This blog is about love, sex, relationships, psychology, and sex. Yeah, I said sex twice because, if the name of the blog is “mysexlifewithlola.com,” then an expectation is created that there will be a lot of sex. So, there you have it.
This blog is decidedly not about politics. In fact, many of you dear readers may have noticed that through all the topsy-turvy turbulent times in which we are living, this blog has delicately navigated a course far from politics. There is a good reason for that. If you are reading this, it’s because it is a fun escape from whatever else is going on in your life. No need to bring all that baggage here as well.
But right now sex and politics have mingled in a way that make it appropriate for us to discuss.
You may have heard about Congresswoman Katie Hill recently. If not, allow me to summarize her story. She was, until last week, a Democratic representative from California. She’s only 32 and she got elected after being the executive director of the non-profit People Assisting the Homeless (PATH). Apparently, she also has a “kinky” side. She came out as bisexual after high school and it is alleged that she and her now estranged husband were involved with another woman in a consensual relationship.
These facts became a problem for Hill when allegations swirled that she had an inappropriate relationship with a male staffer – a violation of House ethics rules that were put in place to prevent exploitation of power differentials in the wake of #MeToo.
But the thing that sunk Hill’s ship was the release of nude photos of her, allegedly by her estranged husband in an act of revenge porn.
It seems to me that in this day and age we need to begin taking seriously the fact that people can be more than one thing. Katie Hill can be a successful, sincere, hard-working, do-gooder striving to help the homeless, represent her constituency, and bring equity and justice into the lives of many. And she can be married to a man, have relationships with women, and not be limited by traditional notions of monogamy. And she can be into taking nudie pics of herself and her lovers. All of this can be true of the same person. “Kink” does not mean bad or selfish or untrustworthy. “Public Figure” does not necessarily mean missionary position for the rest of your life with the same partner of the opposite sex. Aren’t we beyond that yet?
Further, though once upon a time it was the height of scandal for a woman to be exposed – think Phryne being exposed by her lawyer in ancient Athens, Lady Godiva, A Night in Paris, or The Great Celebrity Photo Leak of 2014 – today it seems as if everyone and their mother is eager to have their racy photos on the internet and trending! So what is the big deal? Andy Warhol spoke of everyone having 15 minutes of fame in the future. I think now that everyone will soon have their top 15 nude photos on the internet.
As optimistic as that may be, we also need to be realistic. There are still many backward-thinking, bigoted, misogynist, mean-spirited, spiteful, and opportunistic people out there who are not above using a woman’s nude images against her.
Lo and I were pondering all of this when, just the other night, one of her female friends from the NFWITSFW part of the internet (that stands for “no fucking way is this safe for work”) told her that she wants to be “exposed.”
“What do you mean, ‘exposed’?” asked Lo.
“You know, like, I want the pics of me nude and pregnant to be the first image result when someone searches for that.”
Lo said that if I wrote a story about her friend and posted it, she probably would be. Though Lo is a “sinfluencer,” I think she overestimates our power of “product placement.”
Our friend, Karla, or KB HotWife, as she likes to be known, said, “Use my real name.”
“What?!” asked Lo.
“Yeah,” said Karla.
“You’re sure to get all the attention you crave if we do that, but be careful what you wish for,” cautioned Lo.
Luckily for Karla, I’m not a speed writer. The next day she told Lo she changed her mind.
Both Lo and I were relieved. It’s one thing if she wants to use her own name, but we didn’t want to be the ones to expose her. Who knows, she might want to run for public office some day!
[Below, enjoy some photos Karla has sent us for you to enjoy.]
“Lily texted me,” I texted to Lola, “and she invited me to meet her at the bar to watch the World Series.” It was the seventh game. She was hoping to see her team win. “Do you want to join?”
“Will Jim be there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nah,” Lola texted, “I’ll stay in.”
I walked into the crowded watering hole after a long day at work. Lily, was sitting at the bar, close to the TV. To my surprise, she had saved me a stool next to her. She gave me a hug and turned toward me. Despite the cold October air, she was wearing only a short skirt and a thin, loose fitting blouse. Her legs were spread a bit as she talked to me.
“Where’s Jim?” I inquired.
“He’s with some of his friends watching at their house.”
“You didn’t want to join them?”
I could see that she hadn’t invited me there just to watch the game. She was already on her second drink of the night. What was on her mind?
After just a little prodding (it didn’t take much), she revealed her true design. She was looking for some free legal advice and simultaneously looking for some special attention.
She had recently graduated and got her Master’s in Sexuality and Gender Studies. Now she was looking to do something with that degree and was interested in becoming a “Sex and Spirit Guide” to individuals and couples. The question on her mind was, “If my therapeutic techniques involve hands-on help and I accept money for it, what’s the legal distinction between that and prostitution?”
It was a real zinger of a query – one that they don’t ask you in law school! And my first inclination was to say, “I’m not sure I follow. Could we please go back to your place and you can provide me with a demonstration in order that I understand what you do a little better?” But I wisely withheld that request, which was purely for the academic purpose of gaining clarity, and I asked instead, “So you envision digitally manipulating and stimulating your clients?”
“Well, not only that, but possibly role-playing, BDSM experimenting, discovering their inhibitions through play therapy – you know, taking them on a real sexual and spiritual journey to the seat of their soul.”
“Yeah, this morning I had a professional photographer come to take some risqué photos to advertise my services.”
I got lost in my imagination as I envisioned the scene, but she continued. “And Jim even joined for some of them.”
“Oooh,” I cooed, “Boudoir photos?”
“Some were,” she replied alluringly. She began to pull out her phone as if ready to show me the raw, unedited shots. I wanted to look. I wanted to tell her all about the blog. I wanted to divulge everything. But I knew better. First, it’s Lo’s secret to reveal, not mine. That has always been the rule. Second, I’ve learned that letting on to the blog to people who are in the blog creates a Schrödinger’s Pussy situation – where the knowledge of being observed contaminates the observation.
Again I got lost in my thoughts.
She was clearly trying to attract my attention. She regained it as she unlocked her phone. I fumbled for my words a bit and said something stupid like the answer to her legal question would take some research. “A deep dive,” I remember saying.
“If you could advise me,” she said, playing the role of the helpless dancer in need of a savior, “I’d appreciate it so much. I want to heal people, not get arrested.”
Her allusion to consequences kept me in check and I soon paid my tab and said a friendly farewell to her, looking forward to going home to my sweet slutwife.
I got in late. I found Lola in bed, almost asleep, Stoya on my pillow.
“What’s this?” I asked. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “Come to bed. I’ll explain.”
I removed my clothes, washed up, and got in bed. She was on the verge of sleep. I moved Stoya to the nightstand.
“I’m all ears. . . and a penis,” I said.
She rolled over toward me. “I was bad,” she began. I could have figured that. “I was thinking of Heather and Erin and all the other women I’ve been with. I was feeling like being with a woman tonight.”
“So you took out Stoya?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I tried a little experiment,” she said.
“Schrödinger’s Pussy,” I muttered under my breath, recalling my conversation of earlier in the evening.
“What?”
“Nothing. Continue.”
“I fingered myself a bit, rubbed some of my girly juice on her lips, fingering her, and put her over my clit. I fucked her pussy with my clit.”
“Did you cum?”
“Many times. It really does feel pretty realistic.”
She hugged me and asked, “Are you mad?”
“No. But I take it you didn’t wash her properly when done.”
“Sorry Daddy.”
