I had been away for three days and I hadn’t heard from Lo. She hadn’t heard from me either because before I left we hadn’t properly made up after our fight. On the fourth day of my five day trip I received a text from her around 6:00 pm. It simply said, “Dinner plans with Robert tonight.”
I
immediately called her. The stalemate of
silence be damned, I had to know the details.
Was this a date? What had
transpired to bring this about? Had she
been having “dinner plans” with Robert all week? There were so many questions swirling in my
mind unanswered. I had to know.
“Hello,”
she said coldly.
“Hello,” I
said imitating her tone.
“Did you
call for something?”
“I just,
um, thought I’d say hi.”
“Hi,” she
said flatly.
“What’s
this I hear about plans with Robert?” I got right to the point since it was
obvious why I was calling and I might as well drop the subterfuge.
“He and I
are going to dinner tonight,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Going out
or going to his place?”
“Out.” She wasn’t revealing many details and I could
tell she was secretly delighting in my curiosity. She was hoping it was a manifestation of
jealously.
“Like, to a
restaurant.”
“That’s
usually where couples go out for dinner.”
“Oh, so now
you’re a couple, are you?”
“I’m just saying,
in general. But there will only be the
two of us.”
“Sounds
romantic,” I said with some sarcasm.
“A gal of
my age, my looks, my intelligence deserves some romance.” Ouch!
Cutting.
“Well, have
a good time.”
“I intend
to.”
“OK,” I
said, hurt from her comment, “bye.”
She just
hung up.
In this
little game of cold shoulder, she was winning because she had a hot body
attached to that cold shoulder. Damnit!
There was
nothing I could do from hundreds of miles away but wait, for I knew that if something
sexual were to happen between them, she wouldn’t delay in telling me, if for no
other reason than to make me jealous.
Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t jealousy I was feeling, but longing,
curiosity, desire, and a prurient prick of stimulation by my groin. In other words, I wanted her. I wanted her to want him and for him to have
her and I wanted to be in on it. But I
was on the outs.
So I
waited. And waited. And waited.
It was past ten, then eleven, and finally midnight when finally I got a
text from her. It read, “Driving
home. You can call me if you want.”
Date Night
She knew
me. In the battle of
who-can-outlast-whom, she outwitted me.
She won. There was nothing to do
but concede defeat. I called
immediately.
“Hi,” I
said mawkishly.
“Oh, hi,”
she said, as if surprised by my call. A
total ruse.
“How was
your night?”
“It was
good.” She wasn’t going to reveal
details until I had shown sufficient interest and she had tortured me to teach
me who is boss.
“What did
you do?”
“We had
dinner.”
“And?” she
knew what I wanted to know.
“And then
went to his house.”
“And?”
“And we
talked.”
“And?” I
was getting very frustrated, but I also knew she was going to put me through my
paces.
“What would
you like to know, Daddio?” she asked.
The use of Daddio meant two things: 1) Something salacious happened; 2)
She felt vindicated enough to return to her proper role.
“You know,
dear.”
“No, I
don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Well
then,” she said, “you’ll just have to fly back home right away and ask me in
person.
“You’re not
going to tell me?!”
“I’m
exhausted and I’m almost home. Have a
safe flight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
So I was
wrong. She hadn’t felt vindicated
enough. She was going to turn the screw
a little tighter and let me lie awake and suffer my own self-inflicted
punishment. Cruel, cruel woman.
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.
Recently
our financial situation improved. In no
small part, Lo’s getting a full-time job has certainly contributed to our
recovering fiscal health. Now that we
aren’t always scraping by to pay the rent or put food on the table, we actually
have a little bit of money that we can set aside for a rainy day. So, trying to be the responsible adults we
pretend to be, we created a joint savings account. I know, nothing says sexy like money in the
bank. Walking home from the bank,
feeling a sense of accomplishment, I said to Lo, “We’ll call our account ‘The
Community Chest.’”
“Community
Chest! – That’s what they called me in college!” she blurted out with a
smile.
I thought she was
joking and said as much.
“No,” she said,
“that’s really what they called me.
There’s a long story there that I’ll tell you when we get home,” she
said, grabbing hold of my hand and pressing her palm into mine.
When we got home,
I started to make myself a sandwich in the kitchen. “So,” I said to her, “what’s the story from
college?”
“What story?” Lo
asked, playing dumb. She loves to tease
me and see that she has succeeded in piquing my interest.
“You know what
story,” I said, taking out the pickles, “the ‘Community Chest’ story.”
She reached down and
slid her hands from her waist up and under her bust, pushing upwards so that
her cleavage bulged out of the neckline of her black tank top. “You like, Daddy?”
“Yes,” I said,
“but I want to hear the story.”
“Kiss them,” she
instructed.
I wagged my pickle
at her (literally, no pun), and said, “Look here, Lo, if you’re trying to get
me to hop in the sack with you and forego this lovely lunch I’ve just made,
you’re in for some disappointment.”
“I’ll be your
lunch,” she said, standing up, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the
kitchen floor. She stood in her little
black lace panties and her black boots.
“Lola,” I said
plaintively.
“You know,” she
paused and thought and then said, “I’m hungry too.” She sauntered over to the fridge like a stripper
on the stage. She bent over, putting her
ass in the air, standing on her tiptoes, and took a long look at the
contents. “I know what I want to eat,”
she said, turning and walking toward me.
What is there to eat?
“Lo. Lo, I see that look in your eye. Lo.”
It was no use. She dropped to her knees on the kitchen
floor. She undid my belt, unbuttoned and
unzipped my jeans, pulled them down, pulled out my hard cock and filled her
mouth with meat.
Snack
“Fuck my face,”
she asked, looking up at me. “Put your
hands here,” she said, moving my hands to her head, “and push me, use me, fuck
my mouth.” I followed instructions. “Harder, Daddy!” she said before I forced her
back on my rod. I had passed the point
of no return and soon I was filling her up as she ravenously swallowed all I
gave her. It all happened in the matter
of a few moments. Then she got up, took
my plate with the sandwich that I had so carefully prepared, and sat at the
table, taking a big bite of it.
“Mmmmmm,” she said, “can I have a glass of seltzer to go with
this?”
“Lo! That was my
sandwich!” I rebuked as I pulled up my jeans.
“I just wanted a
bite. Here you have it.”
“No, it’s yours,”
I said dejectedly as I got her a drink.
“No, I feel
bad. Have half.”
“Fine.” I sat across from her and we ate. “Now,
tell me the story.”
