternation of that far-right group.  Just beneath the surface of these slogans and slurs is a swirl of sexual energy, frustration, confusion, and subliminal eroticism misdirected and perverted into hatred and violence.

Misogyny, racism, sexism, gender identity politics, transphobia, homophobia, xenophobia, and politization of polyamory are all interrelated issues, impossible to easily separate into isolated questions.

We live in strange times; times I never thought I’d see.  The President of the United States is a man married (his third marriage, mind you) to a woman born in a different country who had a career as a model, occasionally posing nude and with other nude women in homoerotic images.  And yet, he’s not a radical leftist liberal, but embraced by the conservative Christian right!  He has had numerous affairs with porn stars and other women, yet that hasn’t prevented him from gaining the backing of the Bible Belt.  But his exoneration by the religious right has not been equally applied.  Those who work in the sex industry were not similarly embraced or given the same shame-free-pass as the President.

In 2016 the first female presidential candidate was eviscerated, mainly for wearing a pantsuit.  Yet, in 2020, between Hope Hicks, Kayleigh McEnany, Ivanka Trump, Omarosa Manigault Newman, Mercedes Schlapp, Lindsay Walters, Zina Bash, the First Lady, and others, it is sometimes difficult to tell the difference between the White House and the Playboy Mansion.  Perhaps that is Trump’s appeal to many; he fills the void left by the death of Hugh Hefner.

Hope Hicks (Sorry Hope It's A Gentleman's Club) | Valentino gowns, Beauty, Hair

Hope Hicks gender bending at the W.H.

And all of this tumult and turmoil, not coincidentally, floats to the surface in the wake of eight years of an African American man occupying the White House.

I mention our current and past political theater as a preamble to confronting a porn/erotica trope as ubiquitous and with as long a history as that of the “Lolita” nymphomaniac figure.  I speak of the so-called “Mandingo Myth.”  This deep-seated belief, whose pedigree can be traced as far back as Ancient Greece and Egypt, holds that African men wield sexual appendages that dwarf those of fair-skinned Europeans.  Throughout the ages, the image of the hugely hung black man has been perpetuated as well as perverted in order to promote a racist agenda: The longer the penis, the more bestial the sex-drive, the less human the man and thus the greater the threat to white society, especially its womenfolk.  (See A Mind of Its Own: A Cultural History of the Penis, by David M. Friedman, chapter III, “The Measuring Stick.”)

Lo’s idea of a perfect date

Over the centuries, the long black appendage has been compared to a Priapus (that is, the male fertility god), a donkey, stallion, buck, and even a pre-Adam serpent of the Garden of Eden responsible for Eve’s seduction and the Fall.  Throughout the ages, but most prominently in America from Reconstruction onward, this archetype of the African American man’s exceptional endowment has been the focus of white fear and fetish, engendering multiple myths, none of them ending well for the African American man.  This theme is almost comically depicted in the various King Kong films, but most explicitly in the 1976 version.  Plot: The Petrox Oil Company seeks to plunder a remote island of its oil.  They find no natural resources to make their venture profitable, but they do find and trap King Kong, a preternaturally large black ape.  They return to the U.S. with their unusual cargo.  However, Kong has fallen in love with Dwan (a scantily clad, blonde woman played by Jessica Lange).  Unable to allow such an unfathomable relationship, Kong is killed.  (In the original 1933 version, he climbs the giant phallus, the Empire State Building.  In the ’76 remake, he climbs the World Trade Center buildings, thus doubling the phalli.)  The allegory is quite transparent: white colonialists set out for raw materials, they return with slaves from Africa whose unusual size threatens their white women and must be killed.

King Kong Jessica Lange 8x10 HD Aluminum Wall Art at Amazon's Entertainment Collectibles Store

Jessica Lange in King Kong 1976

A year earlier, in 1975, the same myth was played out, only without the allegorical trappings, in the film Mandingo, based on the 1957 novel by the same name, from which the “Mandingo Myth” gets its label, though its predecessors in white Western mythology predate it by millennia.

Lo and an admirer in the park

How do you measure up?

Unfortunately, today we still find this trope used as both the focus of taboo fetishes (“Blacked” porn, which fetishizes both black men with large cocks and white, usually blonde and petit, women) and phobias for political ends.  For instance, in 2017, Enrique Tarrio, the leader of the Proud Boys, posted a tweet in which he asked if white women would be more willing to donate $20 to Trump’s campaign or walk past a group of black men while wearing a sundress.  (The Daily Mail, 10/1/2020, “Leader of the Proud Boys is the State Director of Latinos for Trump”)

Lola’s fan

In today’s tribal public sphere, there is little we can agree upon, but one thing that is unimpeachable is, as David Friedman says, the one place where race and sex (and we can add politics) converge is the black penis.

Lola’s COVID Gang-Bang Datenight

The long black dong is the symbol of white, male fragility.  It signifies the fear of masculine inadequacy and the homoerotic desire for sexual prowess.  Both symbol and signifier are pointers and the thick, strong, dark schlong is frequently depicted as pointing at the helpless, weak, innocent white blonde.  Copulation by contrast.  This ubiquitous trope penetrates deep in the psyche of our culture.

Just as black men are often reduced to their primal virility as exemplified by the penis, so too women are subtly and explicitly made into a medium for the message communicated by the patriarchal culture.  In recent memory, the collective unconscious probably recalls images from silent black-and-white films of a damsel-in-distress tied to the railroad tracks by the sinister mustachioed villain.  This image is emblematic of an archetype that transcends time and space: the bound female.  Ancient stories span the globe of women tied up – as sacrificial victims, concubines, slaves – from the abduction of Sita in the Ramayana to the afore mentioned Dwan of King Kong and, of course, Princess Leia in her famous Jabba the Hut scene in Return of the Jedi (1983) – project and perpetuate the idea of women as victims in need of a hero.

Lola’s Sexy Shoes

From nude or nearly nude women dancing in cages at clubs, raves, and music concerts, to Taylor Swift reenacting the railroad scene in “Mean,” this trope is conspicuously depicted and sexualized, but there are far more nuanced ways of sending the same message.  What is the message?  Women are weak, needy, helpless, and their power, like Prometheus (an example of gender inversion of the architype) is under wraps.  Notice, if you will, women’s fashion, from undergarments to gowns.  What is a recurring theme?  Straps, bows, knots, strings, and all manner of imagery suggesting restraint while simultaneously revealing skin.  Beyond that, almost every article of clothing is designed to depict weakness, vulnerability, and impotence.  Watch your local or national news, for instance.  How are the men dressed?  Buttoned up shirts, ties, long sleeve jackets revealing the least skin possible.  They are formidable, as if wearing body armor.  And the women?  Blouses cut at the shoulder, plunging necklines, form-fitting soft colored tops.  Imagine for a moment what you would think of a male news anchor reporting in a halter-top made of thin, silky material.

Lola Upskirt

Beyond the blouses, there are the skirts.  Dresses were, perhaps, originally designed to conceal the shape of the woman hidden beneath all the folds and flourishes.  But today, dresses and skirts are designed to inhibit freedom of movement, conceal as little as possible, and leave the woman wearing them vulnerable to the inadvertent upskirt.

Lola in a cute little bow

Working our way down, we next arrive at women’s footwear.  High heels keep a woman off balance.  Not only do they prevent any aggressive action, they inhibit flight.  Women’s dress shoes, for the most part, make them a helpless victim in the face of any danger.  Beyond that, they continue the ligature leitmotif.  Straps, bows, chords, all depict the female foot in a shibari shoe.

Tied Up

It’s important to recall that liberating oneself from the cultural baggage one inherits by virtue of merely being born into a particular time and place is not accomplished by merely adopting the opposite position.  In the dialectical structure, inhabiting the antithesis merely reaffirms the thesis.  It does nothing to diminish the power of the thesis.  Rather, twisting free of the rigid and possibly oppressive cultural constraints is a tricky and subtle art.  It requires first understanding the nature of one’s servitude and then becoming master of it.

Lola is by no means exempt from our culture’s conventions any more than you or I.  However, she does like to play with the tropes and taboos just the way that a good composer doesn’t merely adhere to the rules of the times, but will surprise and delight by contorting them in unexpected patterns.

Lola’s Cock

Of course, in our relationship there is the patent hotwife – cuck/stag – bull roles to be played.  But we emphasize the play of that is inherent in any roleplaying.  Lo has her soft spot for knots (of all variety) and strappy heels, dresses, bras, panties, and even corsets.  She also has her wet spot for BBC.  But it also delights her to wear her strap-on, to wield her cock, and to fuck like a man.  Call her a switch if you wish.  She also oogles and drools over the many fan photos she gets from black bulls endowed with length, girth, and heft she has rarely met in the flesh.  But she also loves her male trans fans who send photos of themselves in their wives’ panties or cumming in their pantyhose.  For, when it comes to sex, the one rule that holds is that nothing is essentially anything.  Existence precedes essence, as the Existentialists mantra goes, meaning, before we had determined male/female, man/woman, straight/queer, black/white, there were just people doing stuff.  Their names, definitions, categories, and expectations of norms all came later.

TV fan of Lola

 

 

 

These observations are meant neither to condemn nor condone the complex cultural code with regard to BBC or BDSM as it manifests in veiled, seemingly innocuous symbols such as popular movies and fashion.  Rather, this thought piece is more along the lines of semiotics (the study of signs and symbols in culture) than a cultural critique.  Signs and symbols perform a function; they point at something.  In this piece, the sign/symbol with which we began was the black penis, which is, innately and ironically, also a pointer.  Perhaps it is pointing at our radical possibility for the future.  I simply wanted to point that out.

Smaller Big Fan of Lola

Lola Down, Putting the Cum back in Community

Hello Friends!

This post will be heavy on the images, light on the writing. I just wanted to let you all know that I, HH, am in the midst of writing a long-form (novelesque?) piece that I hope to be done with by late November. It’s called “Rogue’s Gallery.”  Here are some pre-views.

 

 

Also, in our kink news, as many of you know, we have just published our latest book, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume VI, SlutLife.  It was supposed to come out in time for summer reading by the beach, but due to some production hiccups, it didn’t get released until September.

SlutLife

At the same time, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume III: Writing Under Cover, has come out on audio book, narrated by the amazing Jupiter Grant.

Today’s post is to reach out to everyone in our extended virtual kink community and give a shout out to those of you who have supported us in so many ways, especially during these difficult times of limited social connection due to COVID.  We want to hear from all of you, to know how you’re doing and, also, to know if our posts here and our books, have helped you during these very trying times.

 

We have been so blessed by enthusiastic kinksters showing and telling us about their enjoyment of our blog, books, and audio books. We wanted to share with you the people who make this “work” worth it.

We would be remiss if we didn’t give our first shout out to the voice of MySexLifeWithLola, Miss Jupiter Grant. She is a talented narrator (understatement), author, and a sex goddess in her own right.

Jupiter Grant

Next, we recently received this lovely tribute photo from the seductive and interesting Lilith Avair.  She and her Daddy Dom, Michael, (in the second photo) have been crucial to our success. Without Michael’s technical help, this blog wouldn’t exist.

Lilith, Michael, Lola

We also want to give a warm shout out to Lil Gem and her man from PurplesGem. They have been enjoying the books and all of their fans have been enjoying them.

Lil Gem

Lil Gem

Lil Gem

 

 

 

 

Artistic photo of LilGem

Illustration of HH and Lo by LittleGem of purplesgem.com

LilGem’s Daddy has a happy read.

Lil Gem in B&W

Glad Lilgem didn’t get lil’ jealous about this sexy photo.

LittleGem of PurpleGem reads about Lola Down

 

 

 

Nikki reaching for her Lo fetish

In addition to Lil’Gem, we have also had some fun with Darling Nikki of Love Is a Fetish fame. Ain’t it tho?

Nikki and Lola

More of the sexy Nikki from Love is a Fetish.

Fun Fetish Nikki and Lo

More of Nikki

Nikki Nude

We also have been big fans of Floss (as in Floss Does Life)!  And she has shown us some lovin’ too!

Floss of FlossDoesLife
and Match, Cinder & Spark

Floss enjoys her reading.

Floss lets it all hang out.

Floss and Lola illustrated

MORE of Floss:

Beautiful Floss

From Floss’ Review

While this lovely hotwife is out having fun with a bull, her hubby is getting of to Lo.

Karla takes a selfie

 

Karla, the day she became a hotwife.

Karla and Chris

 

10 Years of Carla

Karla and her Bull

Evolution of Karla

Meanwhile, Chris, her hubby, printed out Lola’s photos to enjoy.