I got out of bed and performed the recommended cleaning to Stoya’s pussy and then hung her out to airdry.
When I got back into bed, Lo was sound asleep on her tum. I was on my back. My right hand caressed her back. Then her lower back. Then the roundness of her rump. Then between her legs. I could feel how wet she was still. My fingers circled around her pussy, becoming soaked. I then slid one finger back and did circles around her other special spot. Slowly, gently, furtively, I dipped in, just a bit. No response. Then a bit more. Lo’s ass raised slightly. A little more. She either consciously or unconsciously elevated her hips. She looked like an inchworm as my finger wormed its way into her bum.*
Then a moan. Then a sigh. Then a “Daddy, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, Lo. Sleep.”
I was in up to my first knuckle. I went deeper. And deeper. And then added a finger. Her ass indicated it liked what it was getting. It was completely relaxed and open to exploration.
And then, without warning, it seized up on my fingers. It clenched like a vice and I heard Lo’s breathing accelerate. After only a few seconds it was over. I pulled my fingers out. She was back to sleep. I was hard-up.
“There’s always Stoya,” I thought.
* See the story, “Sin-esthesia” in which Lo gives her “blanket consent” to being fucked while asleep.
Last I remembered, Lo had engaged in a lengthy session of self-service before falling asleep between Robert and me. When I woke in the morning, she was sound asleep, her back toward me, and Robert had his hands around her waist. I was turned toward them, my arm drooped over her side, my hand fondling her breast, and my cock rigid and eager for more attention.
I carefully extricated myself from the bed, found a robe and quietly went to the kitchen to make some coffee.
As I sat down to take my first sip, Lo suddenly appeared in the kitchen wearing one of Roberts t-shirts and nothing else. She was carrying a bundle of clothes.
“Here,” she said, passing the clothes off to me.
“And a good morning to you too,” I said sarcastically.
“Get dressed.” They were my clothes.
“What?”
“Get dressed. You have to get out of here.”
I was perplexed. “What do you mean I. . .”
“Imogen is still sleeping. When she wakes up, she can’t find you here. Remember, she thinks I’m Robert’s girlfriend and you’re just Robert’s friend. You have to go home.”
“Are we still putting on that little ruse?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, if that’s the case, why don’t I just crawl into bed with Imogen?”
Lo gave me an angry look.
“Ok, Ok,” I said. “I’ll get dressed and go.”
She gave me a quick peck on the cheek to show her appreciation. “Don’t worry, Daddy,” she said, “I will make it up to you.”
My cock must have liked her tone because it immediately popped up like a little puppy who just heard the treats bag open.
“Nope, none of that now,” said Lo curtly, before turning tail and returning to the bedroom with Robert.
I dutifully got dressed and went home to shower, have more coffee, and nurse my hangover.
Sometime later I got a call from Lo. She sounded out of breath.
“Lo?”
Pause. “Yeah?”
“Are you ok?”
Pause. “Yeah.”
“Are you at Robert’s?”
Pause. “Yeah.”
“Are you fucking?”
“Yes, Daddy, he’s behind me, fucking my ass now. What would you like us to do next?”
I won’t deny that I was titillated by the call, but I was also furious. I was home, hard-up and hungover, while she was being banged by her backdoor man.
“I want you to tell me you love me.”
Long pause. “I – I – I love you, Daddy,” I heard.
I put the phone down for a moment and hurriedly grabbed my Stoya Fleshlight, some lube, and picked up the phone again. Lo was screaming. I could hear Robert smacking her ass.
“Daddy, I love you,” she repeated.
I slid the prosthetic vagina down on my cock. I held the phone with my left hand and slid the contraption up and down with my right. I listened to Lo getting fucked. She was calling out, “Harder. Harder. Deeper. Cum in my ass. Cum deep in my ass.” As she was saying that, I thought of how Robert came in her mouth after fucking her ass yesterday.
“Daddy,” she said into the phone, “I want him to cum in my ass. Do you want him to cum in my ass too?”
My eyes were shut. I was vividly imagining her bent over his dresser, Robert behind her, looking at her tits swinging in the mirror as he fucked her from behind. I pictured her left hand holding the phone to her ear and her right hand moving back to her ass, pulling her right cheek to spread as wide as she could go for him to bury his long dick in her bum. Maybe she was fingering her hole as well.
I heard her ramping up, going into the overture to her orgasm.
I slid Stoya’s cunt up and down more vigorously and I could feel my cuckolded cum rising to the surface. Lo launched into her operatic aria and I could hold out no longer. I came and came deep inside Stoya as Robert came deep inside Lola.
A perfect triple play!
After we all were able to bask in the beauty of the trifecta, Lo stayed on the phone with me as Robert went to clean up.
“Did you like that, Daddy?” she asked.
“You. Are. Amazing,” was all I could say.
“Do you like seeing him make me cum, Daddy?”
“I didn’t see you,” I said, confused.
“I meant yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “You’re a dirty, dirty girl.”
“Am I bad?”
I changed the topic, fearing she’d get all riled up again. “Is Imogen still there?” I asked.
“Oh her? No. She woke up, I think a little embarrassed and very hungover, and we called her a cab. She only had fragments of memory from last night, but she asked me to say something nice to you.”
“Oh, and what was that?”
“She really just said, ‘Say something nice to him.’”
I laughed and she did too. Apparently all was forgiven. Nothing absolves me of my transgressions like Lola’s seducing men to sodomize her.
I was asleep when she walked in the dark bedroom. Nights like this, when she spends the night out with friends or lovers, it isn’t quite sleep. It’s more of a restful repose, just barely below the surface of consciousness. When I heard the bedroom door open, I was instantly awake, but I didn’t dare open my eyes or stir. I like to spy on her from the darkness. With one eye open, I saw her remove her blue dress. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She had been wearing a bra when she left the house. She wasn’t wearing panties when she left, so it was no surprise that she wasn’t wearing panties now. She slipped out of her heels and walked barefoot and bare assed into the bathroom. She turned the light on. She sat, peed, got up, brushed her teeth, and then slid under the covers next to me.
“I know you’re awake,” she whispered.
“Now I am,” I said.
“And I know you’ve been a bad boy,” she said, reaching down to my crotch and grabbing my hard cock.
“Look at you – kitten calling the cock back.”
She chuckled and said, “The expression is the kettle calling the pot black.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You left your vagina in the bathroom,” she said, disapprovingly, speaking of my Stoya Fleshlight.
“It needs to air dry. That’s what it says in the instructions.”
“So you used it?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Unlike Stoya, I don’t air dry. I’m always wet. Very wet.”
Stoya, Stoya’s Fleshlight, Art of Lola Down
“And full of Robert’s cum?”
“Get in me and find out.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said.
I climbed on top of her and spread her legs. I slid in and sloshed about. She moaned.
“Tell me,” I whispered in her ear.
“Am I wet?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Loose?”
“Very.”
She likes to hear how slippery and slutty she feels to me.
“Good,” she cooed in my ear.
“Tell me, what happened.” I was eager.
“You first,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“Because, if I tell you, you’ll cum and I want to hear about your night before you cum.”
She had a point. Well, she had two points if you include what I was giving her below the sheets.
“Well, I began by looking at the blog of TJ like you suggested.”
“Yes.”
“She’s so like you, it’s uncanny.”
“I know.”
“But that just made me want you.”
“Good.”