“Well,” she began,
chewing, “you remember Ryan?”
“No, I don’t
remember Ryan.”
“Ryan, the boy
from college.”
“I’m going to need
a little more to go on than that. There
were a lot of boys from college.”
“I told you about
how one night after watching a movie in a friend’s dorm, he and I crashed there
on the sectional couch.”
“I vaguely recall
that.”
“You just want me
to tell you again.”
“Indulge me.”
“Well, we got to
talking in hushed tones about sex.”
“And who initiated
that topic?” I asked sarcastically.
“He was curious
about my masturbatory practices,” she said, ignoring my question. “I told him that I jill it once a day – at
least.”
“Oh yes, I
remember that story now.”
“Well, there’s
more to it than that. Come to the bedroom
and I’ll tell you the rest.”
I followed her
sexy ass to the bedroom, got naked, and climbed into bed with her.
She got on her
back and spread her legs. Putting her
hand down there, under the covers, she continued in breathy tones. “I was masturbating under the covers, like I
am now, as I talked to him in the dark.
I imagined that he was masturbating too.
I asked him about his girlfriend – someone I didn’t really know. He said that he wasn’t too happy with her and
I asked him why he didn’t break up with her.
He said, ‘because she gives really good blowjobs.’ I said, ‘Oh yeah? Tell me how you like it.’ He told me about what she does, adding, ‘but
I don’t think she really enjoys it.’”
Lo was pulling on
her nipples now and squirming in the sheets.
“I was sad to hear
that.”
“I’m sure you were
broken up about it,” I added full of sarcasm.
“I told him, ‘You
should try getting a blowjob from someone who really enjoys it.’”
“Did you give him
one?”
“I really really
wanted to.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“But he was too shy.”
“Too shy?!”
“Or
something. Maybe he felt bad cause of
the girlfriend. Whatever the reason, I
didn’t get to give it to him. I just
masturbated till I came. After that
night, there were many nights when I’d be in my dorm, chatting on Facebook, and
he’d pop up and quickly turn the chat into something sexual.”
“So you had
virtual sex with him?”
“You could say
that.”
“But that still
doesn’t explain how you got the nickname.”
“I’m getting
there. Give me a minute,” she said as
she climaxed.
I
waited for the waves of pleasure to subside.
She
flipped over and lifted her ass up.
“Fuck me, Daddy, and I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”
“Lo,
you just blew me in the kitchen.”
“Come
on! You can do better than that. Can’t you get it up again?”
Her
belittling comments didn’t help the situation.
“Get
behind me and fuck me,” she demanded.
I
got behind her, but I wasn’t hard. She
reached under the bed and passed me her glass dildo. “Use this for now,” she instructed. I slid the smooth, hefty sculpture into her
slippery puss and she continued talking in spurts.
“He
was a gamer and I think he told his nerdy friends about me. Soon they were inviting me over their dorm
rooms to play with them. They each
wanted me to jiggle their joysticks.”
“I
bet they did.”
“They
were all computer geeks and none of them had much sexual experience. Anyhow, I didn’t actually do anything with
them.”
“Nothing?”
I asked in disbelief.
“Not
much, but they made up stories about me.
They each claimed that they fucked me and so they began calling me the
community chest, bragging that they each made a deposit.”
“And
you let them get away with that?”
“Let
them, I got off on it.”
All
this time I was almost mechanically pushing and pulling the glass object in and
out of her puss as she was backing up and pulling forward on her hands and
knees. Now she said, “Harder,
Daddy. Pay attention to what you’re
doing!”
I
tried to give more attention to her puss, but I had more questions for
her. “So,” I asked, “what did you do with them?”
“Well,”
she said, ramping up again, “like I said, they didn’t have much sexual
experience and when I did try to blow one of them he. . .” she broke off and
began her howling orgasm.
I
pulled the dildo out from her and she squirted, involuntarily, all over the
sheets. She thrust her hands between her
legs, trying to stop the sprinkler, and she exclaimed, “Wow! I feel like a fucking Slip-n-Slide!”
“You’re
more fun,” I said.
Collapsing
in the bed when she was done, I brought a towel over and applied it between her
legs and to the sheets. I asked her
again, “What happened?”
“I
squirted,” she said, annoyed at my ignorance.
“No, silly. I mean, what happened with the geek?”
“Oh, well, I was
on my knees and I unzipped his pants, but when I opened up his fly, I saw that
he had already cum. I said to him, ‘Let
me blow you. You can take my tits out of
my top and suck on them,’ but he was so embarrassed that he just zipped up and
left.”
“And
the thought of that made you cum just now?” I asked.
“No,”
she said, “the thought of making all of his friends cum the night that I went
over there to play video games and they watched me finger myself – that made me cum.”
“Tell
me that story.”
“Another
time, Daddio, when I actually have a shot of getting fucked by you,” she said,
closing up shop for the day.
“What’s there to eat in the fridge?” I call to her
through the bathroom door. I had just
gotten home from work and I was famished.
“Nothing,” she calls back as I hear the squeak of her
opening the valves to take a shower.
“Nothing?! I
saw a cucumber in the bottom right drawer.”
“Oh, that’s not for eatin’,” she says. “Come to think of it, will you bring it to me
darling?”
Good grief. I
get the green gourd from the fridge for her and a cold beer for me. I pass her the vegetable when she extends her
hand through the narrow opening of the door.
“Can’t I see you?” I ask.
“No.”
“You do know that I’ve seen you naked before? Most of the internet has seen you naked
before. Probably most of our neighbors
have seen you naked before.”
“I have my shower cap on.”
“Oh, well then.”
The door shuts.
I sit down to read and sip my beer and await her exit from the
bathroom. And wait. And wait.
After her repeated cries to God and profanities that I imagine were
directed at her pleasure-bearing plant, I hear the waterspout squeak off.
Finally she emerges.
Lo is very wet
I whistle at her.
“You look half as good in your clothes as you do out of them.”
“That’s insulting!”
“Would you prefer the opposite: You look twice as good
in your clothes as you do out of them?”
“How about you just say I look fabulous.”
“You look fabulous, darling. And delicious. I had no dinner. Can I please eat you from bottom to top?”
“Oh, Daddy, I have to catch my breath,” she says,
lying naked on the bed next to me.
“You do that and I’ll caress your snatch with my
tongue.”
She puts her laptop over her shaved triangle and opens
it up.
“Darling,” I ask, “what are you doing now?”
“Just checking some email and sprucing up some social
media accounts.”