Chris Cums on Lo’s Pics

The real you is sexy!

That photo above is from an ad campaign, we just replaced the models with pics of Lola. However, the sentiment is the same – you, all of you, in your different shapes and sizes, are sexy as you are! Nothing is more sexy than feeling yourself to be sexy.

This couple have been enthusiastic fans of ours for a long time, though they don’t have their own blog. He is a professor. She is thinking about getting into the OnlyFans biz. Sam & Alia.

Sam and Alia read Match, Cinder & Spark together.

Our favorite fans are fans who get off to us together.

Alia seems more interested in the book than her hubby’s pud.

One thing leads to another.

But sometimes Sam has to take matters into his own hands.

Alia

Alia & Sam

And then there’s a beautiful blogger who has been creating poetry with the speed and power of lightning. The Lustful Empress.

The Lustful Empress with Lola

Collage of TLE getting off to Lola

Isn’t she just beautifully lustful?

We hope you’ve enjoyed this little tour of some of our friends in the bloggosphere. If you would like a free copy of one of our books in exchange for a sexy photo of you with it and some free publicity from us, just ask.

Of course, back when travel was a thing we did, when HH was apart from Lola, he would send her cumtributes as a token of his love & lust.

Portrait of the author as a horny man.

Stay sexy y’all!

Compersion Perversion

[As published in the October issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine, Lola goes on a date with MILF Meri.]

Lo Casually Masturbating

It was a Thursday.  I was at the office.  All alone again.  During this pandemic and sweltering heatwaves of the summer, working from the office alone actually provided both cool central air (as opposed to our poorly air conditioned apartment) and much valued quiet, alone time, conducive to creativity and, if necessary, work.  Ms. Gale was working from home.  My other employees were working remotely as well.  I was under the impression that Lo, too, was working from home.  That is, until I received an email from her.

It’s unusual for me to get an email from Lo.  Text, phone call, even the unexpected in-person appearance for a booty-call are all to be expected.  But rarely an email.  Unless something is wrong, or the landlady has written to her demanding the rent, asking for a favor, or passing along complaints from the neighbors about the volume levels, frequency, and inconvenient late hours of Lo’s orgasmic operatic arias.

But this email was different.

“Guess where I am,” it read, enigmatically.

“At home, doing work,” I replied, unimaginatively.

“Nope.”

“Is this Twenty Questions, or can I just ask, where are you?”

“I’m in the park.”

It was another sunny, hot as hell day in the city.

“OK.” I wrote back.

“I have my computer.  I’m ‘working remotely’ from here.  That’s why I’m using my email.”

“Why do you put ‘working remotely’ in quotes?”

“Guess who I’m with.”

“Bill Murray.”

“No silly!  Meri!!!”

“Oh, that’s why you put ‘working remotely’ in quotes.”

“Yeah.  She wrote to me this morning and said that she told her husband she can’t take being cooped up in the house with the kids any longer.  She’s going to the park to get away and work.  But she had invited me and so we’re both here, pretending to work, but doing a lot more suntanning than working.”

“Which park?” I asked.

“Guess.”

“Lo,” I wrote, in the tone of voice I take with her when she’s being naughty, “I actually have work to do.”  These multiple, terse emails were not conducive to getting anything done.

“Fine,” she replied, “the park next to your office.”

My office faces out onto the street, but my employee’s office, in the back of the building, looks out onto a small oval park in the midst of the other businesses.

“Do you want to come by the window and see what I’m wearing, or not wearing?”

How could I resist?

I walked across the reception room area where Ms. Gale has her desk, into the back office.  I glanced out the window and sure enough I saw my little Lo, ass up, her computer in front of her, her admirer behind her, seated about ten feet away.  There were streets hemming in the small sward, but full sun upon my nymph and her MILF.

Allow me to paint the scene for you.  Unlike the last time these two met in the park, this time Lo came prepared to bask in the sun.  She was lying on her tum, her legs bent at the knee and her feet dangling in the air.  She had her computer in front of her.

Behind her, sitting in a beach chair, was Meri, watching.  She sat, ostensibly reading a book, but she was really just spying on Lo.  The way the two of them were in relation to each other, it did not appear that they were together or knew one another.  And I was spying on both of them.  I don’t know if Lo or anyone could see me watching from above.  If Lo noticed my presence, she made no sign of it.

Lo was wearing nothing but a very tiny bikini top and a pink thong bikini bottom.  It literally was no more than a spaghetti strap covering basically none of her ass.  I was familiar with it because she had bought it on sale last fall and was so eager to wear it that she tried it on for me at home, pretending to be on the beach showing off.  A fun little game for both of us!

Lo’s Thong Askew

It wrapped around from her crotch and, when placed just so, concealed only the bare essentials of her letter ‘i’ – if you know what I mean.  From a distance, it looked as if she was wearing nothing at all on the bottom.  And I was not the only one to think that.  Sitting around the two of them on the shaded park benches were old ladies and moms with strollers and the occasional businessman out for air or a stolen glance of Lo’s delectable derrière.  I could tell that the lecherous men interspersed with a few lascivious women were all trying their utmost best to give the appearance of doing something, anything else besides what they were doing – watching Lo.  It takes one to know one, I thought.

Lo was keenly aware of her audience, but she was performing for only one.  Meri, for her part, sat slightly askew to Lo.  She wore heels, a pink skirt that stopped just short of her knees, and a grey tank-top that accentuated her large breasts, revealing lots of cleavage and that she was wearing no bra.  She wore a baseball cap and dark sunglasses in addition to her mask, as if she were a movie star trying to stay incognito.

Lo’s performance was exquisite.  Every once in a while she would reach back behind her and ‘adjust’ her bikini bottom, as if it was riding up her ass uncomfortably.  She would pull at it so nothing was concealed, at least not to Meri, and then let it go again with an audible snap.  Occasionally she would put sunscreen in her hand and run her index finger from her pussy over her balloon knot, as if to insure that those delicate parts wouldn’t burn.

From my vantagepoint, I couldn’t help but think that the sun shines from 94 million miles away for one reason only: to illuminate, warm, and tan Lo’s perfectly spherical double-orbed bronzed rear.  It was as if Helios himself was looking down intently upon Lo’s sexy little ass and the oppressive, powerful rays of light were his enormous erection aching to feel the pleasure of that posterior, but burning hotter because infinitely frustrated by the impossibility of a non-material substance’s concupiscence being quenched by the corporeal object of its affection.

Lo pretended to be oblivious to it all, typing away on her computer as if deeply engrossed by her work emails.

Even in my airconditioned office, I was growing warm from the sight.  Since no one is allowed to come to my office due to the pandemic, I don’t even bother putting on a suit anymore.  It’s strictly t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops for me this summer.  That’s not my office attire, that’s my everything attire.

I also was growing hard in my khaki shorts.  Seeing Lo nearly nude in the middle of the pedestrian and otherwise non-nude plaza, literally the center of attention in the circle of voyeurs, and me, up there, voyeuristically observing from on high, with who-knows-how-many-others lurking in the windows, was appealing to my compersion perversion.

Just when I thought the scene could not get any better, an older gentleman (I use the term loosely) wearing slacks and a button-down sky-blue casual long-sleeve shirt walked over the green grass directly towards Lo.  He squatted down to talk to her.  She turned her head toward him and then rolled over on her back, propping herself up with her elbows.  Then, for the first time I saw that she had on the bikini top with adjustable cups and she had adjusted them to a very narrow setting, exposing most of her breasts, her side-boobs bulging out.

She looked up at the man and struck up a conversation with him.  I could see practically her entire chest falling out from where I sat and I’m sure that that man had a close-up view of it.  I could see Lo smiling at him in her flirtatious way as he continued to engage her in whatever small talk they were pursuing.

I’m sure this gave Lo the triple pleasure of teasing the man while simultaneously making Meri jealous and me mad with admiration of her hotwife hospitality.  I could see Lo glance from her interlocutor to Meri, making sure that the latter was catching it all.  And I could see Meri watching with great interest.

As Lo continued to talk to the man, she seemingly absentmindedly spread her legs, revealing the tiny triangle of material covering her smooth mons pubis, and she thoughtlessly placed her hand down there as if adjusting the bathing suit or scratching an itch.  This allowed Meri a direct line of sight into Lo’s labial lodestar.

I guess Lo’s male conversationalist eventually ran out of things to say.  I saw him pass Lo something that looked like a business card and then say his adieu.  He walked away and I saw Lo smile like the scapegrace she is at Meri and Meri smiled back.  They were like two schoolgirls pulling one over the teacher.

Lo reached down between her legs and quickly pulled back the bikini bottoms for Meri to get an unobstructed view for a brief moment of bliss.  In return, Meri spread her legs and, though I couldn’t see it, flashed Lo a glimpse of her crotch, unadorned by any panties.  (I did later confirm this with Lo.)

From my perch I could comfortably enjoy all of the sexual psychological angles: between Lo and Meri; the older women on the periphery and Lo; the younger women on the sidelines and Lo, the men and Lo; as well as Lo’s basking in the attention of all of them just as she basked in the bright sunlight as if it were her spotlight on the stage.

HH – Hot & Hard

The psycho-sexual dynamics had me rock hard in my shorts and just as I was contemplating relieving the tension, I heard the faint sound of keys and then the turning of the lock on the office door.  Before I could scramble to see who was there (especially when no one was supposed to be there), in walked Ms. Gale wearing denim shorts and a gingham button down shirt, tied up in the middle to reveal her midriff.  It covered only her shoulders and breasts, though it was unbuttoned enough to reveal much cleavage.

“Ms. Gale?” I almost shouted in shock.

“Mr. H?!” she shot back.

I was keenly aware that I had a huge erection in my shorts and that Lo and her special lady friend were frolicking outside the window by which I sat.

“Why are you here?” we both asked simultaneously.

“This is my office,” I said, authoritatively.  Though, actually, I wasn’t in my office.

“I thought you put on the calendar that you were on vacation this week.”

“Oh, I had, that’s true,” I said, “but COVID put an end to our travel plans.  So, here I am.  And you?”

“It was too hot in my apartment to work.  I only have one window unit and with the temperatures in the hundreds, it doesn’t get much colder than about eighty-seven.  I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I thought that, since you were away, I’d work in the office and utilize the central air.”

“I see,” I said, still too hard to stand up.

“Why aren’t you in your office?” she asked.

“Well, I, uh,” I stumbled for a plausible answer.  “I got bored of the view,” I said.

“Oh, is the view from that window better?  I thought it just looked out onto the park,” she said as she moved toward the window to look out.  I desperately didn’t want her to do that!

She did and we both looked outside.  To my great surprise, there was no sign of Lo and Meri!!!

“It’s just a different view,” I said casually.

She looked out the window, bending over, displaying her round rear to me in the tight shorts.

“You like the view?” she asked, enigmatically.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.  “I rarely see it like this,” I said, looking at her ass.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.  “You should take more time to smell the roses.  You’re always working,” she added as she returned to standing in front of me.  Little does she know that more often than not, when she thinks I’m assiduously working on a legal brief, I’m actually writing this torrid encomium to Lola.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I said like a judge.  “But for now, I’ll let you have the office to yourself.  You know, we must be socially distant.”  I said it as if I were explaining to her that we need to be sexually distant.

“You don’t have to go,” she said.  “I mean, you could just work in a separate office.  I don’t mean to push you out.”

I was eager to catch up with Lola.

I put away the files I had been working on before Lo’s email and headed toward where I thought I’d find Lo and Meri.  Five minutes into my walk, I was already drenched in sweat.  I felt like I was suffocating due to the high temperatures and humidity.  Making matters worse, I had to wear that asphyxiating mask!  But I was determined.

I walked up the busy street from my office and was about to despair of my loss, but then I spied the two women sitting in front of the ice cream shop.  They each were seductively eating their treats from cups.  I took a seat not too far away from my nymph.  I didn’t worry about being discovered.  I had on dark sunglasses and my bandana mask.  Very little of my face could be seen and, as an added benefit, Meri had never met me.  To the best of my knowledge, she had no idea what I looked like.

The two of them were engrossed in conversation.  I watched for as long as I could, but the sun was baking me.  Eventually, convinced that I wasn’t missing anything of great import, I decided to return home, take a cool shower, and await Lo’s return.

I was on the couch in the living room when I heard the front door abruptly open and close.  I heard Lo scamper down the hall to the bedroom and master bath.  She too hopped in the shower first thing, but not to engage in the usual self-pleasure that she frequently enjoys in there.  No, it was a quick rinse and then, from the living room I heard her masturbatory moans.