“And as I was thinking about you with Robert, I took out the Stoya Fleshlight and went through your photos. I looked at all the cumtributes you get from guys. I looked at the pics you sent to Robert and others. And then I came. I came hard.”
“Well, Daddy,” she began, knowing how to butter me up, “we met for drinks. He thought I looked great. I know I looked great because Robert wasn’t the only one staring at me.”
Just the thought of her walking into the bar was enough to put me over the edge. I had to slow down while she continued talking.
“We had a couple of drinks,” she said in her soft voice directly into my ear, “and then went to the theater. It had the big, leather, recliner chairs. But those aren’t great for romance. There’s the big, bulky armrest in separating you. We were sitting in the very last row and I put my seat way back. When the movie came on, I let the hem of my dress slide up and up and up.”
“Was he touching your knee?”
“He couldn’t reach. But he could see. It was an odd movie, but there were a few sexy scenes in it. And Emma Stone. . .” She trailed off as she came again.
Catching her breath she said, “Get behind me,” as she pulled out her phone to look at sexy pics of Emma Stone.
I got behind her and glanced over her shoulder at her phone. “Get back there and fuck me like you fucked Stoya!” she commanded.
I grabbed her hips and pulled her ass back as I thrust forward, deep into her. I could feel the tip of my cock dipping into her deep well where someone else had already cum and gone.
Emma Stone The Favourite
“I just touched myself during the sex scenes,” she said in between gasps. “He watched me. He wanted me. His right hand held my left and I squeezed hard every time my right hand brought me to an orgasm.”
She came as she recalled her climaxes in the theater.
“At a more boring point in the movie I got on my knees in front of him and pulled out his cock. I put it in my mouth and went to town on it.”
Luckily for her and for me, I had cum earlier in the night and so was able to weather this blow-by-blow account.
“He didn’t cum, which disappointed me. You know how I like to feel successful at everything I do. I think he was nervous we’d get caught. He lifted me up and tried to place me back in my seat, but I simply lifted up my tight blue dress and eased my ass down on his hard rod. Sitting on his lap, like a stripper in the club, I slowly slid back-and-forth. He came deep inside me. That was just before the movie ended and as we walked out, I could feel his cum oozing down the inside of my legs.”
That was all I could take. I exploded deep inside her, adding to her collection for the evening.
“That’s it, Daddio,” she said as I reached under her and slid my arms up to her breasts and held her tightly. “Use me. Make me yours again. Fill me up. Make me your cum-bucket.” I collapsed on top of her and held her in my arms while imaginings of her night flickered through my rapidly darkening mind.
Friday and finally all my meetings were over. I flew home that night. I hadn’t heard from Lo since the previous night when she enigmatically told me that she had dinner with Robert. I was eager to see her. I was hard-up and aching for release. On top of that, there was the tantalizing mystery of what happened on her “date” with Robert. Just to make matters worse, fate so ordained it that on my flight home I was seated next to a young, attractive college girl wearing a tight fitting miniskirt and a low cut blouse. Her breasts were full and, when placing her carryon in the storage compartment above, she stretched and revealed a delectable midriff and even some under-boob. When we sat down, she saw that I was reading Fast Girl, the book by Suzy Favor Hamilton about her life as a high-end Vegas escort and her sex addiction.
Suzy Favor Hamilton
“What
is that?” she asked, naively, but with a hint of being in-the-know.
“It’s
a memoir,” I said tersely. Her interest
made me nervous. Her looks made me more
nervous. Her age made me simply
petrified – in every sense of the term.
“I
think I’ve heard of it. It’s about. . .”
her brow wrinkled with the struggle of recall.
“A
woman who leads a double-life as a devoted wife and mom and as a prostitute.”
“Oh,”
she said, shocked at my candor. She
quickly followed it up with a smile and, “Do you like it?”
Suzy Favor Hamilton
There
was a mischievousness to her question that indicated to me that she wanted to
know what turns me on.
“It’s
my homework,” I said, as if that negated any pleasure I may derive from it.
“Homework?”
she asked. “What class are you in?” She wanted to enroll.
“My
girlfriend assigned it to me. She said
it would help me understand her better. The last assignment was Getting Off, about a woman addicted to
self-pleasure through humiliation porn.”
“Girlfriend?”
she asked. “Aren’t you married?” she
inquired while indicating my wedding band.
Clearly she was interested in more than my reading material.
“Oh
that,” I said, “I wear it to keep the ladies away.” My standard line.
“Yeah
right,” she said. “Every guy knows that
nothing attracts single women like a man who’s spoken for.”
“You
got me there,” I said. She was
attracted. This would be a l-o-n-g
flight.
“I
wish,” she said under her breath. “So,
your girlfriend – or whatever – is addicted to porn?”
“I
don’t know that she’s addicted to porn.
She likes porn. But she
definitely is addicted to pleasure.”
“I
know the feeling,” she said.
“Is
that so?”
“Would
you like to know the feeling?”
“Look,”
I said, “what’s your name?”
“Kayla,”
she said. Of course her name was Kayla.
“Look
Kayla, I’m already involved with a nymphomaniac. It takes every ounce of my energy, focus,
concentration, devotion, love, and chi to satisfy her. . . and still I come up
short. I appreciate your interest. I really do, but I’m on my way back home to
see her, and, well, to be honest, the beautiful batting of your eyelashes is
very well and good, but I’ve got a perfect slut waiting for me at home.”
If
this attractive, flirty, young woman had been sitting next to me on the departure
flight, when I was more mad at Lo than missing her, things may have been
different. Even then, the fact is, no
matter how angry I am with her, I still love Lo. And I know, no matter how attractive other
women may be, the witty repartee that Lo and I have is inimitable.
I tried to make my
position clear. She accepted the
boundaries I had set. But she switched
gears and now asked me all about Lo. I
gladly told her. It was probably my best
in-flight conversation. By the time we
landed, despite our fight or because of it, I wanted Lo more than ever. (I gave Kayla the blog address, just so she could
see for herself how it’s done.)
I
got home and as soon as I walked in the door I knew I was in for trouble. Lo wasn’t talking to me except monosyllabic
words. “Hi.”
“How
are you?” I asked.
“Fine.”
You
get the gist. But she was dressed in a
pink sleeveless t-shirt and her black lace panties. That’s it.
She pranced around with her hard nipples poking through the front of her
shirt, her side-boobs bouncing and peeking out from the open underarms. She.
Looked. Good.
Surf’s Up
I
was hard.
I
wanted her.
I
needed her.
I
had no idea how to approach her.
So
I took the direct approach: “You wanna fuck?”
“Your
seduction technique is so subtle, yet captivating,” she said.
I
knew I was making good progress because captivating is four syllables.
“Yeah,”
I said, nonchalantly.
“Then
why are you still wearing your clothes?”
I
stripped and she pulled down her panties.
Her
pussy was smooth, shaven, pink and beautiful.
“What’s
the occasion?” I asked.
“This?”
she asked, stroking her lovely mons pubis.
“Yeah,”
I said, “that.” For a moment I was under
the impression that she was anticipating my return and that she had shaved for
me. She disabused me of that notion
right away.
“I
told you,” she said, “I was seeing Robert last night.”
We
were in the bed now. I was looking down
at her lovely body. “You did that for
Robert?”
“Semper
fi,” she said.
“Semper fi?” I asked,
perplexed.
“Yeah,”
she said, “Always prepared; the motto of the marines.”
“Semper
fi means ‘always faithful.’”
“Oh,”
she said. “Whoops!”
