Tag Archives: Pussy

Writing Nude

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I write erotica.  No.  Scratch that.  What I really write is love poems to Lola.  Really, really, really long love poems.  So long that, to the untrained eye, they read like prose.

Niel Gaiman once said, “If you’re only going to write when you’re inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet, but you will never be a novelist — because you’re going to have to make your word count today, and those words aren’t going to wait for you, whether you’re inspired or not. So you have to write when you’re not inspired.”  I don’t have a problem with this advice in general, but part of the problem is that when I’m not inspired, a certain detached, disinterested, distant feeling comes over me with regard to my writing.  I hesitate to say “objective,” because that implies a truth to the judgment and, for the life of me, I pray that that cold view of my writing is not true.

I struggle to capture exactly the feeling I get at these moments of disenchantment, but there are a few readily available examples of how I feel about my work that I can offer.  If you’ve ever seen The Big Lebowski, then you may recall the “modern interpretive dance” scene where The Dude watches his landlord, Marty, perform.  It is painful and comic to watch.  But it means so much to Marty.  That’s certainly part of it – if Marty was an author and not a dancer.

Another analogy is thinking thoughts when very stoned as compared to reading those thoughts when sober; some crucial élan vital is missing.  A third analogy is that of being naked.  One can be nude with one’s lover and that can be magnificent, or one can get caught naked in public, as often happens in humiliation dreams.  The difference between nude and naked is as great as the difference between consent and coercion.

Being nude is easy.  Writing is not.

But then there are also times like now.  Last night Lola and I went out to a party with some friends.  She wore her jack-pot top that prominently displays her cleavage and she wore her tight jeans with heels.  She looked good and I wasn’t the only one to notice.  Most of the evening her eyes sparkled and her teeth twinkled as she chatted and laughed, throwing back her long hair and touching the arms of those she liked.  She flirts.  And I love seeing it.  I watched her from afar and occasionally I sidled up next to her sliding my right hand over her round butt.  I wanted her all evening and the longer we stayed the more I wanted her.  But I’m not as young as I used to be.  The witching hour approached and my energy for performance and social settings dwindled.  I felt fatigued on the ride home.  Lo and I were traveling in the back of a cab and she was clearly not ready for the night to end.  She kissed me and reached down between my legs.  She reached between her legs and she enjoyed the thrill of being just out of sight from the driver as she made small-talk with him.

We got home and I got in bed, loving her, but needing sleep.  She joined me, naked, and feeling dejected by my drowsiness, pulled out her Hitachi, phone, dildo, and began her nightly bedtime ritual of self-pleasure.

In the morning I awoke before she.  She was curled in the fetal position facing away from me.  I was wrapped around her, holding her tightly for it was a chilly morning and we needed each other for warmth.  My hand roamed over her soft skin from her shoulder down to her breast, feeling the flesh of her tum and over her round hips.  I wanted her.  My rod was stiff between my legs, protruding into her.  She was down for the count.

Desirous of her, but respectful of her sleep, I snuck out of bed, washed up, made my coffee, and set up my little writing nest on the couch and began to compose this lustful literary tribute to her, my muse.  I know that when she wakes she will be full of passion for me as I will be for her.  And when I read these words to her, she will find them flattering, beautiful, and inspired.  That will make up for all the disenchanted moments when I look upon this massive encomium to Lola as if written by someone else.  My love, my longing, my lusty imaginings and my self-critical eye will all be aligned.  All shall be well, at least until the next wave of despair, alienation, and disenchantment plumes within me.  But, until then, I’ll take what I can get – of Lo and of writing.

Bimbos, Bubble-butts, and Blowjobs

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Our day at the beach for a vacation fantasy cum true didn’t quite pan out the way Lola had envisioned it.  We didn’t make it to the nude beach, but we did find a lovely stretch of semi-private secluded sand where we could lay out and enjoy the sun and sea.  But, much to Lo’s consternation, soon after we had parked our payload of the day’s provisions and set up camp, a gaggle of girls moved in on our unofficial quadrant of beach and set up their site immediately adjacent to ours.  This wouldn’t have been unwelcome if it were a handful of hunky men that Lo could tease and tempt all day, but that was not the case.  It was five college age women in the skimpiest of thongs, showing off their bubble-butts for each other, and, I can only assume, since I was the only male on the strand, for my viewing pleasure.  This latter fact perturbed Lo to no end.