Dejected, I get up off the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m taking off my work clothes and. . .”
“Getting naked?” she asks, licking her lips.
“If that would please you.”
“Will you lie next to me?”
“As you wish,” I say, somewhat sarcastically.
I sit next to her, reading my book as she scrolls
through pages with her right hand. Her
left hand is resting on my cock. It
grows in her palm. I put down my book
and turn on my side, rhythmically fucking her fist. Unconsciously, she allows it, but doesn’t
enthusiastically respond to it. She’s
engrossed in whatever it is she’s reading.
After a couple of moments, I look at what is on her
screen. It’s a page of nearly naked
women.
Just as I was enjoying seeing her in the naked flesh
next to me, and also her pixilated portrait resting just above her pink vulva
on her laptop computer, she scrolls away from the page. And, to make matters worse, she removes her
hand from my hard rod.
“Now what are you doing?” I ask.
“It’s well known that lists create
web traffic and a fan asked me to list six facts about my body.”
“Clickbait,” I respond.
“You can call it that,” she says,
but I think I’m the real bait.
Clitbait, you might say.” She
strokes her bean under the computer as she says it.
She returns her hand to the keyboard
and writes:
Six Facts About My Body:
It is an instrument of pleasure.
It is a canvass for cum.
It inspires creativity.
It drives people crazy.
It drives me crazy.
I love it.
“Not bad,” I say.
She ignores my compliment because now she is engaged in
answering emails.
One guy asks, “Who are you?”
“Cum and find out,” writes Lo, followed by, “Wait, reverse
that.”
Another guy sends a dick
pic. Lola tells him that if he is going
to do that, he has to send one with her photo in the frame. He replies, “I don’t usually send dick pics.”
“I bet you say that to all the
sluts,” she replies snidely.
I can see that she is getting excited. Her right hand moves to her chest and she
pulls at her nipples, making them erect.
“Looks like you’re ready to give
some pointers,” I say.
Another fan read the story, “Divine Destinies,” about Lo’s immaculately pure pink posterior flower. He wrote to Lo requesting some steamy chat, adding that, “I love to talk about dirty things.”
Lo, taking offense at this, replies,
“Are you suggesting that the pinnacle of my success is ‘dirty’?”
“Lo,” I say, “turn over and I’ll
take a pic of my tongue deeply penetrating your perineum and we’ll show him how
you’re more beautiful than Charlene and Mr. Clean.”
She chuckles and asks, “How the hell
do you know that song?”
“My brain isn’t as old as my body.”
“If by that mean you mean that
you’re immature, then you’re right.”
“Roll over.”
She closes her laptop and I think I’m in luck, but
then she takes out her phone. She does
turn onto her tum and begins going through photos from fans. “I just need a little something to wet my
whistle, if you know what I mean,” she says, as she puts her right hand down
between her pussy lips and strokes, then, using that natural lubricant, moves
to her porn star.
She passes me the phone and says, “Look what I found
in my in-box!”
I, looking at both her boxes intently at that moment,
take the phone from her.
“Read it aloud,” she says, “I’m all ears. . . and
vagina.”
I see a long email from a fan, a woman named “Jen X.” It reads:
As I read the lusty letter, Lo is
having finger fun time between her legs and her feet are working in tandem to
stroke my cock. The words are so poetic
and prurient that I very nearly cum. Lo
can feel it and she turns and says, over her shoulder, “I just got out of the
shower. I didn’t wash my hair and I
don’t intend to today. If you cum, don’t
cum in my hair.”
“Do
you think Audrey Hepburn ever said that to Gregory Peck?”
“Look,
I aim to please, so please be sure to aim.”
Just
as she says it, I take aim and hit my mark, right between her shoulder
blades.
Painting on Canvas
After
I recoup, I get up and go to the bathroom to clean myself off. There, on the sink, is her giant
cucumber. “Do you think this is still ok
to eat?” I call to Lo.
“What,
your cock?”
“Well
that too, but I was referring to your veggie vagina filler.”
“Oh,
I’m not done with it yet. Toss it here.”
I
do so and I also return to the bedroom to get dressed.
“Where
do you think you’re going?” she asks as she stuffs herself full of the jolly
green giant.
How about this?
“To
the store to get something for dinner.
Do you want anything?”
“How
about an eggplant. This is not nearly
enough to feed me.”
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cunnilingus, wild poetry and naked reading, sucking cocks, bare mons pubis,
tantric solo sessions, and horse cocks.
(OK, I may have developed that list from the search terms people have
used to find the blog.)
Sometimes,
my voyeuristic companion, Lola and I just simply engage in wordless, intimate
erotic lovemaking. Is that so hard to
believe?
Take
for instance the other night. It was a
Tuesday or a Wednesday. There was
nothing particularly special about it.
We may have watched a movie or a couple of short comedies. We grew tired of lying on the couch
decompressing from our busy workday and went to bed. The usual: brushing teeth, remove clothes,
hop under covers.
I
was tired. She was tired. I thought nothing would happen, but then she
reached over and grabbed my package under the sheets and fondled until she
achieved the desired result. She spread
her legs, slapped her pussy twice, and said, “I’m open for business.”
I
climbed on top of her and slowly slid the seat of my desire inside. She squeezed her breasts with her hands and
said, “Suck my nipples, Daddy.”
I
complied.
She
moved her right hand down to her crotch and began stroking her clit in slow, vertical
movements. I could feel the tip of her
index finger on the base of my shaft. I
could feel the knuckle in her finger up against my pelvis. I could feel her wrist bent just under my
bellybutton each time I thrust.
She
slowly moved from her clit into her chamber.
Her finger was noodling up the length of my rod, trying to make its way
to her G-spot. I felt her getting
deeper, crowding me for space. Then she
inserted her middle finger as well. The
two fingers worked in tandem. I could
feel the knuckles on the top of my cock and the fingertips at the tip of my
cock. She had reached the spot. She masturbated as I fucked.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“There,”
she said, as if to me, but really as if to say, “Yes, my fingers, there is the
goal of your journey.”
She
came, a quiet, deep moaning orgasm. Her
pussy clenched then loosened. She
inserted the rest of her fingers of her right hand to make up for the slack. Then she grabbed the other side of her pussy
with her left hand and I could feel all eight fingertips like some sort of sea
anemone wiggling and wriggling inside her, flowing with the waves. She pulled the side walls of her cunt apart
with her hands so wide that I no longer felt anything.
“Daddy,
do you think that if I spread myself like this as a gang of men surrounded me,
that each one of them could go in me, cum, and then let the next one in?”