I quietly walked down the hall.  The AC was on in the bedroom and so Lo didn’t hear me.  I slowly opened the bedroom door and couldn’t believe my eyes!  Instead of pounding her pussy with a dildo of enormous magnitude, she was sliding my Stoya Fleshlight up and down her lower lips, pressing Stoya’s labia into her own, dripping her wetness all over the prosthetic pussy.  Her eyes were closed and with her free hand she was plucking her nipples.

“Lo,” I said in a gentle tone.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” she screamed as she jumped a mile.  “What the hell are you doing home?!”  It was almost an accusation.

“I’m sorry, Darling,” I said before explaining the surprise visit by Ms. Gale and then asking her, “What the hell are you doing with my Fleshlight?”

“I hate the COVID bullshit!” she lamented.  “I want a pussy.  I want Meri’s pussy.  I want to fuck someone who is not you.  No offence,” she said after realizing what she had said.  “I just want. . .”

“No offence taken,” I said sarcastically.  “How could that possibly be offensive?”

“You know what I mean.  Of course I want to fuck you too, but I also want to be able to fuck others as well.”

“You have,” I reminded her.  “The brothers.  Remember?”

Stoya Licking her own Pussy

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, putting Stoya back on her cunt.  “That’s for them, not for me.  They’re young men, full of testosterone and they need my sweet release, especially in this pandemic.  I spread my legs, they slip in my honeypot and unload.  That’s all for them.”

“Oh, you get nothing out of it?” I asked sarcastically.  “You’re just a simple orgasm donor?”

She laughed, “I get something out of it.  I mean, I cum, yes.  And it pleases me to be their goto girl, their flesh-and-blood Fleshlight.  I won’t deny, that turns me on.  I like being their easy access.  Their cum dump.  The thought of guys’ balls aching for my cunt and unloading into me because I can provide for them what they so desperately need is an incredible turn-on.  But I want a woman.  I want someone who will take time to pleasure me, give me what I want, know what I want.  Not just ram it in deep and hard to prove how big and strong they are.  I want Meri.”

She returned to sliding and pressing the Fleshlight’s lithe labia up against her own swollen and supple lips, causing a suction sound as her own secretions lubricated the point of contact.  She reached down with her free hand and began circling her clit with her index finger.  She did all this as if I wasn’t even there.  Oblivious to me and all else but her imagination and the feel of her pussy slip-sliding against another pussy, she was soon squirting a stream of climactic juices directly into the parted prosthetic pussy.  The receptacle, upside down, simply dribbled out the contents back onto and into Lo’s already soaked and dilated source.

She took a few deep breaths.  I stood silently awaiting her command, request, or even insinuation to fill her with my meat.  But, instead she reached for her phone.  She made a call and said, “Hi.  Yeah.  Another leak.  Can you come over and fix it right away?”

She turned to me and asked, “Will you let them in?”

“Who?”

Then the doorbell rang.

I walked down the hall and admitted the two brothers.  It was the same uncomfortable silence between us as it had been before.  Merely sheepish grins and a little nod of the head as they walked toward their destination.  They no longer needed to be shown the way.

They walked into the bedroom, saw Lola splayed out on the bed naked, Fleshlight beside her body, sheets soaked, and they immediately dropped their pants.  They didn’t even bother to take off their shoes or their shirts.  Kids these days.

Lola: “Fuck me.”

“Fill me, fuck me, pump me, pound me, use me, abuse me, whip me, worship me,” said Lo, spreading her legs further, bending her knees and slapping her cum-slathered pussy.

One of the boys pulled her to the edge of the bed and penetrated her.  She briefly looked up at me, her head upside-down, from the bed, before her eyes rolled back.  The boy was rock hard and eager.  His brother stood by the bed watching, cock in hand, stroking, and patient.  Within moments, the first reached his climax inside her.

Pulling out, he stepped aside for his brother to have his chance.  Lo rolled over onto her hands and knees, raising her ass for him to have her.  He easily slid into her soaking holes.  I saw her wince just a little as he entered the tighter of the two.  But soon he was alternating back-and-forth at whim.  Now the other brother watched and, to my amazement, grew hard as he did so.  What amazing recovery time!

Lola: “Fill me.”

After the more active brother drove his point home in Lo’s rear, he pulled out and they both watched as Lo oozed, cooed, and creamed.

Then the first returned to the pole position.

I could see that Lo, by this point, was almost bored.  Her head was resting on her hands and she looked up at me, unconcerned about what was happening beyond her shoulders.

“Daddio,” she said, “will you pass me my phone?”

Her phone was on her nightstand on the other side of the bed, by the boys.  I walked around the bed, past the brother who was slamming his shaft deep into my hotwife’s pussy at the time, past the other brother who was eagerly awaiting his chance for another deep dive in her, and grabbed the phone.  I walked back around to the side of the bed by the door and passed it to Lo.

She pressed some buttons, preoccupied with the phone and not at all occupied with the activities behind her, and looked up at me again.  “If I order a pizza, what would you like on it?” she asked in a quiet voice, as if the boys and her bum were in another room and she didn’t want to disturb them.

It seemed a most unusual question for the moment.  I must have looked puzzled.  “I’m hungry,” she added by way of explanation.

“Mushrooms and onions,” I said unthinkingly.

“Oh, hi,” Lo said into her phone.  At the very same time, the first brother finished, ejaculating in long shots on Lo’s back.  I guess Lo was put on hold briefly because she was quiet for a moment.

The second brother asked Lo, “Do you want more?”  He was clearly confused by Lo’s phone call.

Lo turned her head over her shoulder and said, “Go ahead.  You can have it.  Try to be quick.”

I heard a voice from the phone ask, “Yes, can I help you?”

Lo’s attention was back to her pizza order as the boy behind her grabbed her hips and pulled them towards his erect phallus.  “Yeah, could I get one sausage pizza and one with onions and mushrooms?”

Lo Placing an Order for Pizza

The boy behind her returned to his favorite alternating ass/puss, ass/puss plunging.  I could see him spreading her cheeks with both hands as he pulled out and pressed in.

“Medium,” said Lo into the phone and then looking up at me she asked, “Medium big enough for you?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, two mediums,” she said into the phone again.  “OK.  Yes.  Delivery please.  Great.  Thank you.”  She hung up and put the phone by her side.

Allowing her head to fall into the pillow, she reached back and pulled her ass cheeks apart, allowing her paramour to use his hands in other ways.  He reached under her and grabbed her doughy tum and squeezed.

“You going to cum?” Lo asked.

He grunted.

I guess she could feel him building.  “Come on.  You got two in you, don’t you?  You like my ass?  You like it,” she said.  She moved her fingers to her ass and felt him sliding in and out of her.  He was ready.  She was giving him a hand-job as he entered and exited her posterior.  Lo’s instincts kicked in and she turned abruptly and opened her mouth to receive his fill.  He grabbed his cock with one hand and her head with the other, pulling her mouth onto his shaft.  He began to cum and then pulled out of her mouth and sprayed the rest on her face.  She was drenched.

She looked up at him and asked, “Feeling better?”

The first brother already had his pants on.  The second, who had just finished, reached down to pull up his from around his ankles.

“Thanks Lo,” he said.

“Say hi to your mom,” Lo said.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he replied.

They let themselves out.

Lo fell backwards and, lying on the bed, she looked up at me and asked, “Will you get the pizza and tip the delivery guy?”

“Maybe you should.”

She contemplated that idea.  “Like I am?”

“Exactly.”

Lola Filled, but not full

When the bell rang, she walked to the door, dripping from the boys’ icing on her face and shoulders, and, opening the door, took the two pizzas in hand and gave a few dollars in tip.

I awaited her return in the dining room.

“What was his reaction?” I asked as she placed the pizzas on the table.

She laughed.

“What?” I asked.

“It was a woman.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“What was her reaction?”

“A cross between shock and disgust.”

“Too bad.”

“Why?”

“I thought you were going for shock, awe, and arousal.”

“I’ll take disgust.”

She grabbed a slice of pizza.  No plate.  She didn’t even sit down.  She stood by the table, naked, and ate it with fervor.  “Sorry, Daddy,” she said, mouth full.

“Sorry for what?”

“What I said before.  You understand, though, don’t you?”

“Yes Lo,” I said, sincerely, not sarcastically.  I felt love, compassion, and patience.  “But,” I added, “you need to clean up Stoya and the sheets.”

“I will,” she said, obediently.

I had a slice of pizza and cracked open a beer.

“Is there a reason you had the boys rather than me?” I finally asked.

“Yes,” she said, with no explanation.  She continued eating.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“I like to be used.”

“You didn’t even cum.”

“No, because I wanted Meri.  But, I’ll cum later to the thought of them and this afternoon.”

“With me or without me?”

“If you’re lucky, both.”

After dinner, she strutted to the bedroom to clean up.  I followed.

“What a mess!” she said at the sight.  “Isn’t it wonderful?!”  She dove into the bed.  “It smells like sex.”

“Just like you,” I said sarcastically.

When she got up to strip (the bed that is, since she already was naked as the day she was born) I asked her, “Who was that man talking to you in the park?”

“Oh, him?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Just a creep.  He just wanted a closer look at me.”

“You sure gave it to him.”

“You saw?” she asked, flattered that I took in her stunning act.

“Yes, I saw.  What did he give you?”

“His business card.”

“What sort of business is he in?”

“He says he’s a photographer and he asked if I would be interested in any boudoir photography done of me.”

“Really?  Where’s his card?”

She bent over by the side of the bed and dug through her little beach bag.  “Here it is.”

She gave it to me.

“I see,” I said, reading it.  “You going to take him up on it?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to?”

“Let me think about it.  Did you and Meri have a good time?”

“What do you think?”

“I think she’s at home doing exactly what you just did.”

“Eating pizza?”

 

Bleach Bum

Lola, Image by Julie Hill

Lo’s date with MILF Meri was Easter Sunday.  By Lo’s account, both of them had a great time and were eager to make the magic happen again.  But then, inexplicably, Meri ghosted Lo.  No response to email, nothing.

“I think she might be having randy remorse,” said Lo one morning while we were pondering the odd disappearance.

“What the hell is ‘randy remorse’?”

“You know – she was all randy to have a lesbian encounter.  She did it.  It was hot.  But she has a husband, three sons, a conventional, bougie, suburban, soccer-mom lifestyle to maintain.  She can’t fuck that all up for a little labial action.”

“Don’t you think that that’s a tad narrow-minded?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I don’t mean her lack of follow-up.  I mean your explanation.”

“What?”

“In this day and age, women aren’t as boxed in as you make it sound.  I mean, a lot of couples are open to the wife playing around, especially with someone like you.”

“What does that mean, ‘someone like me’?”

“I just mean, younger, already in a relationship and therefore not clingy or a threat to the Stepford Wife, picture-perfect, wholesome family-Christmas-letter lifestyle.”

“So I’m just a Manic Pixie Dream Girl to her?”

“Precisely.”

“I think you’re making her situation out to be too simplistic.  You have no idea what the family dynamics are, what pressures she may feel, or her reasons for dropping me.”

“And neither do you.  So why should we keep speculating about it?”

We let it go and, other than Lo occasionally recounting her one sexcapade with MILF Meri while masturbating or copulating with me, she was all but forgotten.

Until one day during quarantine.

“Lo, I just wanted to check in on you and make sure you’re ok.”

That was it.  A one sentence, no explanation, wellness-check email from Meri.

Lo wrote back and tactfully, without accusation or spite, inquired why it had been so long since she had last heard from Meri.

Instead of responding immediately, it was over a week before Lo received a terse email in return.

“It’s complicated,” was the enigmatic reply.  “I’ll write more later.”

Again, another week elapsed before Lo got the following email:

 

Dear Lo,

 

I’m sorry I never followed up with you after we met last Easter.  Believe me, you were on my mind constantly.  However, I was feeling guilty about the circumstances of how we met.  I know you thought I was just responding to your ad, but it’s more complicated than that.  Can we meet in person to talk about it?

 

Meri

 

“Guilty about the circumstances of how we met?” said Lo to me, perplexed.

“Will you meet with her?”

“I have to.”

“What do you mean, you have to?”

“Don’t you want to know the answer to this mystery?”

“I suppose.”