Not only did these women have the nerve to spread out (in every sense of the term) in our line of vision, but they spent a good deal of the time taking selfies, posing for each other’s pics, doing ridiculous stretches for the camera, and slapping each other’s butts.  The height of indiscretion came when, as Lo and I were walking past them to take a dip, one of them stopped me and asked if I would take a photo of their entire crew lined up by the water so that they could have a group photo.  I knew that acquiescing to this polite request would put me in Lo’s bad graces, but proper etiquette demanded that I oblige.  So I took a few snaps of the ladies and then ran to catch up with Lo who was ankle deep in the water.

“Having fun?” she asked in her sarcastic tone.

“Lo, I didn’t invite them to join us here.  This wasn’t my plan.  I didn’t ask to take their photo.  They approached me.”  All of this was true and she knew it, yet I sounded as guilty as if I were a five-year-old caught with my hand in the cookie jar trying to say, “It wasn’t me.”

Despite all the facts being on my side, that was no alibi in the eyes of the law; that is, in Lo’s very green eyes with which she judged me.  The true crime, as she saw it, had nothing to do with those facts, but with her perception, right or wrong, that I enjoyed the facts as they were.  For that, there was no excuse and no punishment harsh enough.

The water was a little cold, but that was nothing as compared to the cold shoulder Lo was showing me.  I didn’t know how I was going to get out of such a predicament.

“Look,” she said to me, “if you want me to wear a dental floss thong bikini, I will.  Just say the word.”

“Word.”

“I hate you,” she said, kicking the water and splashing me.

“You said to. . .”

It didn’t matter.  I realized that we were no longer in the realm of reason.  This was pure emotion and trying to explain anything was futile.

“Let’s go for a walk,” I suggested.  I took her hand, which she reluctantly allowed, and we strolled through the small waves.

We got about a quarter mile down the beach in silence and then I said, “Lo, you’re the only one for me.  You and you alone.”

“Then why do you look at those floozies?”

I could have explained that sitting on the beach, looking out at the horizon, only to have that vista invaded by almost bare bottomed, big breasted bimbos was not “looking” at them, but something much more passive.  However, again, that would be an appeal to reason, logic, and facts, none of which were going to aid me in this argument.

“I’m looking at you.  I’m with you.  I want you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Trick question.  Why usually evokes a causal explanation.  Not here.  Not now.

“I love you, Lo.  You’re the only woman I love.  No one else is you.  You are the only you I know and that’s the person I love.”  I was sincere.

Hearing those words, she leaned in for me to hug her.  I gave her what she wanted.  I held her tight.  It was a tender moment, but it also aroused me.  Feeling her flesh on mine, holding her body close to me as the water curled around our feet, I was eager to have her.  I could feel she was eager to have me too.  I pulled at the string of her bikini top.  I untied it.  It fell to the ground between us.  I slid her out of her bikini bottoms.  She willingly lifted her legs out of them.  I grabbed the top and the bottoms in my hand so they wouldn’t float away.

We were alone on the beach and I kissed her and held her.  My mouth slid down her neck to her breasts.  I dropped to my knees.  I kissed her soft belly.  I kissed my way down to her smooth, supple pussy as my arms wrapped around her and held her ass.  The waves washed up on my hips and torso.  I kissed her gentle kisses around her pale, white triangle.

She just kept saying, “Daddy, daddy, daddy.”

She then slid down onto her knees and motioned for me to stand.  The waves were washing up between her legs, splashing on her pink pussy lips.  She pulled down my bathing suit and pulled out my hard rod.  She kissed it and caressed it, licked it and devoured it with her open mouth.  In and out she bobbed it as one hand held it firm and the other rubbed her pussy.  She continued until I came on her, raining down white froth like the white foam of the sea that was between her legs.  On her face, lips, tongue, tits, tum, and legs it poured forth.  She loved it.

“Come here,” she said.  I crouched down next to her.  “Kiss me,” she commanded.

I leaned in and kissed her with an open mouth.  As our tongues twirled, she pulled my naked body close to hers, pulling us both down into the water.

Then she released me.  Her hands were between her legs and she was fondling herself.  She quickly diddled and fingered herself until she came, squirting into the churning sea.