Lo’s Fantasy
It
was a bizarre question. It didn’t quite
make sense, but since when does sex make sense?
The imagery was vivid enough for me to do just that – cum inside her
gaping hole.
“I
love you, Daddy,” she said.
“And
I’m balls-deep in love with you.”
OK,
so I lied. I don’t know if we ever
actually do have wordless, intimate erotic lovemaking. But, so what?
I like it and so does she.
A
July vacation at a beach house for a week can be the perfect antidote to all of
your problems. Unless that vacation is a
family reunion and the beach house is for thirty people. And among those thirty people are married
dads in their forties and fifties who are in good shape. And your girlfriend is Lo. Then, you might have ninety-nine problems,
but Lo is the only one you have to really worry about.
That
was the case this week. Every seven
years or so my extended family decides that we should make a pilgrimage from
all the corners of the globe, rent one enormous house on the beach with enough
bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate us all, and stay under one roof for seven
days straight. We have been doing this
for a few decades now, but we hadn’t had one of these since I started dating
Lola.
She
hadn’t met most of my family – only heard about them through various stories I
told her and, to be fair, with thirty of them, I doubt that she really could
tell one from the other without having met them in person. But this week, right in the middle of July,
we were all going to be up-close and personal with each other. Foolishly, I hadn’t thought of warning her
prior to our departure. This was my
family. Did I need to warn her? Apparently so.
You
see, if I do say so myself, I come from a very good looking family. My brothers and sisters and my cousins have
certain family features in common – features that drive Lo wild. I’d even venture to say that, of the lot of
us, I am probably the least physically attractive. My male relatives all have strong-cut jaws,
expressive eyes, and the classic broad shoulder tapering to a thin waist. They are very health conscious, for many of
them were athletes even through college.
My female relatives share many of the same good genes that have
preserved their looks into midlife. And
they are married to rather attractive spouses.
Throw
into this mix of middle-age men – all walking around topless, biking, kayaking,
swimming, cooking, and being dads to their respective kids – a twenty something
nymphomaniac with daddy issues wearing a skimpy bikini and you have just
brought all sorts of wrath down upon your head.
Such was my lot for a week.
It
began innocently enough. We were on the
beach with a few of my cousins. The sun
was blazing and the waves were rough and tumble. We had our boogie boards with us and, after a
beer, Lo said she wanted to ride the waves with me. We grabbed the boards and went into the
refreshing water, waded out past the crashing waves and waited for the right
moment. As we were out there, Lo turned
to me and said, “Daddio, I’m so wet!”
“We’re
in the ocean, Lo. Of course you’re wet,”
I replied.
“I
don’t mean like that,” she said with a devilish grin.
Before
I could respond, a wave came and soon she and I were soaring towards the shore
atop the white crest of the surf.
Conditions were just right for multiple sorties. She looked happy, like a little girl. I had never seen her see so happy. She was grinning from ear-to-ear. What I didn’t realize, since I was next to
her for most of the wet-n-wild rides, was that each and every time we caught a
wave and were carried in atop the undulating surge, Lo’s bikini top would be
pushed downward and, each and every time she stood up from the excursion, her
breasts were popping out, wet and glistening in the sun for all my cousins to
see.
I
only found out about this later, when, back in the house, she got naked in the
bathroom with me to take a shower. “Are
you mad, Daddy?” she asked.
“Why
would I be mad?” I said as I saw her perfectly tanned body before me.
“Because
of my ‘accidents’ at the beach.”
“What
accidents?” I asked, naively.
Then
she told me about her struggles with keeping her top on her tits.
We
got in the shower together and washed each other down with body-soap. It was one of those large shower/hot tubs
that had a comfortable seat to sit. I
told Lo to sit down below me and spread her legs. She did so, mistakenly thinking that I was
going to put my cock in her mouth. She
opened up to receive me, but, instead, I took aim and let lose, releasing the
golden stream formed from the many beers I had had on the beach. She relished in the warm stream I doused her
in, covering her tits and tum, puss and feet.
When I was good and done, she pulled my hand down and reversed positions
with me and, putting one foot up on the ledge, she took aim and allowed me to
get it just as good as I gave it.
Then
she got down on her knees on the floor of the shower and took my hard cock in
her mouth, fondling my balls with her right hand as her left rested on my
knee. Her long, wet, dark hair bobbed up
and down under the stream of the shower.
She wanted me to cum, that was clear.
She worked hard to earn my ejaculatory appreciation, but I denied her
the satisfaction of completion. Before
she got lockjaw, we got out of the shower and dried off.
She bent over the
bed, her ass beckoning me. It was my
turn to get on my knees and worship her tumescent pussy lips with my
tongue. She tasted sweet and I wanted
more. I buried the tip of my tongue as
deep as it would go in her cunt and then in her ass and back again and
again. She came multiple times, her cum
dripping down the sides of my mouth and saturating my beard as it streamed down
my neck onto my chest. I delighted in
making her so wet. Due to the cramped
living quarters, she had to bite her lower lip and swallow her orgasmic
screams. She buried her head in the
pillow to moan and groan.
At some point I
heard the sound of a radio playing from the pool area outside our window. AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” was narrating
the scene.
She was a fast
machine,
She kept her motor
clean
They sang as I
licked the smooth mons pubis of Lo from behind.
She could take it no longer and she crawled forward on the bed like a
wounded soldier out of the heat of battle.
She rolled over, exhausted already, and spread her listless legs.
She was the best
damn woman that I’d ever seen.
I slid in her
pussy with my aching rod and, honestly, I couldn’t feel a thing. Just wet.
So wet. At the very instant of my
shaft lodging deep inside her, she came in waves – waves like those of the
ocean that we were riding just a little while earlier. After her quick climax, she was suddenly
filled with new energy. She rolled me
over onto my back and slid her wet slit down the length of my solid pole,
kneeling on top of me as she pulled and pinched her nipples. I grabber by her hips and rocked her forward
and back, slishing and sliding over my hips.
She had a certain
size,
Telling me no
lies,
Knocking me out
with those American thighs.
She came
again. Again, all I could feel was
wetness cascading down upon me.
She dropped her
head down to bite on my neck and then she slid off of my rod slowly as her
tongue slid down my chest, over my abs, eventually resting at my cock. She took it all in her mouth and down the
back of her throat.
Taking more than
her share,
She had me
fighting for air,
She told me to
cum, but I was already there.
I filled her with
my pent-up power. But she wasn’t done –
no, not by a longshot.