The following weekend Lo dolled herself up.  It felt like a uniquely special occasion since, during the COVID crisis, Lo hadn’t had much reason to dress the part.  Indeed, as she chose and then dismissed various outfits, that’s exactly what it felt like – like she was an actress choosing the right outfit for a role.  This day she was going for the ‘innocent little college student’ role.  After many attempts at the right combination, she settled on a short skirt, no panties, a white knit sweater, no bra, and her cute little pumps.  I realized, maybe not quite for the first time, that Lo enjoys the theatrics of her dates as much as the action.

“Good luck, Love,” I said as she was breezing out the door.

“Luck?  I don’t need luck when I got this,” she said as she lifted the back of her skirt to reveal her bare ass.

“That’s true,” was all I could say as I etched the image on my brain.  “Remember,” I called to her as she walked away, “social distancing!”

Later that day, Lo strolled up the street back toward our apartment as I sat outside reading a book and drinking a G&T in the front yard.  I soaked in the way she perfected the picture before me as she sauntered on the sidewalk, the incarnation of summertime: bright, cheerful, without a care in the world, lackadaisical, unhurried, and delighting in being enjoyed by those she passed by.

She stopped before me.  “Hi,” she said with a big grin on her face.

“Hi,” I repeated back to her.

“Want to fuck?” she said, getting to the point.

“Am I breathing?”

We went right into the bedroom.  She bent over the bed, lifted up her skirt and I slid right into her wet and willing pussy.

It took a few thrusts before she was ready to recall for me her socially-distant-dalliance with MILF Meri, but I knew she’d come around after she had cum around two or three times.

I pulled out of her dripping hot hole and, still hard up, was lying on the bed, panting as I sweat, despite the AC blasting.

“You ok, ole man?”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, “I’ve got lots more loving left in me.  But let’s take a little break and you can tell me why, exactly, you’re so needy.”

“But Daddy,” she said, batting her eyelashes at me, “I’m always needy.  I’m a nympho, remember?”

“Cut to the story, Lo.  I can see you aching to regale me with your reverie.”

“OK,” she said.  “Lie back and I’ll tell you.”

She was sitting naked on the bed next to me.  Her legs were crossed under her and she gently stroked my wet, rigid manhood as she spoke.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed.

I obeyed.

I felt her lips ease down my shaft.

“Lo, you can’t tell me what happened with a mouthful of my cock.”

“I know, Daddy,” she said after pulling up and releasing me.  “I just wanted a taste.”

“Of a woman?”

“Of me.  Now listen with your eyes closed.”

She then told me the following:

 

 

We met at the park by the river.  She was already there when I arrived.  It was crowded.  A lot of families, people picnicking, suntanning.  You know.  The usual for a gorgeous summer day during a global pandemic.

She was sitting on a little picnic blanket, clearly nervous, tense with anticipation about seeing me again.

When I got there, I unraveled my blanket too, took off my shoes, and sat a safe distance away from her, but within earshot.

I so wanted to kiss her on her full red lips and put my fingers through her full red hair.  But I was good, Daddy.

I sat crisscross, like I am now, but with my skirt just covering my modesty.  I didn’t wear a bra and so I’m sure she could make out my nipples through my sheer sweater.  I know she could because every guy I passed on the walk to her was glaring at my chest.  I enjoyed teasing her.  In fact, I enjoyed the whole distance thing more than I thought.  The torture of it all was exciting, I think, for both of us.

Anyhow, she had packed a little picnic basket, complete with a couple of bottles of chilled champagne and plastic glasses.  She poured me one and, after a few pleasantries, she told me her story.

‘Lo, do you remember our first few email exchanges?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ I said, thinking nothing special had been in them.

‘Well, I wrote to you and you assumed that I was responding to your ad.’

‘Weren’t you?’

‘That’s just the thing,’ she said, pausing and thinking how to tell me the next part.  ‘I didn’t even know you had an ad.’

‘How did you get my email?  How did you hear about me?’

‘I feel terrible about this.  I’m really sorry I led you on, or at least didn’t tell the truth right away.  I really didn’t mean to lead you on at all.’

I was very confused and I’m sure she could see it on my face.

‘You see, it started with my husband.’

‘He saw the ad?’

‘No, he found your blog somehow.  One night he left his computer on and fell asleep on the couch.’

‘Nothing good ever follows those words.’

‘I knew he had just jacked it.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘We’ve been married twenty-three years, Lo.  I know when he’s jacked off.’

‘OK.’

‘So I was curious.  I just wanted to see what was getting him off now.  And, instead of the usual porn vids that he watches to relieve stress, I found your blog!’

‘Really?’

‘Yes!  And I was fascinated by what I was reading.  I think it was Bleach Bum or something like that.’

‘Oh, I know what you mean,’ I said, a little embarrassed because that’s the story where you talk about anal bleaching and you put up a very prominent photo of my perineum.

Lola’s Blue Gem

 

“I believe it was more a photo of your asshole.”

“Must you be so vulgar?”

“I believe it was a photo of your anus.”

“That’s not any better!”

“It was a photo of your posterior analytics.”

“That sounds better.  But a little sterile.”

“It was a photo of your sweet, sweet. . .”

“Don’t you dare say sphincter!”

“How about your bottom’s belly-button?”

“Too confusing.”

“Can we please get back to your story?”

She continued:

 

She went on, ‘I wanted to read more, but I didn’t want Scott, that’s my husband, to know I was looking at his search history, so I logged out and signed into my account on the family’s desktop.  I read and read and looked at the photos of you and, well, I felt sexually aroused like I hadn’t in a long time!’

‘I have that effect on people.’

‘Mmmm,’ she moaned, looking at me, a little fear in her eyes, ‘to be honest, it was a combination of you, your photos, and the writing.’

 

“HA!” I shouted.

“Oh, calm down.”

“The writing!”

“Do you want to hear my story so you can write about it or what?”

“Well, now that she knows about the blog, it’s sort of breaking the fourth wall, isn’t it?”

“I’ll leave the literary devices to you.”

 

 

Meri continued, ‘I couldn’t get enough and then I saw that you had your email right there on the blog.  So I wrote to you.’

‘And I jumped to the conclusion that you must have read the ad.’

‘Yeah.  I was a little confused at first.  And then, to find out that we live in the same city, or at least pretty close to it!’

‘So that’s why you didn’t follow up with me for over a year?  Because of that little misunderstanding?’

‘No, no,’ she said.  ‘By the way, I read the story that H.H. wrote about our Easter encounter.’

‘Right, I guess you did.  Sorry that he was such a spy.’

‘That’s ok,’ she said, laughing a little, ‘It shows how much he loves you.’

‘Or what a perv he is!’

She waived her hand like it didn’t matter. ‘He wrote that you liked it.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you?  Did you really?’

‘Of course I did.  Did you disappear because you thought I didn’t?’

‘No, that wasn’t it.  I was eager to do it again – and more!’

‘So what happened?’

At this point, it was getting warm and both of us had had about two glasses of Champagne.  I stretched out my legs and so did she.  Our feet were touching at the end of our blankets.  It was cute and quite erotic – just touching toes like that.

‘Um, well, uh,’ she stumbled, ‘it gets a little more complex.  A little more confusing.’

‘What does?’

‘For a while both Scott and I were reading and getting off to your blog, but separately.  He had no idea that I was reading it.’

‘OK.  Don’t tell me he wants to fuck me too?’

‘Well, he probably does.  That’s not the problem.’

I was so confused.

‘Lo, do you remember getting some fan mail a while ago?’

‘I get a lot of fan mail.’

‘Well, this was special.  It had an illustration.  It was from a mom.  It was about a shared computer and. . .’

‘THAT was YOU?!’ I shot at Meri when the pieces fit together.

Meri’s face had turned almost as red as her hair.  ‘Do you want to leave?  Do you hate me?  I’m so ashamed.’

At that moment, though she was much older, she seemed so scared, so vulnerable.  I just rubbed her feet more with my feet and consoled her.

‘Was it just that one time?’ I asked after a long pause.

‘I wish I could say it was.’

‘You mean you. . . ?’

‘He likes me to help him.  Other than you, it’s our secret.’

 

 

“Wait.  Wait,” I said in disbelief.  “You’re saying that Meri is the mom who wrote to us about finding the blog on her husband’s computer and fapping to it and then, later, when she was found out by her son, used it as ‘a teachable moment’?”

“One-and-the-same.”

“Oooooohhhhhh,” I said.  “That explains a lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Why’d she send that email and not say that it was from her?”

“I think she was embarrassed, but she was trying to tell me why she was M.I.A.”

“A little coded message?”

“Yeah.  Not the clearest communication.”

“Did she actually expect you to figure it out?”

“I don’t think so.  It wasn’t even from the same email address as she had used before.  I think she wanted to gauge my reaction to it.  When you wrote about it without being judgmental, I think it gave her a little more courage.”

“Well what happened next?”

“We talked a little more, just catching up on the past year.  I then lifted up my knees so that she could have a good, direct look at my smooth, gleaming pussy.  Very discretely she extended her leg between my legs and tickled my pussy lips with her toe.”

“That doesn’t sound like you were six feet apart.”

“She has long legs.  Anyhow, she was very turned on by it.  She wanted to touch herself, but couldn’t out there in public.  So we ended sort of abruptly.  We wanted to see more of each other, but she also wanted to cum.  I bet she touched herself in the car on the way home.”

“Lo, this is some fucked-up shit.  Back when you were fooling around with Hunter, a married man, you were playing with fire.  Now you’re playing with gasoline, tanks of oxygen, and matches.”

“I know, I know,” she said, actually distraught.  “But she’s so fucking hot!”

“Heat is the last ingredient you need with gasoline, tanks of oxygen, and matches.”

“OK!  I get it.”

“And what happens when they all read this entry of the blog together?  KABOOM!”

“You just won’t write about it.”

“To hell I won’t!”

“Well, you won’t publish it until I get myself out of this mess.”

“Agreed.  But you will get yourself out of it, won’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, reluctantly.

“Cause if you don’t, this will get you in the ass and it will hurt more than that ‘Bleach Bum.’”

We both laughed at Meri’s misremembering the title of that blog post.

“Kiss it, Daddy,” she said, bending over.  “Make me feel better.”

“You’re lucky I’m so madly in love with you Lo.  You know that?”

“You like my bleach bum?”

“Like it?  Love it!  Want it,” I said as I pulled her close to me.

Lola, Illustration by Jeremy Young

Guest Post: A Birthday Hat Trick

Recently an older hotwife, Nancy Fairchild, sent in this lovely birthday story for us to publish. She is a great writer, a sexy ex-pat, and a kindred spirit. You can find her work on Medium.com. The photos are hers and she asked us to post them.

By Nancy Fairchild

nancy.fairchild@hushmail.com

Nancy Fairchild

I can actually date the start of this true story because it began on my birthday in 2015. I may be dizzy but I usually remember what day I was born on but, as time goes on, I get a little forgetful about the year because in 2015 I decided that I didn’t want to get any older and that complicated things. My husband figured out how to fix that for me, which is why I love him so much. He’s a genius with figures. To give you an example, right now I was born in 1985 but in 2015 I was born in 1980. Brian explained it to me how it works one time, but it was a little over my head.

Brian not only has excellent taste in women but a fashion sense that is out of this world and a wallet large enough to spoil me silly. How many women are married to men who get hard when they buy something for their wife? I don’t ‘let’ my husband spoil me; I actively encourage it because it makes him happy. The Sunday Times writer, Adrian Gill, who unfortunately passed away a year ago, said some straight men are born with a gay gene in them that translates into a style sense that few heterosexual men possess. That’s Brian, in a nutshell: straight as an arrow but with the fashion and style sense of a gay fashion designer.

In 2015 I transformed myself from a naughty wife to an art slut and I attribute that to a few factors, not least of which was the shopping spree Brian took me on in Bond Street on my birthday. First there were the three pairs of Louis Vuitton shoes, all heels in different shades of patent leather. Three pairs of 7 for all Mankind jeans, very tight fit and very slutty. Two black cashmere turtleneck sweaters from Hugo Boss and finally a three quarter’s length black leather jacket from Zadig & Voltaire. I didn’t look at the price and I didn’t even try it on, Brian just knew it would work on me and bought it. The lingerie, which he bought for me at Agent Provocateur, was just the icing on the cake.

Brian likes me to have a ‘look’ and what he was going for was sort of like a rock groupie look circa 1980s but updated to be more modern. I like it when Brian does this to me because it takes away my underlying reluctance to change. Knowing he has impeccable taste; I trust his judgment entirely and just let him do his work.