The two of us took a quick swim in the ocean to wash off.  She held me close as we swam and she said, “I’m your slut, Daddio, and don’t you forget it.”

“Lo, you’re the only slut for me and don’t you forget it.”

When we walked back to the beach blanket and chair we had set up, the group of gals saw us walking hand-in-hand.  Had they seen what had transpired not long ago?  Who knows.  But they looked on Lo admiringly and with jealousy.  She was dismissive of their gaze.  I had my right hand down her bikini bottoms, holding her ass as we passed the gaggle of girls.  I could practically hear their judgments, “What an old perv.  What a little slut.  Why the hell is she with him?  He’s old enough to be her father.”  Never mind that they all were vying for my attention only a little while earlier.

The girls pulled out their Kindles and other devices and were reading quietly as I sat there reading my book, looking over at them every once-in-a-while.  Lo drifted off to sleep.  The girls had all gone down to the water for a dip.  Lo woke up and said she was famished and wanted to get lunch.  I was all for that.  We packed up our stuff and we were about to walk back to the car when I said, “Wait just a minute,” to Lo.  I put the chair and blankets I was carrying down and ran over to the girls’ abandoned camp.  I found one of the devices.  No password.  Great!

After a moment or two, I returned to Lo.

“What did you do?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’ll tell you later.”

At lunch, she said to me, “OK, it’s later.  What did you do?”

“You might be mad.”

“I’ll definitely be mad if you don’t tell me.”

“Well, in that case,” I said, enjoying the suspense.

“Out with it!”

“It wasn’t anything too bad.  I simply went on her iPad and directed it to a certain website.”

“Which website?” Lo asked, already knowing the answer.

“One that will teach them what love is.”

“Which one would that be?”

“One that will show them what true beauty is.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Just a good erotic read.”

“Let me guess: mysexlifewithlola.com.”

I put my index finger to the tip of my nose.

“You didn’t!”

“I most certainly did.  Are you upset?”

“Yes.”

“I knew you would be.”

“I’m upset because I wish we could have been there to see the look on their faces when they scroll through all that smut.”

“You wicked vixen!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re coming after us right now.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were cumming to us right now.”

“You’re probably right.”

 

 

Lo’s Lysistrata

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“No!” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

“Your secretary is a blonde bimbo.”

“She’s not a bimbo.”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“All three of your previous girlfriends were redheads.”

“Exactly my point.”

“You’re not making sense.”

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

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

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

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

“What about them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You looked up her Instagram page?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t shake it!” I warned.

“Is it fragile?  Is it for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what you think.”

“But you are on the right track.”

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

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

“Stoya the Destroya Signature Fleshlight!”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“Where are you going?”

“To get laid.”

“The hell you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you really offering?”

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

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

“Yeah,” I said.

“As tight as my little ass?”

“I doubt it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up and cum already,” she said.

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

“What about your sheath?  Your penis extender?”

“That was for you, not me.”

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

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

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

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

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

 

Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume III – Writing Under Cover is Available NOW!

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The latest book of the stories from mysexlifewithlola.com is now on sale.  Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume III – Writing Under Cover is only $9.99 for the soft-cover.  This book contains 35 chapters of the sexiest, naughtiest, funniest smut since, well, since Volume II was published.

It also is replete with original erotic artwork of Lola (and H.H.) by five renowned artists.  Because this volume is itself a work of art and a collectors item, unlike past versions of Match, Cinder & Spark, this one will NOT be coming out in an e-book edition.

The cover art is by Jo Koss.

We hope you’ll buy this lovely little volume, the sales of which help to support the continuation of this blog.

Below you’ll find the chapters that can only be read in Writing Under Cover and will no longer be available on this blog.

Stay sexy everyone!

xoxoxoxo,

 

Lola & HH

 

Per-verse –

XXX-Mas Stocking Stuffer

An Intimate Encounter. . . With a Dirty Girl

Transformation

Lo’s Many Loves

The Insomniac & the Nymphomaniac

Beauty & the Beasts

Superheroes, Fairies, & Pixie-lust

Love That Body Image

Father Confessor

Nocturnal Commissions, Sins of Omission, and the Missionary Position

Private Tutor

Chicks & Dicks

Loose Lips Sink Ships

Rubbing Off

On the Edge of Glory

Portrait of H.H. as a Young Man

Sexhibitionism

Wet, Wild, and Wet

A Very Public Paddling

Good Dirty Fun in the Shower

Cumuppance

Cumming Together/Cumming Apart

Sausage, Strawberries, and Sex

Caught in a Cliché

Hardball

Obsession & Infatuation

The Kinks

Role Reversal – The Shock of Recognition

What is wet, a wild ride, and is never afraid of getting dirty?