She wanted no
applause,
Just another
course,
Made a meal out of
me,
And came back for more.
Had to cool me
down
To
take another round,
Now
I’m back in the ring
To
take another swing!
She
licked and sucked, bobbed up and down, and opened wide for my balls –
everything and anything she could do to get me back up and hard again. When she finally succeeded, she lowered
herself slowly on me once more and grabbed me, letting her nipples gently touch
mine as she let her body become enfolded in mine. I wrapped my arms around her and held her
tight.
Shower Time
From her state of
delirium, she began whispering in my ear.
“You know,” she
said in a hushed tone, “I think your family likes me.”
“I’m sure they
do,” I said.
“I mean,
especially your brothers. They really
like me.”
“I think they
really liked what they saw.”
“And I liked what
I saw.”
“What was that?” I
asked as I felt her excitement increasing with the taboo things coming out of
her mouth. I slowly moved my hands from
her back to her thighs, to her ass cheeks, and then I pulled them, spread them,
and placed my index finger on her special spot.
“They’re so
built,” she said enthusiastically, “so mature.”
“You mean old.”
“Not old.”
“Older than me.”
“Yeah, but in such
good shape.”
“I see,” I said,
knowing where she was going. . . and liking it.
“And so big.”
“Big?” I asked as
I entered her ass with my finger.
“Their cocks. Their balls.
Wearing a Speedo. . .”
She couldn’t
finish her thought. She was cumming and
cumming harder than any of the previous times.
My finger was deep inside her and I could feel her clenching up on it
and releasing multiple times.
When she was done,
all orgasms finally brought to fruition and her body exhausted, she said to me,
“That last orgasm, it felt just like I was riding that boogie board. It felt like I was riding that wave, topless,
the sea carrying me, lifting me, thrilling me, covering me with spume and salt
and sun.”
“Did you cum when
you were out there?”
“I think I might
have, a little bit.”
“You really are a
nymph, fucked by Poseidon himself.”
“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.”
“You are beautiful.
Your eyes are beautiful. Your
mouth is beautiful. Your breasts are
beautiful. Your cunt is beautiful.”
Lola Down, spread wide
I was reading a message Lo received on her phone from
an admirer of the blog.
“A regular Shakespeare, that one,” I said.
“I think it’s sweet,” she responded, as her left hand
began to fondle her pussy lips under the covers.
“Sweet?! He
left out your hair, your nose, your neck, your shoulders, your tum, your ass,
your legs, your feet, and your toes!”
“I’m sure he was going to get there,” she said
matter-of-factly.
“Can I get there?” I asked, sounding a bit desperate
for affection, or her attention.
“Get where?” she asked, playing with me.
“Anywhere.
Between your legs, ideally.”
“Let’s see where this goes,” she said about her
internet friend, unfortunately, and not about my bid for her caress.
“I know where this
goes,” I said, putting her hand on my hard rod.
I was hard because her internet friend had sent a slew of photos of
himself jacking off to her pics and cumming all over them. She looked good in the sexy photos.
“Daddy,” she said, protesting, “I’m busy trying to
please my loyal fans.”
“I don’t mind, as long as you do it while spreading
your legs.”
“I’m spreading the love.”
“Can you spread the love wide enough for me to get in
on it?”
“Your pussy looks pretty and gorgeous,” wrote another
fan.
“It is pretty, gorgeous, wet and waiting to be
filled,” she wrote back.
“Me, me!” I said, “Pick me.”
“Calm down, Daddio,” she said, full of vanity fed by
her fans’ flattery.
“Tell me more about you,” wrote another internet
correspondent.
“Read the books,” typed Lo, “There’s
too much to tell and too many people to tell it to.”
“You’re hard, girl,” responded the inquirer.
“Funny, everyone tells me I’m easy,” quipped Lo, “and
that makes them hard.”
“I love your stories,” wrote one female fan.
“H.H. writes. I
inspire,” wrote Lo to her.
“Do you inspire with your body?”
“And my wit.”
“I’m inspired right now!” I said to Lo as I grabbed my
cock firmly. “They all are cumming to
you. Can I cum to you?”
“Cum to, on, in, with, over, under, around, beside – I
provide the pussy. You pick the
preposition,” she said, dismissively.
I got up on my knees and stood over her, jacking my
cock.
“Just don’t cum on my phone,” she said as she
continued to scroll through her contacts.
She continued to fondle herself beneath me for a while
before she said, “Daddio, lie down next to me.
I’ll help you.”
I lay down and she grabbed me by my shaft. “I’m your righthand man,” I said as she jacked
me off with her right and scrolled with her left.
“My wife is nothing like you,” wrote one desperate,
sad husband.
“You two should
read our blog together. It would open up
her mind. . . and pussy.”
“I could never
suggest it,” he wrote, “she’d freak!”
“But you like it?”
asked Lo.
“God yes,” he
sighed through the medium of type.
“Tell me what a young, sexy, slutty person such as
myself does for you.”
“I’d love to eat your yummy, sloppy, used, cum-filled
holes,” he wrote.
“Another bard!” I opined sarcastically.
“Shut up and cum,” commanded Lo as she tugged more
aggressively.
“Are you in a rush?” I asked.
“Both hands are full,” she said, “leaving nothing for
my snatch.”
“I’ll happily fill that gap.”
“You stay right where you are,” she ordered.
“Has she ever caught you jacking off?” wrote Lo to her
married man.
“No. It would
be a big deal if she did. It would be an
even bigger deal if she caught me jacking off to you and not to porn.”
“I am porn,” protested Lo.
“I mean, it’s one thing to get off to anonymous,
vacuous, impersonal, professionally produced porn and it’s quite another thing
to get off to you.”
“That’s more like it,” responded Lo.
“That’s it, I’m getting up and out of bed,” I said.
“But nooooo.”
“Yes. You’re
just treating my cock like it a joystick to your favorite video game.”
“A game I always win.”
She continued stroking.
“Are you into length or girth?” asked her internet
interloper.
“I’m into cock.
And cock gets into me.”
“Once again, I must protest!” I said. “You’ve got a very capable, compatible, and
coveted cock right here, but you’re not letting it into you!”
“What, ole man, my right hand isn’t enough for you?”
“Not when you’re teasing those guys about how fast and
loose you like to play.”
A new fan chimed in, “I
have to stop sinning. I’m religious,
that’s why I can’t go on doing this.”
“Sex is
spiritual. And I’m a sex goddess. Worship at my alter,” replied Lo.