“You
can say that again. So, were you
faithful?”
“Fuck
me and I’ll tell you.”
I
was arched over her and I enjoyed looking at her beautiful body as her hand
guided my protruding member up and down her wet labia. “Come on, Daddy,” she said, “fuck me. You know you need it. Take it.”
I
penetrated her. From the feel of things,
she needed me as much as I needed her.
Once
I had fully engorged her, I asked, “So, what happened last night?”
She
was too busy enjoying my rod. She came
within seconds.
I
waited for her to catch her breath.
“Tell me,” I commanded.
“I
met him at his house,” she said in her breathy voice.
“What
were you wearing?”
“A
short skirt. My leather boots. A tight top.”
“Go
on.”
“I
met him there. He kissed me hello.”
“On
the lips?”
“Yes.”
“Mighty
forward of him.”
“I
made sure it was on the lips.”
“Oh.”
“We
talked a little and then he drove us to the restaurant. I think he liked being seen in there with
me. It looked like a first or second
date, I’m sure.”
“What
did you talk about?”
“Him,
mostly. His needs. His wants.
His desires.”
“Oh,
so you talked about you.”
“You
could say that.”
She
came again. Nothing excites her as much
as she.
“And
then?”
“We
went back to his place. He invited me
in. He offered me a drink. We sat on the couch. Before I finished my first drink, we were
making out. His hands were under my top,
feeling my breasts, pulling my nipples.”
Too
much! I came.
As
I pulled out of her and rolled on my back, she said, “Well, I guess you’ll have
to wait to hear how the night ended.”
“Uh-uh,”
I said, “You’re going to finish this slut-saga tonight.
“Only
if you’ll fuck me again.”
“Start
talking. You know what your words do to
me.”
She
moved closer to me and her index finger twirled around my flaccid cock as she
spoke:
His fingers were running up and down
my clit over my panties. Within a couple
of strokes, my panties were soaked. He
could feel it.
‘Why
have you held out on me all this time?’ I asked Robert as he was feverishly
trying to slide my panties over my boots.
He got them off and he was trying to
remove my skirt, but it has a zipper in the back. I kissed him and slowly stood up, turned
around, and let him unzip it. The skirt
fell to the floor and he felt my bare ass with his hands and then he began
kissing it.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Even more beautiful than in your photos.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, turning around
to face him. He saw my silky smooth
pussy. He kissed it. I came.
I came hard just from the light touch of his lips on my soft
triangle. I had to grab his shoulders to
steady myself. I pulled his head in to
my tum and he kissed me as he slowly removed my shirt. He sucked on my tits as I stood totally naked
before him.
‘Here I am, bare as the day I was
born,’ I said, ‘and you have all your clothes on.’
I began unbuttoning his dress
shirt. I got him out of it and out of
his t-shirt. I then got him to stand as
I got on my knees and I undid his belt, his pants button, his fly, and slowly
pulled down his trousers. I could see
his enormously long cock in his boxers.
I wanted it. I pulled down his
boxers and there it was, just as I remembered it. It was beautiful, but it was as soft as you
are right now.
I
was soft, but getting harder. “He did
tell us that he has a performance problem,” I said.
“Yeah,
I know,” she said. “I sucked on it and
gave it my best blowjob, but damn it all, I couldn’t get it hard.”
“Really?!” That was a first.
“Yeah,”
she said.
“Please
demonstrate,” I asked. “Perhaps there is
a problem with your technique.”
That
really pissed her off. Never insult Lo’s
skills in the bedroom, or any other room.
She
put her mouth on my cock and said, “I have impeccable technique.” That she did.
She worked on my slack slinky and it slowly regained some rigidity.
As
she lifted her soft lips off my stuff, she said, “He didn’t respond to my
loving labia, so I got under him and opened wide, taking his huge balls in my
mouth. That he liked. It got an immediate reaction.”
“You
are fond of instantaneous reviews.”
“He
then guided me to the bedroom where. . .”
“No,
wait,” I interrupted, “let me get in you now.”
I was hard-up and wanted to hear the end of her story from a position
that would allow me to gage her level of excitement. I slid my arousal-meter inside her and she
continued.
“We got into bed
and, well, he was still having difficulty performing. I asked him, ‘Do you want to look at some
porn together?’”
“You wanted it
bad, didn’t you?” I asked.
“I’m always up for
porn,” she said, nonchalantly. “And he
was too. He pulled up the blog.”
“Our blog?!”
“Yes. What other blog?”
“OK.”
“And we scrolled
through some pics together. He settled
on one of you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. And he got hard.”
“You’re kidding
me.”
“No I’m not. I asked him, ‘You like his cock?’ and he
said, ‘Yes.’”
“You wouldn’t put
me on like that, would you?”
“I swear,” she
said, sincerely. “I asked him more about
it and he told me that he thinks his problem might be that he’s gay. He said he likes being with women, but he gets turned on by looking at guys.”
“So what did you
do?”
“We looked at some
more porn together, mostly gay porn, cuck porn, and swinger porn. He eventually turned me over, doggy-style,
put his laptop on my back, and fucked me from behind.”
“He used you like
a coffee table?!”
“Well, if someone
invented a cross between a coffee table and a fuck doll, then, yes.”
“Good idea.”
“And then he asked
me if he could go in my ass.”
“The audacity of
that man!”
“And I said yes.”
“You little slut.”
“Yes, Daddy. Say it again.
You’re turning me on.”
“You skank. You trollop.”
“He went in my ass
and then he asked, very politely, if he could cum in me.”
“You anal
whore. I bet you wanted him to.”
“Well, I had cum
so many times by that point, it only seemed fair.”
After she said
that, I came, not in her ass, but deep in her, for the second time.
“I’m glad you were
able to be so charitable while I was away,” I said. I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealously
and, for a moment, I regretted not taking advantage of my opportunity on the
plane.
“Why didn’t you
sleep over?” I asked her.
“It had been a
long time since I had anal sex,” she began to say.
“Don’t I know it,”
I added.
“And so I wanted
to go home to clean up. I’m sorry, but I
may have made a bit of a mess on your car seat.”
When I
left, Lo and I were in a big fight. It’s
never good to leave for a week-long business trip halfway across the country on
bad terms. Especially with Lo. There wasn’t one thing that was the catalyst
of this rift, but rather lots of little things.
Both she and I had been dealing with pressures at work, I had been
recovering from the flu, she had an unexpected major expense that had to be
paid. We both were stressed, exhausted,
and short-tempered. Each of us had been
prickly with the other, like two porcupines in close quarters.
“Come here,
Daddio,” she said the night before I left as I was getting ready for bed. It was her way of trying to rekindle the
relationship. “I’m so cold. Come and warm me up.” Though she really was cold, she also was
naked on the bed, spreading her legs for me, rubbing her puss.
“Cold? Looks to me like you have a very warm
fleece,” I said of her au naturel triangle, “and all that friction you’re
making might light that bush on fire.”
The words came out more sarcastic and biting than I intended. My loving little banter was not warmly
received.
Watering the Bush
“If you
don’t like it, you can’t have it,” she shot back, covering herself with the
blankets.
“I never
said I didn’t like it.”
“Well, too
late. This bush is only for someone who
truly appreciates me.”
“And who
might that be?”
“ME!” she
said, pulling out her Hitachi, her dildo, and her phone.