Creative Juices

What if I told you?

A Hard Man is Good to Find

Every Morning

Lo Likes It Ruff

 

Slap Shot

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

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I follow instructions.

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

“Off the elevator?”

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

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

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

“But you wanted more.”

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

“You did what?”

“You heard me.  A select five.”

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

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

“You did not!”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“I bet.”

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

“They were so kind and considerate.”

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

“And you loved it, I bet.”

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

“Loving?”

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

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

“Right?  Win-win!”

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

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

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

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

Pride Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hungry?” I asked her.

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

“Lunch, or whatever,” I said back.

“I could do whatever.”

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

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

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

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

“You can,” he said with a chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you pay the tab?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good, let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

“Rubbing his strong arms?”

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

“Did he now?”

“Yeah.  How do you feel about that?”

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

“Would you do it?”

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

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

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

“But you could have joined.”

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

Lola Left to Her Own Devices

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We were separated for a week.  She went out of town.  When we are reunited, I slip into bed next to her naked body.  She wakes enough to ask, “Did you masturbate while I was gone?”

“No?”

“Did you hook up with anyone?”

I chuckle a little bit.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because, darling, I didn’t even leave the house.”

“Did any one come to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean, someone could have cum to me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.  There are whole hosts of people who could have cum to me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I simply mean that I, er, rather, you and I, get emails quite frequently from people who tell me, I mean, er, us, that they have cum to me.  That is, to my stories about you.  Any number of people could have cum to me anywhere around the world while you were gone.  And many times at that!”

“Oh,” she says.  “Well, that’s not what I mean.  You just forget about all of them, because you have got the real thing, naked, right here in bed with you right now.”

“Well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you masturbate while you were gone?”

“Frequently.”

“Did you hook up with anyone?”

“Fuck me and you’ll find out.”

“I haven’t seen you for a week.  Can’t we get reacquainted first?”
“Sure.  That sounds like fun.”

I lean in to kiss her.  Our lips meet.  Her tongue finds mine.  She begins to maneuver so that I slide to her neck and her breasts.

“So much for our reacquaintance,” I say.

“I want to get to know you, like really know you, in the biblical sense.”

“I see.”

“My legs are spread, now get in there.”

“Ah,” I say as I slide down her torso, “sweeter words have never been spoken.”

I give soft, gentle kisses to her labia.  She moans. Within moments she is pressing my head hard down onto her clit.  She climaxes without warning.

“Now fuck me, Daddy,” she whispers.

“But I just ate you out.  Don’t you want. . .”

Before I could finish, she says, “Pussy isn’t like cake.”

“What?”

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too.  But you can eat me and have me too.  Now, have me.”

I slide in, penetrating her dripping pussy.  She moans.  She cums.

“I thought you were going to tell me about your time away,” I say, eager to hear her voice and the stories she has to tell.

“Just stay in me and I’ll tell you everything you want to hear.”

I hold her body tightly in my arms and she begins to tell me about how at the hotel bar a guy approached her.  She describes his attractive features and stylish suit.  She adds, “But I knew he wasn’t actually interested in sleeping with me.”

“Why’s that?”

“As we were talking, he told me what I already suspected.  He was gay.  I said to him, ‘What’s a nice gay boy like you doing following a slut like me?’ and he said, he just wanted someone to talk to and I looked approachable.  We talked for a while and then we politely said goodnight.  I went to the elevator to go to my hotel room, horny, but glad to have met someone new.  Just as I got to the elevator at the hotel lobby, a whole team of college hockey players had just arrived on their bus from who-knows-where.  I got to talking to them and a bunch of us went up to my room.  Basically, there were a lot of guys packed into a tight space.”

“Wait,” I said, as I fucked her with more intensity, eager to hear where her story was leading, “are you talking about your hotel room?”

“I was talking about my pussy.”