Nancy Gives Head

Brian could work in a top London hair salon. He doesn’t. He works on legal briefs for American law firms which pay him a fortune and that allows him to spoil me. But Brian taught himself how to be an excellent stylist and he always does my hair and on that day in 2015 he had an idea that became my trademark for the entire winter and up to this day. Brian cut off two inches of my shoulder length blonde hair and added a hot pink streak to the left side of my part. After the dye set and he washed and blew dry my hair, he helped me get dressed in my outfit of expensive lingerie, tight blue jeans, cashmere black turtleneck, pink patent heels and the pièce de résistance, the black leather three quarter length leather coat. When I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, I was initially too shocked to tell Brian I didn’t really like the look at all. It didn’t feel like it was me, I looked like someone else entirely.

It took me about thirty minutes to completely change my mind. The nice thing about having a lover living in the same building is a second opinion is always at hand. I told Brian I was going to nip over to see Adrian to find out what he thought of my new look. Of course, Brian knows Adrian had been fucking me for the last five years, as did everyone else in the entire building. When I saw the disappointed look on his face, I told him not to fret, I’d be back in 30 minutes.

I crossed the courtyard in the center of our apartment building. I knew Adrian was home because the lights were on in his apartment. When I knocked on the door and he opened it, he had a startled expression on his face that quickly broke into a smile.

“You look hotter than I’ve ever seen you,” he said as he drew me inside and locked his lips on mine. “I want to fuck you right now.”

He had the leather coat off in seconds and my jeans pulled down to my knees. He didn’t bother taking my knickers off, he just pushed them aside as he bent me over and fucked me from behind. No foreplay at all, just a hard cock in my pussy within a minute. Adrian fills my pussy entirely. I need well endowed lovers. My pussy isn’t made for underendowed men. I sort of lost track of time and just enjoyed being ravaged by Adrian but I could tell he was super turned on and he was going to cum quickly. He reached his arm around my back and his fingers found my clit which he rubbed until I came with a moan. His moan came shortly thereafter as he pumped me full of his hot cum. Then he did something he had never done before and slapped me briskly on my bare ass.

“Ouch, what’s that for?” I cried out.

“It’s for being the slut you are,” Adrian said, with a hint of anger in his voice. “If you walk around like that, dressed the way you are, every man is going to want you.”

I was a bit pissed off at Adrian as I pulled up my jeans and zipped them, but I was inwardly very pleased he was jealous. After numerous affairs since our marriage and the move from New York to London, Brian had lost the ability to be jealous, which is probably a good coping mechanism for him, but it made me feel a bit disappointed sometimes. Making Adrian jealous was a good substitute, though.

“That’s too bad,” I replied with a smile. “Because I’m just beginning to really like this look. I think I will have Brian buy me some shorter skirts to wear for the winter. I love my hair too. Brian is going to take me out for my birthday. I hope I get some attention tonight.”

“Every horny man will get hard as a rock when they see you,” Adrian said, with an irritated look on his face. “You won’t make it home tonight. Brian will, alone as usual.”

Adrian’s prediction was quite prescient, but I didn’t know it at the time. It was 6:30 pm when I was walking across the courtyard, once again, back to my apartment this time. The night was young, and I had already been fucked once. I opened the door and found Brian in the kitchen and kissed him on the lips.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t suck his cock,” I said playfully, growing more pleased at how jealous I had made Adrian. “He thinks my look is too hot and every man will want me, so he’s worried that he will lose his place in line.”

“Your look isn’t too hot,” Brian said as he held me. “I wasn’t going for that. You look ultra-cool and hip. That’s the look I wanted. You look far too hip to be with an American lawyer tonight.”

Once again, another prescient prediction, but this time from my husband. Of course, I brushed it aside. Brian is handsome in a drop dead sort of way and he’s younger than me and makes a fortune, and he’s completely and totally faithful to the point that I have never seriously worried about what goes on behind my back. Being by his side makes me sort of sparkle and the security he provides, both emotionally and financially, allows me to be the woman I am.

I went back to the full-length mirror and looked at myself again. Brian was right. I looked younger and edgier. I just didn’t appreciate it at first. That was the point I fell in love with the look and changed forever the way I dressed.

Here’s an unsolicited tip for naughty wives who like younger men: dress hip. It is an ageless look. Don’t wear frocks that shows off your ‘decolletage’ unless, of course, you’re interested in the village vicar. I’ve seen 50-year-old women that have a couple of 20 year old studs in tow because they’re smart enough to know that men crave hip women.

“Where are we going for dinner?” I asked Brian when I returned to the kitchen. I was glowing because I had just been bent over and fucked very recently and was really beginning to love the way the new woman Brian had created looked.

Sexy Nancy

“We’re going to Launceston Place,” Brian said. “We have reservations at 8:00 pm. We can go out for a drink at a pub nearby because there aren’t any pubs around the restaurant.”

Ten minutes later we were at the Phoenix pub on Moscow Road, just a hundred meters from our apartment. It was crowded and Brian couldn’t locate a table. We were just about to leave when I heard my name called out and saw a familiar face waving us over to a table for four that had two unoccupied chairs.

“God, you look fucking fantastic,” Stuart exclaimed when Brian and I neared the table. “I love your look. Did you have an army of stylists around you today? You could have come right off a fashion shoot.”

Stuart and I had known each other for a few years because I have bought some art from his gallery, which was on Chepstow Road, just across from our apartment building. I had mistakenly always assumed he was gay. I wasn’t thoroughly and completely disabused of that notion until about thirty minutes later. He had a friend with him who he introduced as the next Lucien Freud of the London art scene. Stuart was handsome in an aristocratic manner and his young friend, Kurt, was sort of beautiful. Slim of frame, I thought he was sort of asexually attractive at first. I’d find out the real truth at the same time that Stuart’s true sexuality was revealed.

“Not really,” I replied with a smile. “I just have a husband who has impeccable taste and he transformed me for my birthday. We’re out for a quick drink before we have dinner.”

I could speak freely because Brian had gone off to buy a bottle of wine and procure a couple of glasses at the bar. Stuart had a little bit of knowledge about my scandalous past and was always eager to get more dirt from me.

“Are you still fucking the professor?” he asked with a smile. “You could really do much better. You are the hottest women in this pub by a longshot. Look around, nobody can keep their eyes off you. I could fuck you here and now.”

I did a quick glance around the bar and noticed I was getting an undue amount of attention which was beyond flattering and egged on my naughty streak even further. I saw Brian trying to fight his way to the bar and knew he would be a few more minutes and I could talk openly for a bit longer with Stuart.

“I thought you were gay,” I replied to Stuart with a laugh. “I’m sorry if that sounds presumptuous of me, but I thought you liked boys.”

“That’s an act I play for the art scene,” Stuart said in a more serious tone. “No, I’m straight and I wanted to fuck you from the day I saw you, and I’m sure Kurt does as well.”

“Agreed,” Kurt chimed in. “You are very, very hot and I got hard when I first saw you. Stuart has talked to me often about you. He’s wanted to fuck you for years.”

“Why don’t you ditch your husband now and come back to my place with Kurt,” said Stuart with a mischievous grin. “Let’s celebrate your birthday with a bang.”

“That would be tremendously rude of me,” I replied, although against my somewhat limited better judgment, I was actually considering it, just because it came out of the blue and I wanted to change my lifestyle and lovers to match my new look. I needed some great spark to embark on a new journey in life. I have been rude to Brian before and disappointed him numerous times because I can do that and not worry he will be shocked and hurt beyond belief. He expects the unexpected out of me.

“I hope you don’t mind that I was fucked not so long ago,” I said as I stood up from the table. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t my husband.”

I grabbed my purse and began sauntering towards the door. Stuart and Kurt quickly followed. Thirty minutes later the former had his cock deep inside my pussy while I was trying concentrate on taking the latter deep in my throat. Nothing is perfect but the timing of their orgasms was only seconds apart. After our brief and hurried sex,  I wandered around the apartment, just in my heels, looking at the art Stuart had collected while my two young lovers relaxed nude on the sofa where they had just taken me for the first time. Eventually, I sat between them and touched each of them with my fingers, lightly rubbing their cocks, to see if they had recovered.

“I want both of your cocks in my pussy at the same time,” I told Stuart and Kurt. “I want you both to stretch my pussy. I’ve never done that before.”

I took sideways glances at each of them and they both wordlessly nodded their agreement. I arranged their bodies on the sofa, so their legs intertwined and their cock and balls were touching each other. I sat on top and held both cocks in my hand and lowered myself on them slowly letting my pussy get adjusted to the girth of their combined cocks. After I felt totally comfortable, I held them deep inside my pussy and began riding them, gradually picking up tempo until my body was covered in sweat. I bucked on top of them until Kurt came first inside me and Stuart exploded a few seconds later. I was exhausted, afterwards. I stood up on very shaky legs and fell down between them on the sofa. My pussy was overflowing with warm spunk.

“I hope you don’t think I’m an easy woman, or a slut,” I said playfully. “I did wait until I knew Kurt’s name before I fucked you both. A real slut wouldn’t have bothered asking.”

“By the way,” I added. “How do I go back now to only wanting one cock in my pussy.”

“You don’t,” Stuart replied. “Kurt and I will both be fucking you together a lot from now on. We’ll also be taking you around to enjoy the art scene so that’s less time at home for you in the future and more time here on the sofa between us.”

I looked at the wall clock and noted that it was almost 9:00 pm. I had already fucked three men so far today and I had a chance to make it four. In ice hockey I think I would have already done a hat trick.

“I’ve got to get up and go home to my husband,” I said. “I was really rude to leave Brian in the bar like that.”

“You’re not going anywhere until the morning” Kurt said, with a surprising command in his voice, moving his right hand to my pussy and flicking my clit with his fingers. “We aren’t done fucking you.”

“Wow,” I replied. “I like a man who tells me what to do. I guess I can join my husband for breakfast. Besides, after you both fucked me at the same time, I don’t think Brian would get much pleasure from my pussy.”

“What are we going to do about that tonight?” Stuart asked.

“I guess you’ll have to learn how to fist me,” I replied.

I haven’t always kept the hot pink streak in my hair for the last five years. Brian has changed it to blue, orange, black and back to hot pink again. Hanging out with Stuart and Kurt has been a constant, as well as the wild times on their sofa. Through them I have met Damien Hurst, Tracey Emin, David Hockney and other great contemporary British artists and there are a couple of nude paintings of me hung in some very expensive homes in London.

My self-destructive relationship with Adrian has diminished to very infrequent trysts and I have replaced him with two lovers who are much more exciting and far more devoted to me. Brian has grown even handsomer in the last five years. Running off, as I did, on that night irritated him briefly but I came home the next day happier than I had been in years. He liked that a lot.

The Female Gaze

Lo at the Beach

It was a hot July day.  The entire week was heavy with humidity.  Lo, working from home, without any AC, had to, just had to, work in either only her panties and a bra or nothing at all.  It made for very interesting Zoom calls.

Finally the weekend was here and we were going to get out of the sticky stale air of the city and cool off at the beach.

As usual, we got a late start due to Lo cycling through all of her various bikini tops and bottoms to find just the perfect match.

I loaded up the cooler, full of ice, beer, and snacks into the car.

I packed away the folding chairs.

I took nearly as much time picking just the right reading material as Lo took choosing her outfit.

But we were on the road by ten.

The beach is about an hour’s drive from our apartment, but when we got there, the parking lot was already overflowing.  No more cars allowed.  The line was a half mile long to get in.

We pulled up on the side of the road and just looked at the scene before us.  Refreshing blue water on the horizon only a few hundred yards away.  A yellow strip of soft sand filled with weekenders like ourselves.  A narrow boardwalk.  Then the steamy blacktop creating a wavelike transparent curtain between us, waiting and baking in the near noonday sun, and the inviting scene.

As we waited there, perspiring, at a loss for what to do, two young women in bikinis and thongs showing a lot of cheek walked past us.

“Don’t look!” commanded Lo.

How was I to avoid the sight.  They were directly in front of where we were parked (illegally) and not going anywhere.

“Just don’t look,” she said.

The two women were at a watering stand where they washed the sand from their feet and sandals.  They splashed about cheerfully.  As I did my best to avoid looking at them, Lo reached down under her bikini bottom and began flicking the bean.

“Lo, what are you doing?”

Book Review

“You can’t look, but I can.”

“Look all you want, but. . .”

“What?  I’m not allowed to touch?  You can look at me if you must look somewhere.”

That I did.  I watched her watching the near naked nymphettes through the frame of the windshield.