No sooner
had she gotten the giant white ice cream cone revved up and the dildo delved in
deep and the phone queued to one of her favorite porn videos than, to her great
surprise, the phone rang! She nearly
jumped out of the bed. She dropped the
Hitachi and it was still buzzing. Her
dildo was left dangling, and she had to fumble with her phone as she said hello
because all the moaning and groaning sounds of the porno film were still
playing.
“Hi Lo,”
the person on the other end said, “Is this an ok time?”
“Yeah. Yes.
Sure. Just one sec.,” said Lo as
she tried to compose herself and shut off all her stimulation devices. Finally she was focused on the call and I
climbed into bed next to her, stroking my cock.
Seeing her pleasure herself still gets me off after all this time. But seeing her interrupted and frustrated is
a rare delight.
It was
Robert. He needed someone to talk
to. He was feeling despondent. And he had been scrolling through the
blog.
I curled up
next to Lo and whispered, “Don’t tell him I’m here,” as I guided my cock into
her cupped hand. She mindlessly gave me
a hand-job as she talked to Robert. Or
rather, I should say, I eased my way in-and-out of her palm. She was unaware of or unconcerned with my
movements.
She talked
to him in a consoling and kind tone, listening to his lament of
loneliness. He hadn’t been with someone
in so long. The night at the museum was
such a powerful moment for him. Since
then he had done more study of Koons and his Made in Heaven installation.
Jeff Koons and his wife Ilona Staller, “Made in Heaven”
When I
heard that, I was both amused and angered.
I’m the one who turned Lo onto Koons! I deserve the credit for that. Whatever.
I continued
to slide my cock in-and-out of her cupped hand.
I kept quiet.
“What did
you like about it?” asked Lo to Robert in her seductive tone of voice.
“I, um, I
liked, I like that you suggested it to me.”
“Really?”
asked Lo, intrigued. “Why?”
“Lo, I, uh,
I never met a woman like you.”
“Go on,”
she said, captivated by the story of herself.
“You’re so
brazen. Is that the right word? So, daring.
So. . .”
“Slutty?”
“That’s not
the word I was going to use.”
“Use it,”
she commanded.
“What?” he
said, as if he hadn’t heard her properly.
“Call me a
slut. I like it. Say it.
I’m touching myself now.”
She
wasn’t. She was holding the phone with
one hand and my member with the other.
“OK,” said
Robert. “You’re a slut.”
“Yesss,”
said Lo.
That was
too much for me. I pulled back and
grabbed my cock and came all over myself as Lo looked on, desirously.
Now she was
touching herself.
“Are you
jackin’ it?” she asked Robert.
“Am I. . .
?”
“Are you
jacking off? Stroking yourself?”
“No,” he
said, as if offended.
“Why not?”
“Lo, I
didn’t call you like someone would call a phone sex service.”
“You
didn’t?”
“No. I. . .”
“But you
can. What do you want to hear?”
There was a
long silence on the other end interrupted only by Lo’s occasional moans of
pleasure. Self-pleasure.
“Do you
want to hear that I loved sucking you off?” she asked.
“You did?”
“Yessss,”
she said.
“Why?”
“I love
sucking cock. Any cock. Lots of cock.
I love helping guys out. I love
giving relief. Let me help you. Are you by your computer?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Pull up a pic of me if you haven’t already.”
“I, I, I,”
Robert stammered.
“You
already had it up, didn’t you?” accused Lo.
“I did,” he
admitted.
“Good. Which pic is it?”
“It’s of you
in your neon blue panties stroking your pussy lips.”
“You like
that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s
beautiful.”
“Well
that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.
I’m stroking my wet, pink, pussy lips with my beautifully manicured
fingers, slowly sliding them up and down and in and out. Does that turn you on?”
“Yes.”
“Are you
stroking your cock?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, I want you to hang up the phone and take
pics of you stroking it to my pics. Make
sure my photo is in the frame so I know that I’m the one who is making you hard
and makes you cum. You will cum, won’t
you?”
“If you
want me to.”
“I do.”
“OK.”
“Do it and
send me the pics.”
“OK.”
“And
Robert.”
“Yes?”
“What am
I?”
“A dirty,
filthy slut.”
“That’s
right. Don’t forget it,” she said and
she hung up on him.
I was
cleaning myself off when she got the notification that a text was sent to
her. She opened it. There were three photos. One of Robert jackin’ it to her pics. One of him cumming. And one of the mess he made. Lo looked at them again and again and she
eventually came herself.
“Thanks,” I
said.
“For what?”
she said.
“For making
me cum,” I said.
“Oh, did I
do that?” she asked, sincerely unaware of her passive powers.
The next
morning, before Lo woke up, I was off to the airport, sad that we hadn’t
properly reconciled.
The
next time we saw him, at a fundraiser reception in an art museum, Lo affixed
herself to him. Arm-in-arm they strolled
the corridors, pausing in dimly lit corners.
It was a nighttime event and the university spared no expense and was
eager to show off its faculty to the wealthy alumni and other donors. Because of the book I published long ago on
art, I was one of the featured speakers.
After a brief hello exchanged with Robert, I was left to review my notes
and consult with the university president about the order of the program. However, every once in a while, I’d catch a
glimpse of Lo leading Robert about, taking delight in the whispers and scandal
that she was causing among our petty and gossipy colleagues. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t irk me a
little bit. It would have been a totally
different story if I could have been with them, observing, commenting, and
teased by Lola’s cuckolding up close.
As
it was, they disappeared out of my sight.
I only heard later, while horizontal with Lo in the darkness of our
bedroom, impaling her with my rock-hard rod, between her gasps and groans, what
happened.
“I
walked with him as he politely escorted me through the various galleries:
Impressionists, Expressionists, Cubists, and so on. At each one he attempted to explain to me
what I already knew, but I flattered him with my oos and ahs and reallys? – as
if he were telling me something new.”
“You’re
bad,” I said. “I bet you do that with me
too.”
“No,
Daddy, never.”
Her
lies are transparent.
She
continued, “I knew the museum very well, of course, and I eventually led him to
the contemporary art gallery. I asked
him if he liked contemporary art and he admitted he didn’t really understand
it.”
This
was a rather intellectual conversation for pillow talk. But I was willing to follow her lead.
She
said in her sultry, seduction voice:
When we got
to the contemporary, I brought him to see Richard Prince and his ‘Girlfriend’
series. He looked very confused and
asked, ‘How can this possibly be art?’
Richard Prince, “Girlfriend” closeup
I asked,
‘Don’t you find it beautiful? The artist
was so in love with his girlfriend that he chose to photograph her nude and put
her up in an art gallery for all to see.’
‘That’s
exploitation,’ he said.
‘Not if she
likes it,’ I said.
‘A good
feminist like you? – How could you like
it?’
‘How could
I like being photographed naked and put on display for all to see?’ I asked to
clarify his meaning.
‘I mean,
how could you think that she likes it or that a woman likes it or. . .’ he
stammered uncomfortably, ‘how could you like this,’ he said, indicating the large photograph.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘HH does the
same for me.’
‘What are
you talking about?’
‘He likes
to photograph me nude and then share it with the world.’
‘What?!’ he
asked, shocked.
I looked down at his crotch to see
if he was getting hard. I think he was.
‘It’s
called candaulism. It’s a kink. I’m surprised you don’t know of it – an
educated man like you,’ I said, gripping his bicep. ‘It comes from an ancient Greek story about
Candaules, the king of Lydia, who was so proud of his beautiful wife, he
arranged to allow his minister, Gyges, to see her naked.’