Before she could go on, I pull out.  (It had been a long time.  The idea of Lo knowing that she looked like a slut in the hotel bar, being approached by a guy, and acknowledging her sluttiness was almost too much for me.  But then, to hear those words from her lips – well, that was beyond my mortal powers.)  I cum and I cum quickly and a lot.  I project a “shooting star” up and over her head, landing on the pillow.

Lola complains that she was just warming up.

“Let me remind you that you came twice to my nill.”

“As it should be,” she says, precociously, adding, “But aren’t you good for at least one more?  I mean, it’s been a fucking week!  A week of no fucking.  You gotta be hard-up enough for one more shag.  All I want to do is bone, but you won’t give me your bone to do it with.”

“I can’t.  I don’t have a bone.  It’s the missing link.”

She takes out her Hitachi to do herself in bed as I go take a shower.  When I’m done, I open the bathroom door to look at her.  “You may go.  I’m busy here,” she says dismissively.

“You may cum,” I reply.  “You certainly seem to love yourself,” I say.

Looking up from her horizontal position on the bed, she says to me, “I feel most confident when making myself climax.  Or maybe I climax just when I feel most confident.  Either way, I’m good at it.”

“Well, all your admirers enjoy it,” I reply, snapping a photo of her.

She looks down between her legs and sees me with my camera out.  She pulls away the Hitachi, spreading her legs wide.  “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille,” she says as I get her puss in focus.

“Say cheese!”

Instead, she lets out a long moan while ejaculating.  I just barely avoid a disaster with my non-waterproof camera.

“I hope you got the money shot,” she says, catching her breath.

“You know, as much as I love you and love to fuck you, it’s difficult to compete with how much you love and fuck yourself.”

“It’s not about quantity, it’s about how deep the love is.”

“How deep is your love?”

She giggles, humming the melody to the song, “How Deep is Your Love,” before telling me, “Masturbation is what self-love looks like in public.”

I turn to leave the room and leave Lo to her own devices, but just as I step into the hall, I hear her screaming at the top of her lungs.  I open the door and see her spouting from between her legs as if a pipe had burst.  She tries to close her legs to shut off the waterworks, but it’s futile.  Might as well let it all out.  When she’s done she turns to me and says, “I came, I saw, I came,” victoriously.

“What did you see?” I ask.

“I think I saw God.”

 

We’re Good

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saying your name.”

“Out loud?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

[Image, of Lola Masturbating by JoKoss.]

Money, Booze, Sex, & Lola

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“Did you see this?” she said, holding a piece of mail in her hand and waiving it in the air.  I could tell by her tone and the scowl on her face, we hadn’t won the Publishers Clearing House prize.

“What?”

“You bounced our rent check!  That’s what.”

“I bounced it?!”

“Yeah, you.”

“Well, it’s our checking account.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one responsible for balancing the books.”

“Oh, so because I do more than my fair share of work, I am also responsible?  No good deed ever goes unpunished in this house!”

“You’re not responsible because you take on the balancing, you’re responsible because you fucked up the balancing.”

“How the hell am I supposed to balance a checkbook when you have the debit card and spend through our cash?”

The fight went on like this for some time before I finally walked out the door.

My phone rang.  I didn’t answer.  I was in the car with no particular place to go other than away.

The phone rang again.  Again I didn’t answer.  I just grew even more heated.  Why should we talk when we’re both angry?

A text came through, “You’re being conflict-avoidant again.”

At a red light I texted back, “And you’re being annoying again.”

The light had changed and the guy behind me honked his horn before I had time to hit send.  I gave him the finger.  Asshole.

I drove to my office – my refuge from the storm.

She called again.

“What?!” I said, answering the phone.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a contrite voice.

I wasn’t expecting an apology.  I was expecting a continuation of the fight.  My tone was completely over-the-top.  But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet.  Her apology was met with silence.

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she asked.

If she was looking for a reciprocation of an apology, then she was sorely mistaken.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Come home,” she said.

“No.”

“Are you going to the bar?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but that’s a good idea.”

“No!  Come home!”

“I might.  It depends on if I’m coming home to a hornet’s nest or not.”

“You won’t!  I promise.  You’ll come home to a horny-nest!”

“Lo, sex isn’t the answer to every one of life’s problems.”

“I’m not looking for answers, I’m looking to get off.”

I returned home, a little more calm.