Though Lo is significantly younger than I, she’s old enough to regard those two girls splashing around as mere “nymphettes,” as Vladimir would say.  Yet she’s also still young enough herself to make the thirty-something year old moms jealous.

I was sweating, even with all the windows down.  Lo, too, was perspiring.  I could see the beads of perspiration collecting between her breasts.  They grew into large dew drops and then collected together into a stream that ran down, under her bikini top, over her tum, and to the pool between her legs where her right hand was rapidly racing to the finish line.

“Hurry up, Lo, it’s hot,” I said.

“Shhhhhh,” she angrily responded.

I furtively looked up to see what the girls were doing.  They were still splashing in the water.  Minutes seemed like hours.

Lo’s hair was matting down with perspiration.  Her brow was dripping.  Her fingers still rapid-fire stroking.

I could see, as I looked at Lo in the passenger seat, two young men walking our way on the dirt path beside the road.

“Lo,” I said.

“I’m almost there.”

“Lo,” I repeated a little more urgently.

“I know, you’re hot, but just give me. . .”  She was fixated on the vignette of vaginas dancing in the cool water.

Lo playing

“Lo!”

Too late, the boys were at her window.

“Um, excuse me, but you can’t park here,” one of them said.  They were lifeguards and had the unfortunate job of patrolling the area.

As he gently spoke, Lo was startled and screamed, “WHAT?!”  Her hand was still down her bikini bottom, grasping her hooch rather than stroking it now.

“I’m sorry,” said the young man, almost putting his head in the window, “but we can’t let you park here.”

Lo looked up at him.  He was young, handsome, and fit.  His partner’s crotch in the Speedo bathing suit was right at the same level as Lo’s face and she had a full-frontal view of his bulge.

Her fantasy, or whatever was happening in her head, had to make an abrupt change of course from the two girls to the two boys.  If there were a soundtrack to our scenario, then you would hear the scratch of the needle as the music did a 180 from “Girl Crush” to Janet Jackson’s “All for You.”

Lo was simultaneously embarrassed and excited.  It was one of the few times she didn’t have any words for the occasion.  She just looked up, slack-jawed, panting in the heat.

Seeing the predicament unfold before me like a car wreck in slow motion, I took the initiative and leaned over and said, “She’s just getting off.”

“What?” asked the young man.

“I said, I’m just letting her off.  She’s hopping out now as I go park the car in town.  Right Lo?”

She looked at me.  She didn’t want to stop diddling, but she had no choice.  She pulled her hand out of her bikini bottom and smiled at the boys.  “Right,” she said.

“Don’t forget your phone, your towel, and your sunscreen,” I said as she got out of the car.

“Oh, that’s ok,” said one of the two fellas by the car, giving permission for something that was going to happen anyway.

Lo slowly got out of the car.  She opened up the rear passenger door to get the stuff and bent over to get it.  The bottom half of her body was outside the car, the top inside.  She looked at me and whispered, “I’m squirting!”

“Lucky boys,” I said.

She stood, frozen for a moment in the heat.  I could see her chest getting flush, as were her cheeks.  Probably her ass cheeks too.

She grabbed a few items and said, “Don’t be long.”

“Long and hard, Lo, I’ll be long and hard.  I’ll see you later Ms. Soggy Bottom”

She got out of the car and walked across the street.  I watched her, as did the boys.  I could see her bikini bottoms were soaked.  She got to the fountain where the girls had been and refreshed herself in it.  The girls had since walked away.

Forty-five minutes later, drenched in sweat, exhausted, I returned by foot to the beach after driving over a mile away to find a legal parking spot.

I found Lo on the beach, lying out.  “Hey Daddio,” she said to me, happy to see me, but with another request at the ready, “It’s pretty warm out here and I’m getting hungry.  Do you think we could get some lunch?”

I couldn’t believe it.  I thought I was going to pass out right there.

“Do you mind if I take a quick dip to cool off?” I asked, not about to wait for her reply.

I removed my shirt as she said, “If you must.”  She was only partly joking.

The water revived me, but it felt so good that I could have stayed in all day.

“I’ll wait here.  Call me when you get close,” she said as I began my walk to pick up the car.  “Don’t be long!”

“Long and soft, long and soft,” I thought, as I grumbled walking away.

Thirty minutes later, I picked her up and we went to our favorite restaurant on the water.  It has a roof deck bar.

Once we were seated and had ordered drinks, I asked Lo how her time on the beach (without me) was.

“It was ok.  A lot of voyeurs.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“It’s different with me.”

“How exactly?”

“The female gaze.”

“The female gaze is no different from the male gaze, especially if the female who is gazing at other females is simultaneously fapping off in public to the sight.  If I were to do that, I would have been arrested!”

“No, you’d be dead first because I would have killed you.”

“Yet you get away with it.”

“Exactly.  Now you’re catching on.  The female gaze, it’s just different from the male gaze.”

“Only because society treats it differently.”

“Well, there must be a reason for that.”

“There is.  It’s called patriarchy.  The laws are made, enforced, and interpreted by men.  And men are perverts who find the thought of a woman flicking her bean fascinating and the thought of a man stroking his cock criminal.”

“There you have it.”

“So you’re buying into the patriarchy?”

“No.  Never.  I’m contributing to its eventual demise by exposing its internal contradictions.”

“You’re exposing something,” I said just as our waiter brought out our cool, tall drinks.

“Anyhow,” said Lo after a long sip, “the voyeurs were laser focused on me.”

“I bet you had to beat them off with a stick!”

“I like that idea,” she said, daydreaming, “but no.  They all maintained a proper social distance.”

“Did you see the two guys who interrupted you?”

“No, I didn’t.  Maybe they saw me, but I didn’t notice them.”

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

“What, Daddy?” she asked with a faux innocence.

“Getting caught.”

“No, I was right on the edge!”

“I know.  And getting caught put you over the edge.”

“Well, I have the opposite problem from a lot of men.”

“How so?”

“I hear that men who masturbate too much. . .”

“What’s too much?” I interrupted her.  “This should be good coming from you.”

“Well, very frequently, let’s say.  Those men find it increasingly more difficult to climax.  But with me, the more I do it, the easier I cum.  It’s becoming a problem.”

“How so?”

“Remember the time in the gym?”

I did.  She had had an accidental squirting orgasm while working out.  “Has that happened again?”

“Not exactly, but it doesn’t take much.  It’s like I’m becoming incontinent.  Just walking down the street could result in a downpour.  A hairpin trigger.  And I’m not sure how to prevent it.  What do you think?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“No, Depends, the adult diaper.  That’s what I think.”

“Oh, Daddy.  Don’t be silly.”

“I’m the silly one?  Maybe you should stop your self-pleasure.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“Then I have no solution for you.  Carry a bottle of water everywhere you go just in case.  You can always say you spilled.”

Our lunch was brought out and I continued the conversation, “Do you think you could make yourself accidentally squirt right now?”

“What about ‘accidental’ don’t you understand?  It’s involuntary.  If I try to do it, it’s not an accident.  But, just so you know, if I wanted to, I certainly could cum and squirt right now.  And I’m not talking some Meg Ryan fake orgasm.  I’m talking gushing waterfalls from between my legs onto the wood floor beneath my chair.”

“Do it,” I dared her.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I don’t want to.  I have agency, you know.”

“I thought that accidental squirting orgasms removed your agency.”

“Only in that one respect.”

“Well, I give you all due respect.”

“As you should.”

We ate our lunch and then, having properly patronized the restaurant and taking the receipt as proof, I chose to leave the car in the parking lot as Lo and I returned to the adjacent beach.  I carried all the chairs, towels, and drinks.  She walked like a goddess before me.

As we were walking to a secluded section of the strand, we happened across one of the lifeguards walking in front of us.  He was, like most lifeguards, in very good shape.  His bathing suit was nonchalantly drooping down, revealing a bit of his untanned rear.

“Mmmmmm,” Lo purred, audibly enough for me to hear her.

“Go after him, if that’s what you want,” I said.

“Oh Daddy,” she cried, putting her arm around me and squeezing my ass, “you’re the only one who gets my engine revving.”

“Really?  I couldn’t get you to turn over this morning.”

“Well, my engine doesn’t start before eight.”

“Half the day is gone by then.”

We continued walking toward the cool shore and we passed four young women, two of whom were, as Lo loves to say, ‘stick-skinny-blondes.’  She has always and continues to believe, mistakenly, that I would run with abandon after an upside-down straw broom in a bikini, thinking it was a ‘stick-skinny-blonde’ woman.

“You must be enjoying the three B’s,” she said to me.

“Three B’s?”

“Blondes, Boobs, and Butts.”

“I appreciate the scenery,” I said, purposefully looking out at the horizon and not at the women.  “I give thanks for beauty in all its manifold forms.”

“If you want them, have them.  Be my guest.  Go for it.”

“You propose to me one day and dispose of me the next.”

“Propose to you?!”

“Yes, you’re constantly asking me to marry you.”

“No.  I’m asking why you won’t marry me.”

“I’ve told you so many times already, if we never marry, there’s a zero percent chance of our getting divorced.”

“The only isle you’ll walk down with me is the chips and snacks isle of the supermarket.”

“Oh, don’t say that.  You know damn well that if I got down on one knee right here and proposed to you, you’d say no.”

“That’s true, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to try.”

I dropped everything I was carrying and got down on one knee in the sand and took her hand in mine.  “Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because, you’re not even looking in my eyes, you’re looking at my crotch.”

“That’s the part that I wish to enter into. . . holy matrimony.”

“Well, the clam shack is closed.”

I stood up again and we spread our towels and set up our chairs right on the spot that I proposed to her.  How romantic!  Finally, I was able to relax just a little bit.

She was still sore about the gaggle of girls we had passed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I just feel so fat compared to them,” she said, grabbing her tummy roll and squeezing it.  “I feel like a Jell-O Jiggler.”

Lo Roll

“Lo, please.”

I reached over and grabbed her tum.

“What are you doing?”

“Touching my favorite part of you.”

“My least favorite part.”

“Agree to agree with me.”

We at least let the matter drop.

Once we were comfortable, Lo took out her phone, I took out my book.  She was lying on her tum, her feet dangling in the air, as she scrolled through whatever it was that had her attention.  A few moments later she turned to me and said, “Do you mind if Kaylee and her new boyfriend join us?”

“What?”

“Kaylee, remember Kaylee?”

Oh yes, I remembered Kaylee alright.  Lo had had a fling with her and her previous boyfriend.  I just didn’t understand how or why they would be joining us.

“She’s here!  On this beach,” Lo added.

“How do you know?”

“She just posted a pic of herself here and I reached out to her.”

“Oh, so you had already invited them to join us before asking me?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said in her conciliatory little girl voice.  “I thought you’d enjoy seeing her in what she’s wearing.”

“And what is she wearing?” I asked.

“Not much,” she said, showing me the image on her phone.

Kaylee was only in a very skimpy blue bikini.

“Well, I guess they can swing by,” I conceded reluctantly.  “But they need to be six feet away.  COVID Times, you know.”

“I know.”

As we waited for them to arrive, I taunted Lo with, “So, will Kaylee also come under your ‘female gaze’?”

“I don’t know if she’ll cum, but I might,” she retorted.

“Funny.”

“You know,” she said, schooling me, “the ‘female gaze’ isn’t simply when a woman oogles a man or a woman as an object the way men oogle women as objects.”

“Oh no?  What is it professor?”

“It’s a term of art to describe the point of view of a woman that gets at the interior life, thoughts, feelings, emotions of the woman.”

“That’s what the male gaze is too,” I said.  “However, it just so happens that men are simply one-dimensional, shallow, and single-mindedly focused on sex.”

“Does that include you?”

“Oh no.”

“No?”

“No, I am multi-dimensionally, deeply, and many-mindedly focused on sex.”

“That is true.  But how can you be ‘many-mindedly’?”

“It’s an expression, like, when one says, ‘I’m of two minds about such-and-such.’  I am of many-minds about sex.  All of them for it.”

“If only you had as many cocks for sex as you have minds for sex, I might be satisfied with only you.”

“I would look like some sort of Hindu god with that many cocks!”

“And I could be your consort.”

Kaylee and her new boyfriend, Keith, arrived.  You might remember both Kaylee and Keith from “The Love Elite,” the culminating story of the “Lust in the Dunes” series.  Well, since then, Kaylee broke up with Corey and started up with Keith.  Lo had been with all three of them, as you no doubt recall.

The two of them set up a pandemically prudent distance away from us, but not too far that we couldn’t talk.  They brought with them a cooler of beers that they willingly shared with us.