“Now you’re
offering theology lessons?” I chided.
“No. Just encouraging them to be good
semenarians.”
“That was
terrible. Low hanging fruit,” I replied.
She cupped
my testicles and said, “Very low hanging.”
“Oh, does your wit never cease?!”
Now
she squeezed my balls to show me that I had better be careful about mocking
her.
Another
woman asked Lo if she liked taboo tales.
To which Lo responded, “How
taboo are we talking here?”
The woman said she was into watersports and bestiality.
Lo wrote back, “Let’s knot.”
“Don’t you mean. . . oooooh, I get it,” I said.
“Woof!” she said to me.
The woman, whose name was Mila Beijne., went on to tell a little story.
I was a model a
few years back and after doing a shoot I was talking a bit with the
photographer, the lighting guy and his assistant. They invited me to their home. I trusted them and liked them. We were all horny and I was willing, I admit. At the photographer’s home we had some drinks
and then they slowly undressed me. They
got naked too. They were all good looking men and one was really hung. They
kissed me everywhere and started fucking me in my mouth, pussy, and ass. I was very horny. After quite a long time,
they changed positions, each taking a different hole. Then they rotated again and fucked me a long
time again till I was exhausted. They
filled me up in every place they could. But
the fun was not over yet. One put me on
the floor and the other started urinating over me. Then the other two joined in.
It was a lot and all over my body and in
my long hair. There was no shower, so it
was a special experience driving home.
It was my first time doing that and I liked how the act showed their dominance
over me.
Mila asked to be included.Mila B. through the years
I could see Lo getting increasingly more excited as she read the short little story from Mila. She quickly wrote back, “Yeah, HH does that to me. I love it. Being below him, feeling his warm stream flow over my back and butt.”
“We haven’t done that in a while,” I
reminded her.
She ignored me because another fan
had written to her. This guy was
old. I mean, like twenty years older
than I and I’m in my 50’s! His name was
Bob and he wrote:
Hi Lola, and thank you!
You are an inspiration to me. I
hope you can give me some advice.
I’m in my 70’s and I’ve been in a relationship for over 25 years. No passion or sex for the last 20 years. I’m at a loss as it has become impossible to
talk about it with her. I’ve made the
mistake of combining our lives and living situations this whole time. It has become all about her for the last
several years. I feel I’m too old to
begin another relationship with a woman, yet I still admire all women and all
that I see on your blog. I’ve even
become curious about men as I feel that may be the only way to explore my
unresolved sexual fantasies. Yet I’m
still conflicted as I long for an intimate relationship that I’ve missed in my
life.
Do you have any suggestions??
Lola wrote back, “To tell you the truth, Bob, I’m just good wanking material, but I’m not a sex coach or a sex therapist. You might want to check out one of these trained professionals to get some expert advice on having more sex with spirit.” She provided a link. Then she added, “But if you’re looking for a real hotwife, cum to me.”
“What?!” I said to her, shocked that
she’d even offer that to him.
She ignored me and
typed, “I have a very soft spot for old married men whose wives no longer have
sex with them. Would you like to see
it?”
Of course he said
yes. Lo sent him a naughty pic of the
place between her legs that she was denying to me.
“Lo, that’s just
cruel!” I said.
“What? Soon you’re going to be that old and you’d
want the same from me. Wouldn’t you?”
“What’s cruel is
that I’m that old man who is being denied right now!”
“If what I’m
giving you isn’t good enough, then take matters into your own hands,” she
said.
As
she said it, another married man was singing her praises in a message that
read, “I’ve come to worship your holy holes.”
“See,”
she said, “I’ve got fans who know how to woo me.”
“Woo
you? They worship you!”
“What’s
the difference?”
After
some flirtatious back-and-forth, Lo asked to see a pic of the man’s wife.
He
asked why she wanted to see that and Lo responded, “I like to see who I’m
beating out when guys are beating off to me.”
The
guy sent a photo. His wife was
beautiful. But apparently she lacked the
‘personality’ of Lo. He wanted to know
more about Lo and he asked her questions.
“I’m
like an open book, there for anyone to read,” she responded, “You just have to
know where to find me. Are you familiar
with the Dewey Decimal system?”
“Like, in the library?”
“Yeah.”
“So, I can find you in my local
library?”
“If only,” wrote Lo, “I’m indexed
under XXX.”
“As in 30?” he wrote with a winkface
emoji. “Still pretty young.”
“Pretty, young, and slutty. I’ll tell you what, you can virtually finger
my folios at: mysexlifewithlola.com,” she said, “and you can also buy the books
there. I suggest you get a few copies of
each and donate the extras to your local library so everyone can spread my
centerfold for free.”
As Lo was typing, she guided my cock
to her mouth and wrapped her lips around the tip. She looked up at me as her hand continued to glide
back and forth from the base to her mouth.
I began to cum and she hungrily held me in place so as not to spill a
drop. I was so worked up that I couldn’t
control my convulsions. I began
breathing deep, heavy breaths. Lo looked
up at me and said, “What?! Are you having
a stroke?”
When I finally managed to catch my breath, I looked
down at her and said, “Yeah, I’m having a stroke. A really good stroke.”
Lo
wrote a final line to her fans: “Good night all you kinky sexy rogues. Dream of me in your debauched nocturnal
thoughts.”
She put her phone down, grabbed her Hitachi, lay back,
shut her eyes, and began vibrating until she was the one violently convulsing,
squirting, and gasping for air.
When she was done and had removed the Magic Wand from
between her legs, she grabbed my hand and placed it on her bare pussy for me to
feel how wet she was. She’s proud that
she can turn on the tap almost at will.
“Pull my pussy lips, Daddy,” she said. I stretched them. “Harder.”
I pulled more. “Harder Daddy,”
she complained.
“Lo, if I pull them any further they’ll be down to
your knees.”
“Try it,” she said.
She likes the pain or pleasure.
As I pulled I asked her, “What were you thinking about when you came?”
“I think about you.”
This line from her was as false as Marlow telling Kurtz’s
betrothed that Kurtz’s last words were her name.
“OK, that’s enough of that,” I said, calling
bullshit. “What did you really think about?”
“I think about you,” she said. “And I think about cock. I think about a lot of cock.”
“That’s it?”
“And pussy.”
I gave up there knowing that the
litany of licentious thoughts could go on endlessly. I sat silently and she mistook my silence for
judgment.
“You don’t know
what it’s like to be me!” she blurted out defensively.