‘Is that
so?’ he said, as if he were only academically interested.
‘Yes. It turned out that the queen, Nyssia, was
aware of the spying eyes and, according to legend, in order to teach her
husband a lesson, summoned her husband to come to the bed and pleasure
her. Of course she knew that the figure
in the shadows was not her husband, but, unable to escape, Gyges obeyed the
command of the queen and, in the dim light, approached the bed. All the while Candaules was secretly watching
with a curious mixture of arousal and jealously. Gyges entered the bed and then entered the
queen. She said all sorts of salacious
things as they made love in order to drive the point of her lesson home, and
that she did, wounding the suffering king with her cries of passion. Finally, at the climactic moment, the king
could hold back no longer and he made himself known to both Nyssia and
Gyges. Drawing his royal sword, the king
made to slay the dutiful minister, but Gyges narrowly avoided the steel blade
and, removing it from the king’s hands, impaled the king with his own
sword. A tragic tale, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, yes
indeed. And it should serve as a
cautionary tale for HH.’
‘Oh, but
that is all ancient history,’ I said, waving my hand. ‘What HH and I do together is very fun. Its proper term is ‘compersion.’ That is, the delight of seeing one you love
pleasured by another. Would you like to
see?’ I asked, pulling out my phone.
‘Perhaps
later,’ he said just as we approached the Koons’ sculpture. ‘Dear Lord!’ he exclaimed as he saw the
porcelain rendering of Woman in Tub, ‘What
is this gallery?! The Museum of
Pornography?!’
Not Koons’ “Woman in a Tub,” but Lola in a Tub – the inspiration
‘Oh, don’t
be so rigid, and hardened in your ideas of beauty,’ I said to him as I patted
him on the chest. ‘This is a classic.’
Jeff Koons “Lady in a Tub”
‘Oh yeah,
right up there with the Mona Lisa,’ he said sarcastically.
Having my
phone out, I snapped a shot. ‘It should
be,’ I said. ‘You’re just priggish in
your stodgy ole professor way. Don’t be
such a prude.’
Art Appreciation
“I bet you
weren’t a prude, were you,” I said to Lo as I continued my steady rhythmic
forays in and out of her puss with my cock.
“I got 99 problems, but being a slut ain’t
one.” she said.
They
returned to the courtyard of the museum where I was to give my talk and I
watched them sitting in the audience next to each other. Lo’s legs were crossed and she was proudly
displaying her beautifully shod foot. At
one point I saw them passing notes.
“What did
you write to him?” I asked her.
“I just
wrote that I found it incredibly sexy to see you up there at the podium in the
museum giving your talk.”
“Really?”
“True,
Daddy,” she said. “Do you like that?”
“I do.”
“And then I
wrote that I was getting too wet to sit still.”
“You
didn’t!”
“I did,
Daddy. That’s when I got up.”
I
remembered seeing her walk out on my speech.
The thought of the reason why was too much for the erogenous zone of my
brain to handle and I unleashed a torrent of my pent-up desire inside her.
“Oh Daddy,”
she said, surprised, “Stay in me while I tell you the next little part.”
“OK,” was
all I could mutter as I caught my breath.
I went to the Ladies Room and
quickly took care of my craving. When I
returned, I sat next to Robert and asked if I missed anything.
He said, ‘No, but I feel like I
missed something.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘What’s that?’
‘You,’ he said.
‘Me?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I missed you when you were gone and I’m
supremely curious as to where you went and what you went to do.’
‘Come with me,’ I said, ‘and I’ll
show you.’
We got up and I took him to the
Medieval room of the museum, and there, in the dim light, surrounded by the
muted reds and blues of the stained glass windows, I sat with him at a pew and
took out my phone to show him all the photos of me from the blog, most of them
of me masturbating.
‘Robert,’ I said, ‘Here we are in a
place of devotional art and you see all these beautiful images and the
illuminated manuscripts over there?’
Lola Down – 21st Century Devotional
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Well, this,’ I said, indicating the
images on my phone, ‘is HH’s devotional literature for me. This is the illuminated manuscript of the 21st
century. Sex is no longer sinful. Sex is spiritual. And I am a sex goddess.’
“How
extraordinarily pompous of you!” I said.
“You would have said the same,” she
retorted.
“You know me too well. But I think I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Rub off on me, Daddy! Rub off on me!” she pleaded as I was still
firmly sheathed in her dripping cunt.
“What happened next?” I asked as I
leaned into her, pressing my now tumescent cock deeper. She came and she came in massive orgasmic
waves. Clearly the memory of being the
object of worship was pleasing to her.
“Then he
took the phone and looked at it as he leaned toward me. Our lips touched and he held me tightly in
his arms as our tongues entwined. I saw
that, as he was kissing me, he was looking over my shoulder at the phone he
held in his hand, staring at my sexy photos.
I reached down and grabbed his cock and it was rock hard. His other hand reached down and felt my soft
leg all the way up to my panties. I
wanted so much more, but the event had just let out and we had to look
presentable.”
“That’s
when I found you with him walking over to me with that devilish grin on your
face.”
“We have so little faith in the ebb
and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide
and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on
permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in
life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity – in freedom, in the sense that the
dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same
pattern.”
Anne Morrow Lindbergh – Gift From the Sea
For
a few months now, Lola and I have been like the dancers upon a large stage –
not like the partners doing a sexy Spanish tango, but like performers of some
contemporary choreography who move at a great distance from each other, yet
always aware of the presence of the other.
Her work has demanded long hours and travel around the country. My work has kept me at the office on
weekends. We have seen each other only
occasionally – hastily preparing and eating dinner, a ride to and from work, a
quick fuck before sleep.
Realizing
the monotonous irregularity of our relationship, we consciously made an effort
to set aside a weekend for a “love-in”: two days of nothing but lying in bed
together, rediscovering each other’s bodies, reading naked next to one another,
watching movies, and preparing luxurious meals – all in the comfort of our own
home. Laundry can wait. Work can wait. Life can be put on hold.
But
fate had something else in store for us.
On the Friday that was to kick off our cocoon habitation, Lo got word of
the unexpected death of her friend Cammy’s husband’s aunt. When Lo relayed this to me, at first I
thought, “So?” I didn’t expect that such
a tangential relation would in any way impinge upon our reunion weekend. But, it turns out, Cammy is very anxious
about death and dying, is prone to panic attacks, and since her new husband
would be needed at the memorial and funeral services, Cammy pleaded with Lo to
come along for moral support. Lo
graciously agreed.
“It’s
only for Saturday,” said Lo.
“That’s
fifty percent of our love-in.”
“I’ll
make it up to you,” she said, seductively.
“Promise.”
“Can’t
Cammy handle this herself?”
“No,
she can’t. Besides, I already said I’d
go with her.”
I
was in a foul mood. I grunted something
incomprehensible, but clearly expressed my displeasure.
“I’ll
be back tomorrow night and we still have tonight.”
It
was no use. My mood was spoiled. Lo said to me that I was spoiled, and, in retrospect, she was right.
Friday
we went to bed and I rolled away from Lo as she lay there naked next to me in
the dark. “Daddio, you realize don’t you
that you could have me now.”
Grunt.
“Do
you realize how many men would pay – would die – to have a naked nympho next to
them in bed, wet, waiting, and willing to fuck?! Do you?
You big grouch. Come here. Put your face in my cleavage, suck my tits,
grab my ass and fuck me,” she said, pulling on my arm.