We caught up with each other, for it had been a long time since we had last seen them in person.

After about an hour of chit-chat, Lo and Kaylee were lying out.  Lo was reading a book and Kaylee said she didn’t have anything to read.  Lo reached into her bag and, to my great surprise, she pulled out the prototype of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE! that she had been reading and lent it to her.

“What’s this?” asked Kaylee.

“I know you liked 50 Shades,” said Lo.  “This is way better.  Let me know what you think of it when you’re done.”

A couple of hours passed as the sun descended in the sky, decreasing in intensity, mellowing to a warm, gentle ruddy hue.  We had swam and laughed, but now Lo said she had to pee.  Due to COVID, she was hesitant to use a public restroom.  And besides, the facilities were way down on the other end of the beach.

There was always the restaurant we had lunched in, but that wasn’t too close and the urge had snuck up on her.

“Go in the ocean,” coaxed Kaylee.

Lo shook her head ‘no.’

I knew what was in her mind.  She always likes to be sensational and provoke a reaction.  She’s secretly competitive and likes the partners of her friends to know that she is the most slutty, dirty, and depraved so that they secretly (or not-so-secretly) fantasize about her while with her friends.

“Does anyone mind if I, uh, you know, here?”

“Pee?” asked Kaylee with a laugh.

“Yeah.”

“In the sand?”

“Yeah.”

“You want us to go away?”

“Nah.  You can watch if you want.”

“Do it!” she said.

Lo sat on the edge of her folding chair, spread her legs wide, pulled her skimpy bikini bottoms slightly askew, exposing her silky-smooth pussy, and she let the stream pour into the fine golden sand.

A few seconds into her stream, I could detect that something was amiss.  I saw her fingers clench the edge of the chair, her legs begin to tremble, her breasts begin to heave.  And then, there it was, a seamless transition from micturition to hysterical paroxysm, complete with an uncontrollable emanation of fluid.  Unlike the first flow, this one was powerful and had an ascending trajectory.

Lo’s short shorts

Lo just bore down and said, “Fuck!” as she experienced the waves of unanticipated pleasure ripple through her flesh.

She was literally gushing with contradictory feelings: embarrassment, excitement, shame, pride, disgrace, abandon, power.  The complete loss of control of her bodily functions made her feel infantile, yet her almost superhuman ability to achieve an orgasm that spouts with greater force, volume, distance, and longevity than any man’s ejaculation filled her with a sense of superiority to both men and women.  All of her emotions occurred simultaneously and were expressed through her facial contortions, as though she were being deliciously tortured.

“Holy shit!” cried out Keith, for he had never seen anything like that in person before.

He got up and measured the distance from Lo to the end of the wet trail she left in the sand and calculated it to be about six feet.

“What just happened?” he asked.

“I’ve been having spontaneous squirting orgasms lately.  I don’t know why or what’s going on,” said Lo, blushing as red as the setting sun.  “I probably should see a doctor.”  Her pussy was still dripping like a leaky faucet.

“Or stop masturbating so much,” I added, almost under my breath, but not quite.

“Feel better?” asked Kaylee.

“No, that’s the thing.  It just makes me more horny for an intentional orgasm.”

There was an uncomfortable silence while we all contemplated what might happen next.  Then suddenly there was a strong, cool wind from the south that blew everything all over the place and kicked sand up in our faces.  We scrambled to collect our stuff and then we said a hasty goodbye as it looked like rain.

Back in the car, I looked at Lo.

“What?” she asked.

“You know what.”

“It was out of my control.”

“Not that.”

“Then what?”

“You gave her the book.”

“So?”

“So?!  I’ve written about her.  She’s in it!”

“Not in that volume.”

“Don’t you think that she can find the blog and quickly see that it’s you. . . and me?”

“So what?  I’m done with having to apologize for who I am.”

“If you’re fine with it, then so am I,” I said.

We were on the road for a bit.  The rain was thrashing against the windshield.  We sat, exhausted from a full day in the hot sun.  Silently we listened to the rhythm of the wipers and the crackle of the raindrops.  It was relaxing.

“What are you thinking about, Little Miss Puddle Pants?” I asked.

“Stop it.”

“Well?”

“I was thinking about the female gaze again.”

“Oh, reminiscing about the girls you jilled to?”

“No,” she said defensively.  “I was thinking how I like to be the object of the male gaze.”

“No kidding.”

“But that the way you write me, the way I am in the books, is much more of the female gaze.”

“How so?” I asked, glad to be talking of my writing.

“Well, yes, you portray me as a sex-starved, dirty, nasty, little nympho slut.”

“I. . .” I tried to protest.

“Don’t interrupt.  But, you also get me from the inside.  You see into me and portray how I see things.”

“A lot of people see into you,” I said, making a bad pun.  It took her a moment to get it.

“Not like that!  I’m serious.  You don’t write about me as one-dimensional.  You might depict one side of me more than the others.”

“And which side would that be?” I again quipped.

“But you portray me as who I am, who I really am.  And if Kaylee doesn’t appreciate that, then too bad for her.”

“And what happens when I, inevitably, write about today and she sees it on the blog?”

“Well, you wouldn’t write anything untrue about her, would you?”

“No.”

“So, she has nothing to get upset about.”

“Fair.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Will you fuck me when we get home?” she asked as she began to doze off in the car.

“You’ll be asleep when we get home, dear.”

“Fuck me anyway.  You must be in so much pain after all that today,” she said as she reached down between my legs.  “I’d blow you now, but I think I need a nap.”

[If you liked this beach story, you’ll love the stories in our books: Sexy Shorts, Shorter Shorts, and our forthcoming Slut Life]

Must Read! Must Hear! Must See!

Hello to all of our friends in the blogosphere! We miss you! We see you!

Of course we’re disappointed that Eroticon was called off due to COVID this year. (Not that we could make it.) But we are grateful for the interwebs where we can connect with all of you in a socially safe, yet sexy way.

This is a little news update and the hard-sell for all the new and old stuff that you can get written by HH and featuring your truly, Lo your classy nympho.

You might notice a little bit longer between blog posts for us. That’s because HH has begun a new, long-form piece. Not exactly a novel (because not exactly fiction), but maybe a memoir of sorts. It will be called Rogue’s Gallery. He sees it as a film eventually and has made these creative promo posters for it.

 

 

 

 

 

In addition to this, our favorite narrator, the inimitable and premier erotica voice of Match, Cinder & Spark, Ms. Jupiter Grant, just completed the narration to Volume III: Writing Under Cover. It is out and for sale now on Audible and also Amazon.

You can hear my favorite excerpt from it here:

Though the audiobook lacks the stunning art that the hard-copy book has to offer, Jupiter Grant more than makes up for it with her seductive voice.

In addition to that, HH and I are working on the production of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume VI: Slut Life. It’s a collection of stories that take place at the beach, on the water, or during the fun, slutty, summertime.  It was supposed to be out by now, but we ran into some production hangups. It should be available in early September. Keep an eye out.

Substitutes

The plans for Robert’s engagement had to be postponed due to COVID-19.  Linda, his intended betrothed, was in Italy.  He was here in America.  His planned flight during spring break to visit her was cancelled.  Without Linda and without Lo, who was with me during quarantine in Florida, he regressed to his former self – that is, suffering from erectile dysfunction.

When Lo and I finally returned home from our temporary pandemic paradise, he was very eager to see her.  They had made a date.  Lo explained that there was no worry about social distancing with Robert because he hadn’t seen anyone or been with anybody since our departure back in February.  In addition, he was already prone to hypochondria and health anxiety, so he had taken every conceivable precaution to avoid contact with anyone.  He was a real Howard Hughes, only without the money, fame, and grandiosity.  The only exception he made to his rule was seeing Lo.  Madness drives us all.

Naughty School Girl

Lo was getting ready for her date with Robert.  She got out of the shower and was drying her hair.  I let out a cat whistle.  “Don’t get any funny ideas,” she says, “I’m already late.”

“I don’t have any funny ideas.”

“Good.”

“I have sexy ideas.”

“Most of your sexy ideas are pretty funny.”

“Like what?”

“Like your Stoya Fleshlight.  Why would you fuck her when you could fuck me?”

“Because you won’t fuck me.”

“When won’t I fuck you?”

“Like. . . now.”

“I have a date.”

“Well then,” I said, pulling out the Fleshlight, “so do I.”

“The hell you do!”she shrieked, grabbing the Fleshlight out of my hands.

“You’ll fuck me before him?” I asked, incredulously.

“I told you, I’m already late.”

“He’s waited this long, another hour won’t kill him.”

“An hour?!  How do you figure that you’ll need an hour to fuck me?”

“I was thinking two minutes to fuck you, but fifty-eight minutes for you to get dressed and do your makeup.”

“Funny.  You just. . .”

In the middle of her sentence, her phone rang.  It was Robert.  She answered it in her sweet, seductive, slutty voice.  “Hi Robert.”

There was some back-and-forth.  After hanging up, she said, “He’s coming over here.”

“What?  Why?”

“Apparently he couldn’t wait any longer.  He’s already in the car on his way.”

“Then we can do it!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the one who gets the sloppy seconds, not him.  And I also like to keep you in suspense.”

“Then give me back Stoya,” I said, reaching for the Fleshlight.

“I bet you’d like her, wouldn’t you?” she asked, as she put the cylinder between her legs, bent over, and made it appear that she had two pussies.

“That is inviting.”

“I told you, no funny ideas,” she said, attempting to walk around like that.

“You’re the comedian of this outfit,” I said.  She put the Stoya Fleshlight on the nightstand and began blow drying her hair, applying her makeup, and getting dressed.  She put on a special outfit just for Robert: naughty schoolgirl.

The bell rang and, as in the old days, I politely let Robert in with a collegial hello.  There was no need to point him in the direction of the bedroom.  He knew his way like a dog remembering where he buried his bone.  He hadn’t seen me in four months and yet blew right past me.  No formalities.  Not even the pretense of interest.  He was just interested in the sweet release induced by Lo spreading her knees.

I sat, frustrated, in the living room.  But before too long, I got a text from Lo summoning me.

I entered the bedroom and found the two of them in the sack.

“Daddio, Robert and I had a little idea,” she said, using a tone to match her outfit.

“What’s that?”

“Well, he’s having a little trouble.  It’s been a while since the equipment was last greaced and, well, we thought that a little role-reversal might help him to get it back up and in working order.”

“What sort of role-reversal?”  I was both curious and confused.

“Instead of Robert fucking me and you watching, Robert will watch as you fuck me.  How’s that sound?”

Lola Greeting Card

I was already hard.  I didn’t have to answer, I just removed my pants, unbuttoned my shirt, and lifted the short skirt Lo was wearing.  I got behind her and mounted her.  She was standing on the side of the bed and Robert was lying down in the bed, silently observing every expression of her face as I penetrated her from behind.

She gently stroked and tickled his testicles and she could see him getting aroused.

“You like that?” she asked.  “You like seeing your little slut getting fucked?  You like to see my ass get pounded?”

He was getting harder.

Lo called over her shoulder to me, “Fuck me like you mean it!”

I increased the tempo and force of my thrusts.

“You like seeing him slam me repeatedly like a screen door in a hurricane?”

I have to admit, I laughed at that simile.  But Robert was soberly serious.

Lo began to suck on his tumescent cock.

“Daddy,” said Lo over her shoulder again.

“What?” I asked, keeping up my aerobic gyrations.

“Can Robert use your Fleshlight?”

“What?!  No,” I said.

“You won’t share your Fleshlight with him, but you’ll share my pussy?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Fine,” she said, perturbed and lunging forward so I fell out of her slick clit.

She climbed up on the bed and slid down on Robert’s erect phallus.  “You can use Stoya while he gets the real thing!”

I went over to the nightstand and grabbed the instrument of self-pleasure, lubed her up, and slid her over my rod as I watched Lo exaggerate her enjoyment, specifically in order to piss me off, though it had quite the opposite effect.

Seeing that her affectations were not causing jealousy, she said to Robert, “Do you want my ass?”

“Yes,” he managed to mumble through his excited breathing.

She lifted up, grabbed her ass cheeks with both hands, spread them as far as they would go, and slid down slowly, gingerly on his lance.  Up-and-down she carefully bobbed, taking him a little deeper with each foray.  Soon enough she was down to the hilt of his cock.  She was making comments about how big it felt and how hard he was.  Her right hand moved to her clit and was rubbing it rapidly.

“Does it feel good?” she asked Robert.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You’re so tight,” he said.

“Tighter than my pussy?”