“Oh yeah, you’ve
got it so hard,” I said sarcastically.
“I wish,” she said
even more sarcastically as she lifted up my flaccid member in her hand.
“You know,” I said, “your porn persona and your
personality are not consistent.”
“What are you talking about?”
“All those people out there thinking you’re a
nymphomaniac, thinking that I am so inundated with your pussy that I barely can
find a moment’s peace, yet the reality is that you denied me just now.”
“There’s no inconsistency.”
“How not?”
“Because I know you’re going to write about this and
so it will be part of my porn persona.”
It
was Mother’s Day and Lo was bent over the bed, looking at her phone. Her red dress was flipped up and over her
hips, exposing her ass and lovely pussy lips.
I mounted her and she told me the following story:
‘Fuck!’ I
heard her call from the bathroom. A few
moments later, ‘God damnit!’ I was nervous.
I was
feeding the little one in his high chair and the other two were watching
TV.
‘Can I
help?’ I asked through the closed door.
‘Yes,’ I
heard after a moment. ‘Lola can you come
in here?’
I slowly
opened the bathroom door to find her, the mom whose kids I’d be babysitting
that night, struggling with her manual breast pump, trying to express some milk
for the baby. Her long green gown was
folded down over her hips, leaving her torso completely exposed. She was clearly stressed.
‘Lo,’ she
said, ‘I can’t get this damn thing to work.
It’s not sealing properly around my nipple or something. I know this is awkward, but can you. . .’ She didn’t finish her sentence. She thought of how to say it. And then she just came out with it. ‘Can you hold the bottle for me over my
nipple?’
I wasn’t
one to say no to her, ever. I walked up
to her. She unscrewed the suction cup
top of the bottle off and passed the container to me. I held it up to her breast, shyly at
first. She used one hand to pull on her
long nipple and then she used both hands to gently squeeze her breast. It was awkward, to say the least, with me
standing in front of her half-naked body as she milked herself.
She looked
right at me and said, ‘Thank you. I’m
already late and that thing is so cumbersome to use.’
‘No
problem,’ I said, smiling foolishly. I
had a crush on her since the day I met her.
She had frequently gotten naked in front of me, as if it was no big
deal. But now she was taking things to a
different level. I looked at her big,
full breasts and I almost leaned in to suck them myself.
The bottle
was about half full and she said, ‘My fingers are cramping from this. Would you mind?’
What?! She wanted me to milk her?! Would I
mind? Nothing would make me happier at
that moment, except, as I said, sucking her tits myself.
I got
behind her and she held the bottle to her other breast. I gently squeezed with both hands. She used one hand to pull on her nipple and
get the milk flowing. Soon I was
expressing her like a pro, squirting it out into the jar. She was so full, so ready.
She said, ‘Oh,
God that feels good,’ in a way that sounded like I was making her cum. She added, ‘You have no idea how painful it
can be to skip a feeding. It just has to
come out.’
It was all
over way too quickly. She dried off her
nipples. A task I would have happily
done with my mouth. And then she put on
her special bra and I helped her with her dress, zipping her up from the
back.
‘Thank you,
Lo,’ she said as she put the nipple on the top of the bottle. ‘Hopefully that will be enough for tonight.’
As
Lo told me this story, she was looking at various videos of lactating women and
I was going at her from behind. She had
never before told me her kink for lactation, but I was very, very glad to hear
it.
My
good friend John from Seattle and his three sons (ages twelve through eighteen)
came over to visit while they had winter break.
They were in our town looking at colleges for the oldest and enjoying a
bit of vacation – skiing, museums, historical sites. I hadn’t seen John for a couple of years and
I was glad that, instead of booking a hotel, he asked to stay with us for the
four days they were here. I suppose I
should have known, however, that having all that testosterone under one roof
would drive Lo wild.
It’s
hard to keep Lo’s libido under wraps in the best of circumstances, but fill the
house with four male guests, three of whom need to sleep in the living room,
and, well, keep on reading.
One of the days that John and the boys were visiting, Lola came home from teaching her night class at the local community college where she has been guest lecturing on sex and sexuality in the Woman’s Studies department. She walked in the door in her knee-high black leather boots with the tall heels and her hip-hugging tight red dress. She looked. . . voluptuous. She said a quick hello and then grabbed a glass of Cabernet and joined us in the living room where the boys were sitting, playing games or texting on their smart phones or iPads, and John and I were quietly talking.
“I’m
so disgusted!” Lo began.
“What? What happened? Did class not go well?” I inquired.
“I
know it sounds ridiculous for a woman in her twenties to say it, but honestly,
kids these days!”
“What
happened?” asked John.
The boys turned their attention to Lo. Or, rather, they had looked up from their blue-glowing technology the moment Lo walked in the door and now Lo had their rapt attention. She sat on the couch and said, “Not that many years ago, when I was an undergrad, I wouldn’t have even thought of texting during class. I mean, yes, I would be on my laptop and not always taking notes, but isn’t it a sign of disrespect to openly text during a class?”
“Don’t
you have a policy against it or something?” I asked.
“Yes,
of course I do! But these two guys in
the front row – they are on their phones the whole time. They’re texting and even passing their phones
back-and-forth between them. I’ve said
something to them privately. I’ve called
them out before the whole class. Now I’m
done. I’ll just fail them.”
“It
would suck to fail at sex,” John quipped.
“You
teach about sex?” asked his middle boy.
“It’s
more than just sex – it’s about consent, the media, law, intersectionality,” Lo
began, but she lost his attention after the word sex.
We
talked a bit more and then the boys asked if they could watch some TV. To my great surprise, they wanted to watch
“Gilmore Girls” on Netflix.
“Really?”
I asked. “That show was popular like
twenty years ago.”
“Let’s
be real, it never was popular,” said Lo.
“You
used to watch it?” I asked.
“On
occasion.”
“So
why do you boys want to see it? Isn’t it
like a chick-lit show?”
“HH,
you’re so gender-conforming. Not
everything breaks down easily along gender-roles,” said Lo sarcastically, with
a hint of irony in her eyes as she spoke to me.
“Why
don’t you let the boys answer?” I shot back.
“Haven’t
you heard,” asked one of them, “they’re bringing ‘Gilmore Girls’ back.”
“What?”
I asked.
“Yeah,
like ‘Arrested Development’ and ‘The X-Files,’ it’s making a comeback on
Netflix.”
“Oh.”
I said, learning something new, “but that doesn’t explain the appeal to you,” I
said to the boys.
“It’s
a good show,” they said as they clicked it on.