“No,”
I said like a child. “I don’t want a
quick fuck and then sleep. I want to
have you all weekend, all to myself.”
She
didn’t respond. She just reached over
and grabbed my cock and began to rub it under the blankets.
“I
can feel you getting hard. I know you
want to have me.” She was right.
After
some manipulation, I rolled over to her.
I got on top of her, spread her legs and entered her.
“That’s
it, Daddio. Have me. Use me.
Use me like so many guys have used me.
Fuck me. Get your rocks off on
me.”
She
continued to encourage me like that.
Though her voice was soft and breathy, I could tell she wasn’t getting
off herself. Her breath wasn’t becoming
short and rapid. Her hips weren’t moving
to meet mine. She wasn’t using her body
to help herself climax. But she kept
talking to me and the sound of her sexy voice was enough to stir me to a swift conclusion.
“Yes. Cum on me.
Cum on my face. Cum on my tits,”
she said without cumming herself.
When
I was done, I said, “You didn’t like it.”
“No,
Daddio. I did.”
“Then
why didn’t you cum too?”
“Because,
I just wanted you to use me. Sometimes I
like to do that.”
“You
like to fuck. You like to orgasm. You like to do it all again. I know what you like.”
“Sometimes
I just want to be your fuck-toy that you use to get your rocks off. It was so hot seeing you cum on my face.”
As
odd as it sounds, when Lo doesn’t cum, even if I do, it leaves me feeling like
our romp was anticlimactic. I went to
sleep feeling worse than I did before.
Saturday
came and Lo got decked out in her little black dress and black leather
boots.
“Do
I look ok for a funeral?”
“You
look like the stereotypical mistress who follows a funeral.”
“What?!”
“Lo,
your skirt doesn’t even cover your knees and that top really makes your chest.
. . er. . . prominent.”
Look Daddy, No Panties!
“You
think so?” she said, perking up.
“Yeah.”
“Shucks,
you know how to compliment a lady.”
“Good
grief!”
“Wish
me luck,” she said as she gave me a peck on the cheek.
“Luck?”
I asked, surprised.
“Or,
whatever one wishes when one goes to a funeral.”
Off
she went and I went to the office, thinking that she’d be rather late
returning.
Half
past three, and I before I even had a chance to go to lunch, I got a text from
Lo – “I’m home. Where are you?”
I
closed up shop and sped home to see her.
When I got in, there she was, greeting me at the door.
“Oh,
hello,” I said, seeing her still in her mourner’s basic black.
“Hello
ole’ man.”
“How
was your, er, funeral?”
“My funeral.”
“I
mean, the funeral you. . .”
“It
was fine.”
“Fine?”
“Well,
better than fine – for a funeral.”
“What
do you mean by that?”
“Come
to the bedroom and I’ll tell you.”
When
I got to the bedroom, she had already hopped on the bed and lifted her skirt up
over her waist, showing her bare ass.
“Lo!”
I said, taken aback, “You didn’t wear panties to a funeral in December?!”
“How
else is a girl supposed to amuse herself at a funeral?”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t
you like?” she asked, wagging her ass in the air.
“Um.”
“Well,
I can tell you, there were boys at the funeral who were very happy to see me.”
“What
are you talking about?”
“Get
yourself out of those pants and I’ll explain.”
I
dropped my trousers immediately and pulled up behind her.
“That’s
it, old man. Pound it. Drive it home.”
“Lo,
why are you so randy today?”
“When
am I not?” she retorted, followed by a moan.
“What
got into you at that funeral?”
“You
should be asking who got into me.”
“Lo,
you didn’t.”
“I’m
sorry, Daddy, but I was like the song.”
“The
song?”
“You
know: ‘I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.’ Bad habits, you know.”
“They
say bad habits never die.”
“Ha,”
she laughed, “It wasn’t a funeral for my habits, that’s for sure.”
“What
did you do?”
“Remember
the wedding we went to?”
“Which
one?”
“The
one where we got it on in the powder-room.”
“Yeah.”
“Well,
that’s what I did, but at a funeral.
Same difference.”
“But,
I wasn’t there.”
“I
had no idea you were so fond of funerals.”
“I
had no idea you were so irreverent.”
“Irreverent? Don’t you think that it’s very respectful of
the dead to enjoy life?”
“Not
that way!”
“Sex
is the emblem of life and orgasm its crowning achievement.”
“The
French call orgasm le petit mort –
the little death.”
“Well,
then I died many times at that funeral!
Slay me once more.”
“Lola!”
“Do
you like fucking me knowing that two other guys were in me earlier today?”
I
went at her with great vigor and she came as she talked dirty to me about
it. After she did, I pushed her body
flat on the bed and ejaculated all over her back.
“Fuck!”
she yelled out, “My dress!”
Her
mourner’s gown was now my cum rag. I
fell down next to her on the bed.
Between deep gasps, I said, “That’s how you should greet me every time I
come home.”
“Even from work?”
“Especially from
work?”
“Even when you
just go out to the bar?”
“Yes, when I go
out to the bar. When I go out to do
grocery shopping. When I take out the
trash. When I enter through that door
you should greet me just like that.”
It was the first of the month. Lo and I have a little tradition of saying
“Rabbit, rabbit,” to each other on the first of the month. I woke up next to her and I whispered it to
her.
“More like ‘grab it, grab it,’” she
replied.
“What? Why?”
“Because, you were clinging to me
all night, grabbing my tits, stroking my puss.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be,” she retorted, “I liked
it. But it gave me crazy dreams.”
“Like what?”
“I dreamed that we were on vacation
in Hawaii with our friends. We had
rented a minivan, but I just needed to get off.
The minivan was old, loud, and rumbly.
I pulled out my Hitachi from my suitcase and began using it. I was about to cum when someone noticed. So I put it away.”
“That’s not like you.”
“Yeah,” she said, “it was a
dream. Next thing I knew, we were on the
beach and my Hitachi was in my hand. I
put it down my bikini bottoms.”
“There are no electrical outlets on
the beach.”
“It was a dream.”
“Right.”
“And I was about to climax when I
opened my eyes and suddenly saw that there was a crowd of people surrounding
me, watching me. So I stopped again.”
“Again, not like you.”
“This starting and stopping, edging
and trying again went on a lot.”
“Do you want to get off now?”
“So badly.”
“Do you want your Hitachi or me?”
“Tough question.”
“Which do you like more?”
“My Hitachi.”
“Really?”
“Then you.”
“Oh.”
“Then my Hitachi again.”
“I see.”
“My Hitachi is like icing on the
cake. No matter how good the cake is,
you always want icing after it.”
“But you said your Hitachi first.”
“Well, you always want icing. But just icing isn’t as good as icing with
cake.”
“So, what do you want now? Do you want your Hitachi as I jack it over
you?”
“That sounds good.”
She pulled out her Hitachi from
under the bed. She turned it on. She spread her legs and placed it between
them. I was on my knees over her,
pulling at my long, hard shaft, watching her every move.
“You know,” I said, “I had a dream
too.”
She didn’t reply.
“I dreamt that you were out on a date
with a tall, think, dark Jamaican man with long dreadlocks. I found the two of you in the front row of a
movie theater making out.”
“The front row?” she asked. “That’s a bit conspicuous.”
“It was a dream.”
“I like it.”
“And then I came home and found the
two of you on the couch, still making out.”
“Were you jealous?”
“No, I was turned on.”
She came, squirting all over my
knees.