We talked about money a bit more in quieter tones.  I explained that our finances are just a bit short right now, “but I’m confident things will be better next month.”

“That’s just the problem,” Lo said, exasperated, “you always think that next month will be better than this month.  What if it’s the same?  What if it’s worse?”

“So you’re saying that my worst quality is that I’m an incorrigible optimist? – I can live with that.”

“No!  I’m not saying that’s your worst quality, but that’s what you hear because you are an incorrigible optimist.”

I fixed myself a whiskey on the rocks.

We talked some more before agreeing to revisit the problem another day.  She suggested going out that night.

“Out?!” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.  “Let’s go out and have a good time.  Maybe you can watch me flirt with someone.”

“Here we are, scraping together the pennies from our spare-change jar to pay the rent, and you want to go out?  I’m sorry, I just find the idea of going out tonight repugnant and odious.”

“At least you can masturbate with your words.”

I shot her a look before taking another sip of whiskey.

“Well,” she said as she spread her legs on the couch and rubbed her pussy, “if we can’t go out, can you at least cum in?”

“Why this sudden erotic twist?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I’ve always been erotically twisted.”

“I’m in no mood,” I said.  “You’ll just have to man the torpedoes tonight.”

“I know I don’t look so good tonight,” she said, referring to the mascara that had run when she was crying and the old sweatshirt she was wearing, “but I promise, I feel good,” she said as she put her hand between her legs and rubbed her pussy, revealing that under the oversized sweatshirt, she wasn’t wearing anything else.

“Can I just sleep here tonight?” I asked, feeling tired and comfortable on the couch.

“Are you drunk or just an asshole?”

“Can’t I be both?”

“No, you can’t sleep here tonight.  You’re coming in the bedroom. . . and I will be too, soon!”

We went in the bedroom and I got naked and in the bed.  As I waited for Lo to get out of the bathroom, I dozed off to sleep.  I awoke to find her straddling me, naked, grabbing my cock and using it as a dildo to rub her clit.  I heard her moaning and then fell back to sleep.

The next day I saw that she made a Facebook post at two in the morning.  I asked her about it.  She told me that she couldn’t sleep.  I asked her if she jilled it.  She said, yes.  I asked, “To what?”

“I used you.”

“What?”

“I licked your soft, little, good-for-nothing dick in your sleep until it got hard and then I used the tip of it to jill my clit.

“Yeah, I saw that, but that was right before I fell asleep, around ten o’clock.  You made your post after two in the morning.”

“Well, it worked the first time, so I did it a second. . . and a third.”

I went to sit up and get out of bed, but my body ached and I moaned.

“What’s the matter?” she asked me.

“Nothing.”

“You’re hung over,” she stated.

“No I’m not.  I’m sick.  I’ve been fighting off a cold.”

“You’re dehydrated.”  Her go-to diagnosis.

“No.  Didn’t you see how much water I drank last night?”

“I didn’t see you drink any water.”

“I drank it right in front of you.”

“You drank two whiskeys.  Don’t you remember?”

“Yeah, and what was in the whiskeys? – Ice!!!”

“Why do I even try?”

“I wasn’t even going to have one, but I was so agitated, I felt compelled to have a drink.”

“And how do you explain the second?”

“Well, after the first, my throat didn’t hurt anymore and I was feeling quite good, so I thought: if one caused that much improvement, two will be even better.”

“And was it?”

“Last night it was.”

“And now?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, it was a bad idea.”

“I may be great at making bad choices, but at least I’m great at it.”

“You have to preserve yourself.”

“I’ll buy a jar of formaldehyde.”

“As long as you use it to keep your cock stiff and hard.”

“Watch it babe.  One of these days I’ll be dead and then you’ll miss me.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be married to a rich guy and I’ll have his money to console me.”

“Money won’t make you happy.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I’m willing to give it a shot.  Have I told you my plan?  I’m going to marry a rich man and then keep you on the side.”

“Stop promising and hurry up and do it.  I ain’t getting any younger here.  My plan is to grow old disgracefully, and you’re just the gal to help me do it too.”

Cake & Bar – Interview with a Kinky Amateur Porn Couple

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

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

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

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

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

Q: How long have you been a couple?

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

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

A: Yes, we’re monogamous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HH & Lo: Thanks so much!!!!

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

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