“Watch and you’ll see.”
We
watched a couple of episodes together as we ate some Chinese food we had had
delivered.
Around
midnight we went to bed and, in the bedroom, Lo removed her tight red dress
revealing that all she had on under it was her bra.
“No
panties?” I asked.
“I
can’t take the chance of panty-lines in this dress – not with a room full of
students watching my every move.”
“Don’t
you think that that can be a bit distracting?”
“What
do you mean?” she asked as she slipped out of her bra and stood naked, looking
at herself in the mirror.
“You
know what I mean. You’re just fishing
for a compliment.”
She
batted her eyelashes at me and asked, “Aren’t I just the sort of bait that
would lure compliments?”
“That
you are.”
“Well,
what are you waiting for?”
“Don’t
you think that the class will be studying your every curve if you wear dresses
like that?”
“Like
what?”
“Let’s
just say that a dress like that on a body like yours should be enough to
distract anyone from their phones.”
“I
have no idea what you mean,” she said disingenuously.
“Haven’t
you ever read ‘The Scarlet Letter’?”
“Yes.”
“Well,
that’s The Scarlet Letter of dresses my dear.”
“So,
you give my dress an ‘A’?”
“Ugh.”
“What
do you think of me without my dress?”
“Can’t
you tell?” I asked, displaying for her my member standing at attention.
“Though
your sign language is easy enough to interpret, tell me. I like your words.”
“I
think your breasts look pretty and perky.”
“Go
on,” she said as she pulled and twisted her nipples, running her fingers over
them to make them even more erect.
“And
your shoulders are incredibly strong and sexy.”
“More.”
This
went on for some time with me complimenting the small of her back, her smooth
legs, her elegant feet. Then she said,
“You haven’t even mentioned my butt. I
mean, even I want my butt. If I could be with me, I would fuck my
butt.”
Finally
she got into bed and said, “Don’t you want to fuck my butt?”
“That
I do!”
I
got behind her as she was on all fours and she licked her finger and ran it
round her special spot as if pointing out the target. “Go ahead, Daddio, but be slow and gentle.”
As
I began to penetrate her, she moaned aloud.
“Lo,
shhhh. We have guests.”
I
ran it in deeper. She moaned louder and
said, “Gentle!”
“Right. Now Shhhh.”
I
lodged myself deep inside her extremely tight spot and she said, “Stay right
there. Does it feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now let me do the work.”
I
remained still as she lunged forward and back, slowly at first, but increasing
in speed like a locomotive beginning to pull away from the station.
“You
know, Lo,” I whispered, “I have a distinct image in my mind.”
“And
what’s that?” she said as she was slowly churning away.
“Those
two boys sitting in the front row of your class, showing each other the texts
on their phones that you told us about. . .”
“Yeah?”
“I
like to think that they found your photos on the internet and now they’re
looking at them as you teach.”
“RED!”
she said, referring to our fantasy rule of The Raunchy Game. Red means, nope, you just crossed a
line. “That’s my worst nightmare,” she
said, “stop right there.”
Despite
her words, I could feel her orgasm beginning to surface. Not wanting to lose the moment, I said,
“Well, I can also imagine them sitting in the front row surreptitiously taking
your picture with their phones or their computers or something and then saving
the pics for later and jacking off to them in their dorm room.”
Lo
was coaxing the orgasm and sliding on-and-off my cock, forward-and-back. “Yessss,” she moaned. “Do you think they jack off to the pics
together?”
“I
wouldn’t doubt it,” I said. “I bet they
do it every night after class.”
“My picture’s
worth a thousand orgasms,” she said as she came, quite loudly.
When she was done,
the two of us were lying on our backs looking up into the darkness of the
room. “Can I ask you a weird question?”
I asked.
“I love your weird
questions.”
“When we were
watching ‘Gilmore Girls’ tonight, did you sense something odd about it?”
“Besides the fact
that it’s always Friday, the town has
five people that live in it, Emily and Richard Gilmore are cliché cutouts of
‘rich people’ and that every problem on the show is a privileged white-person
problem?”
“Yeah, besides all
that.”
“Like what?”
“Well, Rory has
these two boyfriends, Jess and Dean, and what are they? – sixteen, seventeen?”
“I guess,” she
answered, lying on her back, her eyes closed.
“And each of them
keeps ending up in scenes alone with her mother, Lorelai, who’s all of
thirty-two.”
“What are you
saying?” Lo asked, her fingers clearly moving up and down under the covers
between her legs.
“I’m saying that I
think there’s some subtext going on.”
“Fuck me and tell
me,” she insisted, spreading her legs as she lay on her back.
I got between her
wet thighs and entered her. I held her
tightly and whispered, “Lorelai was a MILF before that term was invented.”
Never one to miss
an opportunity to correct me, she said, “Darling, I think MILF was invented
then. You just hadn’t heard about it until much later.”
“Whatever,” I
said, “the point is, that’s exactly what she’s supposed to be and then these
strapping young men have all these one-on-one scenes with her in the house,
alone. Don’t you think they’re
suggesting something?”
“I’d like to see
that play out,” she said as her breath quickened. “When I reach my thirties, I hope I’m a
MILF.”
“Darling, you
don’t have kids and you’re already a NILF.
A nymphomaniac that I’d. . .”
“Do you think
that’s how they see me?” she asked, ambiguous as to whom she meant, but it
didn’t matter, she was already cumming.
Successful in my
duty, I gave myself permission to climax with her, but, sensing my imminent
orgasm, she said, “No! Don’t cum!” She insisted that I save it just as I was
about to reach the pinnacle of my performance.
I
kept on keeping on in her.
“I
said no!” she yelled, pulling her body away.
“What
the fuck?!” I said in an angry whisper, very frustrated, very aggrieved. Whereas I am frequently all for edging,
keeping my Chi to myself, sometimes I need a release and releasing in Lo is the
best release.
I
turned over, lay flat on my back on the bed, tried to catch my breath as Lo,
who had already cum twice, grabbed my member, licked it clean, and then kissed
her way up to my mouth.
“Why
can’t I cum?” I asked.
“Don’t
you know by now?”
“No.”
“I
like you to stay hard because you never know when I’m going to need your dick
again.”
“Oh,
I know all right.”
“You
do?”
“Yes. You always need it.”
“That’s
true. So, keep it cocked and ready so
that it is fully loaded at a moment’s notice.”
Sure
enough, she needed it again later that night.
She woke me from a sound sleep as she was watching some MILF porn on her
phone.