“Much.”

“Why else?”

“Your pussy was so wet.  I didn’t even need lube.”

“I never need lube,” she said.  “Why else do you like it?”

“You’re such a dirty girl.”

“Go on.”

“Such a dirty slut.  A cum whore.  A fuck-toy.”

Lo’s love language is jealousy.  It turns her on to make me jealous.  And, conversely, her own jealousy (of other women or even of Stoya) makes her even more sexually aggressive, like she has something to prove.

“Do you think Linda would do this? – let you have her ass?”

Robert was reaching up to grab Lo’s breasts and cup them with his hands.

“Do you think Linda would let you cum in her ass?  Would she finger herself while you fucked her ass like I’m doing now?”

Indeed, Lo’s four fingers were curled and snug up inside her.

Robert pulled on her nipples.

“Smack my tits!” commanded Lo.  “Yes, pull them, smack them.”

I saw her head tilt back and I knew what would be coming next.

A powerful stream of amrita sprayed from her onto Robert as if putting out a fire burning on his chest as she screamed “FUCK!”

Simultaneously he came in her ass and I in Stoya, each of us grunting our own mantras to the goddess.

Lo quickly jumped off his throbbing hard meat and took it deep in her mouth as she looked up at him.  “Would your pure little bride Linda do this?” she asked as she licked him clean.  “Even if she fucks you, you’re still going to want your dirty little Lo to use and abuse,” she reminded him.

She cupped his balls and fondled them, changing her tone from dominatrix to endearing concubine, she asked, “Feel better?”

“Yes, yes,” was all he could emote.  She grabbed a towel from the side of the bed and wiped down the ejaculate from his chest, proud of her accomplishment.

After he was gone, she turned to me, her mood abruptly changing, and said, “You’re more jealous of Stoya than you are of me.”

“You’re right,” I said, surprised by my irrational preference, “I wouldn’t share my Fleshlight, but I would share my Lola.”

“Phhht,” she said, dismissively, “I take more pleasure in being shared anyhow.”

Full Up

Opening Up

Lo, falling out of her blue dress

 

 

 

 

[This story was just published in the August issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy ‘ENM’ Magazine, p. 34. Enjoy!]

Slowly our world was opening.  Like a tightly bound spring bud on the perennial, gradually, with the days growing longer and the temperatures climbing, the petals begin to unfurl, letting in water and air, letting out color and aromatic fragrance, similarly, with each passing day, more people were walking on the streets, more shops invited in limited customers, more restaurants set up tables outside.  The patrons cautiously caroused and conversed in the allure of springtime sunshine that thawed the COVID chill of winter.

“Daddy,” said Lo that afternoon as she called me from home to my office where I was working, alone.

I knew from her tone, she wanted something.

“Yes?”

“Daddy, it’s Friday.”

“I am aware.”

“And it’s beautiful outside.”

“I can see,” I said, gazing out my office window onto the usually bustling, now sleepy street below.

“We haven’t had a date in forever.”

I wanted to remind Lo that, in the time of COVID-19, Friday evening is no different from Monday or Wednesday or any other day.  But I refrained and listened.

“Can we go out?” she asked.

“For a walk?”

“No, I mean like out out.”

“To a restaurant?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Lo, you know that you’ll only have a panic attack tonight if we do that.”

“I want to get dressed up, put on makeup, wear some fucking heels, and go out!”

She protested to me with the pent-up anger she had for the pandemic.

“Dressed up?  Out?  Where?”

“Anywhere!  I haven’t worn anything but yoga pants for three months!”

“Spandex is your best color.”

“How can you possibly love me looking like this?”

“What?  I love you in yoga pants.  I love you out of yoga pants.  I love getting you out of yoga pants.  Then I love getting in you.  But I digress.  Where were we?”

Lo getting out of her yoga pants

“You’re taking me out tonight and we’re going to go to a restaurant to eat and pretend like none of this is happening!”

“If that’s what you want.  You know I can’t deny you.”

“Good!  I’ll pick you up in a half hour.”

A half hour later I got a phone call from Lo.  “Daddy, I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

“You said a half hour a half hour ago.”

“Yeah, well, I forgot how to do this.”

“How to do what?”

“Put on makeup.  I’m a mess.  I have to start over.”

About an hour later I got a text from Lo, “I’m out front.”

I packed up my stuff and walked out onto the street.  I saw Lo parked in front of my building, the windows down, looking toward the sidewalk, but not looking at me.  She wore her tight blue dress.  She had intense red lip gloss on and her hair was done like I hadn’t seen in three months or more.

I hopped in the car.  “Hello.”

She was running her tongue over her lips.

“I see you’re eager for our date,” I said.

“Sit back,” she said, hardly acknowledging my presence.

I saw her looking through the plate glass window of the store to my right.

“I have an admirer.”

In the window was a young salesclerk.  If I had to guess, I’d say he was about twenty-two.  He was gazing right past me into Lo’s seductive eyes.

“It’s been a while,” I said to Lo.  “Enjoying the attention?”

Lo didn’t answer.  She was basking in the youth’s admiration of her beauty.

“I see that COVID hasn’t killed your vanity.”

“Vanity?” Lo asked, starting the car, “If you were about two minutes later, I would have had an orgasm right here.”

“Well don’t let me stop you.”

She pulled away from the curb, blowing a kiss to her handsome stranger who was reverse window shopping Lo’s goods.

“OK Love, where to?” I asked.

“Somewhere with outside seating.”

“That’s all that’s open right now.”

“And good food.”

“Of course.  And expensive.”

“Why must it be expensive?”

“Because you judge a restaurant by how much weight my wallet loses.”

“You’re not wrong.  And it also has to be pretty.”

“Guaranteed you’ll improve the atmosphere.”

I was glad she was driving.  It’s difficult enough to find a dining establishment in this town that meets with Lo’s mood during normal times.  I did not want to be the one responsible for pleasing her palate during COVID.

We zig-zagged through our city as she made suggestions and I looked them up to see if there was a chance that we’d get a table.

“Can’t you hurry, the sun will set soon!”

“Lo, this plan suffers from one fatal error.”

“What’s that?”

“It wasn’t planned!”

Exhausted, frustrated, and hungry, we abandoned dining out in favor of picking up two to-go meals, a bottle of champagne, plastic utensils and eating on a park bench overlooking the skyline of our city as the hues of dusk drenched us in an orange glow.

“See, this isn’t so bad, is it?” I said.

No response.

“It’s intimate and romantic.”

“I want fancy, elegant, and full of possibilities.”

“Lo, we’re just not at that stage yet.  I don’t even think the governor has ‘erotic dining’ on the list of phased reopening.”

“Well he should!”

We drove home and she sulked in the passenger seat.

“What will cheer you up?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“There has to be something to get you out of these doldrums.”

She looked off into the distance and then back at me.  She clearly was forming a thought.  She reached over and ran her hands through my hair.

“What?” I asked, nervous.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.

“When we get home, let me cut your hair.”

“What?”

“You need a haircut and you’re not ready to go to the barber.”

“Will it make you happy?”

“Very.  I’ve always thought I could do it better.”

“You think that about everything.”

“Well, it’s true about most things.”

We got home and she said, “Get naked.”

“I thought you were giving me a haircut.”

“I am.  Get naked.”

“I don’t get naked for my barber.”

“You’re going to get naked for me.”

I stripped out of my clothes and sat on the chair she set up in the bathroom.  She pulled out the electric trimmer and some scissors, hair clips and my comb.

“Lo,” I said furtively, “you know that professional hairdressers spend one year only cutting the hair on manikins.”

“I watched a YouTube video.  I’m good.”

“Oh, I see.  Those hairstylists are wasting their tuition dollars.”

“Don’t you worry, I know what I’m doing.”

She got out of her blue dress and was wearing just her thong and a tank top revealing a lot of side-boob.

“Ok, I’m feeling better about this already.”

“I see,” she said, admiring my erection.  “Does that happen to you at the barber?”

“My barber is named Luige, what do you think?”

“Good.”

She began with the back, running the trimmer up my scalp.  Then the sides.

“You know, it’s my hair, not mowing lawn, right?”
“I told you, I watched a video.”

Then she came around the front and was looking at my head like a work of art, checking the symmetry.  She got out the scissors, leaned in, combed my hair up, and began snipping, placing her breasts in my face.  I pulled her shirt up to let her nipples dance before my admiring eyes.  I leaned forward and took one in my mouth.

“Hey!  You know I’m cutting your hair here?”

“Sorry, I got carried away.”

“Leave my tits alone until I’m done.”

“Can you cut my hair like this?” I asked, pulling the sides of her shirt into the cleavage of her breasts, revealing her tits.

“Do you promise just to look and not touch?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Fine.  Now stay still.”

“It’s like a dream come true,” I said.

“You’ve always wanted Luige to wear his t-shirt like this?”

Lo, A Little Side-Boob

“No!  Never mind.”

She continued cutting away and then trimmed up my beard and finally said, “Voilà!”

I stood up and looked in the mirror.  It didn’t look half bad.

I hopped in the shower to get all the clippings off of me and, within moments, she slipped in next to me.

“Luige never did this either,” I said.

“I should hope not.”

When all the hair had washed from our bodies, she got down on her knees and, looking up at me, said, “Did you like how I cut your hair, Daddy?”

“Yes,” I said.

“What would you think if I opened up a shop and cut everyone’s hair like that?”

“In your panties and a tank top?  Or giving everyone the same hair style as you gave me?”

She laughed.  “So you admit, I’ve got style?”

“The finest style, class, tits, and ass.  In fact, that could be the motto of your salon.”

She opened up her mouth and put out her tongue a little.  “Don’t I get a tip, Daddy?”

I rested the tip of my cock in her mouth.  She took the whole rod.

“Greedy, aren’t you?”

“It’s today’s special: a haircut and a happy ending.”

Lo takes the tip

Illustrator Needed for Disney Damsel Lola Down

Belle’s Bestiality, Getting off to Lola Down together

 

“Daddy,” she complained, “diddling my bean is fine, but it’s not as much fun as when it’s diddled by someone else.”

“You want me to diddle your bean?” I asked.

“What I mean is, a surprise.  A stranger.  An unexpected diddle.”

“Oh, I see,” I said, “the serendipitous fappening that one finds unbidden upon the side of the road, in a bar, or wherever one may get one’s jollys jilled on a sunny spring day.”

“Without putting it quite so poetically, yes.  After all, it is May.  Masturbation Month.  Hooray!  Hooray!  The First of May!  Outdoor fucking starts today!” she sang.

“Sounds like you’re the poet.”

“Oh Daddio,” she pouted, as she continued stroking her smoothly shaved pussy on the bedside.  “That’s older than you are.”

“A relic from Chaucer’s time then.”

“Maybe as old as Beowulf.”

Her climax was building until she shot a small stream sprinkling up through the air onto the tile floor, much like a shot from a water pistol.

“And what, may I ask, put you over the edge that time?”

“The thought of meeting Grendel in the woods.”

“Grendel diddles Little Lo’s pink riding hood.  How literary.”

“Grendel, the Big Bad Wolf, I’d even take Gaston.”

“I bet you would!  Or all three, if you were in a crossover series.”

“I like that idea.  A Disney fairytale staring Lola Down.”

“Would you be the villain or the princess?”

“Both.”

“Both?  Disney stories are not that complex.”

            “It would be the story of how Princess Lola Down is usurped from power by the effigies that are made of her in the city because they all depict her naked, like Lady Godiva, but they come to life, like Galatea, and strip Lola of her throne and her clothes.  She wanders about the streets, a naked waif or harlot, until one day, through her own power of understanding, she relinquishes her claim to all the reproductions of herself, thereby releasing them from her true essence and allowing them to live on as mere likenesses.  By giving up her hold on them (or the hold that she wrongfully believed she had on them), she deprives them of the power they had over her and thus they yield back the throne to her once more.”   

Lady G.

 

Pygmalion and Galatea

“So, you’re victim, villain, and hero?”

“That I am.  And you know what else I am?”

“What?”

“Horny.”

“Well, have fun.”

“What?!  You’re not going to fuck me?  Give me your sword!”

“I’m going to go write that down.  You know what they say, the power of the pen is mightier than the sword.”

“Perhaps, but far more diminutive,” she said as she pulled out her huge dildo and held it up in the air as if commanding a great army to victory.

As I sat at the desk writing this story, she impaled herself several times with the wobbly weapon until, finally striking to the quick, she died a glorious death at her own hands.  La petite mort.

 

The Art Cums Alive