“Come here,” she said, as she rolled
over on her tum. “Get inside me.”
I slid right in with my tum pressed
on her back.
“Do I feel tight or loose?”
“You feel loose and wet. Very wet.”
“Fuck me harder.”
I thrust with more force.
“Daddy, please, fuck me. Fuck me harder.”
“I would, but I’m afraid I’ll push you
right into the headboard.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she
said, “Just fuck me with everything you got.”
I pushed into her repeatedly. As I predicted, her head was banging the
headboard of the bed with a rhythmic pounding.
She just called out, “Yeah, yeah, harder! Don’t stop.
Fuck. I’m going to squirt. Stay in there. Don’t. . .”
She began squirting and her cunt
convulsed on my cock, squeezing me right out.
It’s damn near impossible to stay in her when she has an intense orgasm
like that.
“Hurry up,” she said, “Get back in
me!”
“I can’t,” I complained, “You’re all
clenched up. Try to relax.”
She did, which unleashed a gush of
more juice, soaking the sheets.
“I want you to cum,” she said as she
backed her ass up and slid her puss over my pole again.
“You liked my dream?” I asked.
“Yes. Maybe you were holding me so tightly that our
dreams were interwoven.”
“Are you cumming again?” I
asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Good, don’t. Flip over,” I commanded.
She turned onto her back and spread
her legs. I pulled out my dripping rod
and stroked it back and forth.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Playing foosball. What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m stroking myself to your amazing
body.”
She grabbed her Hitachi again and
put it between her legs as she watched me.
“Just like the guys on the beach,” she said.
With that thought, I began to
cum. She saw what was happening, and
like an acrobat, she swiveled her body around so that her face was now under my
balls and she put out her tongue to catch might release.
When I was done and she had a grin
on her face, I said, “A nutritious breakfast.”
“Yeah, but now I’m in the mood for
cake with icing and pancakes.”
“Pancakes?”
Or, see me and cum.
“Or at least pancake batter, cause
that’s what your cum reminds me of.”
“How
do I look?” she asked, doing a little twirl on the toes of her shiny black
boots.
“Just
Peachy,” I said.
“Peachy?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re
so old,” she replied. “Do you like the
lipstick? Too much?” she asked as she
puckered up.
“Depends. What do you plan on doing with it?”
“Hopefully
something naughty,” she said as her tongue ran over her pearly whites.
Lo
was all decked out for a date she had with a new gentleman caller. About a half hour earlier she had emerged out
of her steamy shower, silky smooth down below.
She showed me saying, “Hopefully he’ll appreciate this.”
“You
are eager for him to get up your skirt,” I said, nonchalantly, though I was
upset that she wasn’t offering it to me.
“So
eager that I’m not going to wear panties.”
“Why
don’t you shave for me? Only when you’re
going on dates?”
She
walked up to me and made a pouty face, and teased, “Oh, is my ole man jealous?”
“No,”
I said, “Not jealous. But I appreciate a
slick, wet, whistle just as much as the next guy.”
“I
know,” she said condescendingly. “But
don’t you like my muff too?”
“Lo,
I like all of you in every way,” I said, “But maybe you could just keep the
mons pubis polished all the time, especially for when I go down on you.”
“But
Daddy, it’s winter. I might catch a
chill.”
“Wear
a merkin. I hear they’re coming back in style.”
“Funny.”
“I’m
serious. I read an article about
it. It was all the rage for Fashion Week
in New York.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee,”
she said dismissively.
“You
don’t seem to be too worried about catching a chill today,” I observed.
“I
plan to have his warm mouth on my va-jay-jay soon enough,” she retorted.
“Are
you just trying to tease me?” I asked, adding, “Cause you could have my mouth
on it right now.”
She
was applying moisturizer to her tits, tum, and mellifluous legs and puss. “Will you get my back?” she asked, applying
some lotion to my palm and turning around.
I
began to rub it into her shoulders and then down her back. She bent over, exposing her rear. “Get it in good there, cause I want to be
silky sweet for him when he has his face where your hands are now.” I was circling my middle finger around her
anus and she was moaning.
After
a little while of that, she got on the bed, lying on her back, her legs up. I thought for sure this was my
invitation. But no! Instead she said, “Don’t forget my toes. Get right in there.”
I
applied the lotion to her heel, her arches, her toes and between her toes, one
foot at a time. She was almost climaxing
from the sensation. I was hard as a rock
in my slacks and protruding noticeable. I
could see her pussy glistening.
“Do
you plan on giving him a foot-job as well?”
“I
plan on giving him whatever he wants.”
“Lo,
why are you torturing me so much? I’ll
just pull out my cock and you can give me
a foot-job. Think of it as warm-ups or
practice,” I said as I unzipped my pants.
“I’m
already hot. I don’t need warm-ups. And are you saying I need practice?”
“Practice
makes perfect.”
“I
am purrrrrfect,” she said, “or at least so I’m told.”
She
got off the bed and began rummaging through her wardrobe.
“Out!”
she commanded. “You’ll see when I’m
done.”
I
left the room and then, a while later, she appeared in the living room asking
me how she looked. I was starving for a
taste of her. When I said, “Just
peachy,” I was thinking about eating her peach, which now was more like a
nectarine.
She
lifted the hem of her short skirt to show me her bare nectarine. Then she bent over to pick up her purse and
pull out her phone.
“Lo,
the whole world can see how nicely you prepared yourself when you do that
move.”
“That’s
what I was going for.”
I
rolled my eyes.
“You
won’t miss me too much?” she asked.
“Lo,
I’m going to tell you the truth. As soon
as you shut that door, permission or no permission, I’m going to pull out my
Fleshlight and cum so hard into Stoya’s pussy.”
“NO!”
she exclaimed. Horror of horrors.
“But,
I’m so worked up right now. I can think
of nothing else.”
“I’ll
tell you what,” she said, “I just ordered my Lyft. It will be here in exactly four minutes. Go get a condom.”
I
ran to get a condom from the bedroom and appeared back in the living room,
eager to fuck her, but I had another thing coming.
“Put
it on,” she said, looking at her phone.
I
obeyed.
And
then, instead of bending over the couch and letting me enter her, she grabbed
my covered cock with her right hand and began jacking it.
“What?”
I asked perplexed.
“I’ll
jack you off. You have about two
minutes,” she said, not even looking at me.
“Why
won’t you let me fuck you?”
“Because,
I’m pretty as a picture right now. I
don’t want to risk messing up my outfit.”
“Really?”
“A
minute and a half. Do you want to be
hard-up all night?”
“OK,
ok,” I said, letting her tug, “but why the condom?”
“No
mess,” she said, her hand moving mechanically.
“Speaking of pictures. . .” she said as she manipulated her phone with
her other hand. She raised up her arm
and smiled at the camera as she shot a selfie without me in the frame. No one would even suspect she was giving me a
hand-job as she flashed her smile at them.
She sent the pic to her date with a message, “Coming.”
She
looked again at her ride app and saw the car turn onto our street. She got closer to me and ever-so-gently
licked my earlobe with her tongue as she increased her wrist motion. “That’s it Daddio, think about how he is
going to lick my clit later. Think about
how he’s going to cum all over my puss and make my skirt all dirty with his hot
mess. I’m your little trollop, your
little. . .”
She
stopped mid-sentence. The Lyft was
outside our window. I came into the
condom. She let go. I grabbed my cock and stroked it as I watched
her through the window getting into the car and blowing me an air kiss.
