Tag Archives: Sex

The Perfect Coffee Table

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Someone Likes “Sexy Shorts”

            Friday and finally all my meetings were over.  I flew home that night.  I hadn’t heard from Lo since the previous night when she enigmatically told me that she had dinner with Robert.  I was eager to see her.  I was hard-up and aching for release.  On top of that, there was the tantalizing mystery of what happened on her “date” with Robert.  Just to make matters worse, fate so ordained it that on my flight home I was seated next to a young, attractive college girl wearing a tight fitting miniskirt and a low cut blouse.  Her breasts were full and, when placing her carryon in the storage compartment above, she stretched and revealed a delectable midriff and even some under-boob.  When we sat down, she saw that I was reading Fast Girl, the book by Suzy Favor Hamilton about her life as a high-end Vegas escort and her sex addiction.

Suzy Favor Hamilton

            “What is that?” she asked, naively, but with a hint of being in-the-know. 

            “It’s a memoir,” I said tersely.  Her interest made me nervous.  Her looks made me more nervous.  Her age made me simply petrified – in every sense of the term. 

            “I think I’ve heard of it.  It’s about. . .” her brow wrinkled with the struggle of recall.

            “A woman who leads a double-life as a devoted wife and mom and as a prostitute.”

            “Oh,” she said, shocked at my candor.  She quickly followed it up with a smile and, “Do you like it?”

Suzy Favor Hamilton

            There was a mischievousness to her question that indicated to me that she wanted to know what turns me on.

            “It’s my homework,” I said, as if that negated any pleasure I may derive from it.

            “Homework?” she asked.  “What class are you in?”  She wanted to enroll.

            “My girlfriend assigned it to me.  She said it would help me understand her better. The last assignment was Getting Off, about a woman addicted to self-pleasure through humiliation porn.”

            “Girlfriend?” she asked.  “Aren’t you married?” she inquired while indicating my wedding band.  Clearly she was interested in more than my reading material.

            “Oh that,” I said, “I wear it to keep the ladies away.”  My standard line.

            “Yeah right,” she said.  “Every guy knows that nothing attracts single women like a man who’s spoken for.”

            “You got me there,” I said.  She was attracted.  This would be a l-o-n-g flight.

            “I wish,” she said under her breath.  “So, your girlfriend – or whatever – is addicted to porn?”

            “I don’t know that she’s addicted to porn.  She likes porn.  But she definitely is addicted to pleasure.”

            “I know the feeling,” she said.

            “Is that so?”

            “Would you like to know the feeling?”

            “Look,” I said, “what’s your name?”

            “Kayla,” she said.  Of course her name was Kayla. 

            “Look Kayla, I’m already involved with a nymphomaniac.  It takes every ounce of my energy, focus, concentration, devotion, love, and chi to satisfy her. . . and still I come up short.  I appreciate your interest.  I really do, but I’m on my way back home to see her, and, well, to be honest, the beautiful batting of your eyelashes is very well and good, but I’ve got a perfect slut waiting for me at home.”

            If this attractive, flirty, young woman had been sitting next to me on the departure flight, when I was more mad at Lo than missing her, things may have been different.  Even then, the fact is, no matter how angry I am with her, I still love Lo.  And I know, no matter how attractive other women may be, the witty repartee that Lo and I have is inimitable. 

I tried to make my position clear.  She accepted the boundaries I had set.  But she switched gears and now asked me all about Lo.  I gladly told her.  It was probably my best in-flight conversation.  By the time we landed, despite our fight or because of it, I wanted Lo more than ever.  (I gave Kayla the blog address, just so she could see for herself how it’s done.)

            I got home and as soon as I walked in the door I knew I was in for trouble.  Lo wasn’t talking to me except monosyllabic words.  “Hi.”

            “How are you?” I asked.

            “Fine.”

            You get the gist.  But she was dressed in a pink sleeveless t-shirt and her black lace panties.  That’s it.  She pranced around with her hard nipples poking through the front of her shirt, her side-boobs bouncing and peeking out from the open underarms.  She.  Looked.  Good. 

Surf’s Up

            I was hard.

            I wanted her.

            I needed her.

            I had no idea how to approach her.

            So I took the direct approach: “You wanna fuck?”

            “Your seduction technique is so subtle, yet captivating,” she said. 

            I knew I was making good progress because captivating is four syllables. 

            “Yeah,” I said, nonchalantly. 

            “Then why are you still wearing your clothes?”

            I stripped and she pulled down her panties. 

            Her pussy was smooth, shaven, pink and beautiful.

            “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

            “This?” she asked, stroking her lovely mons pubis.

            “Yeah,” I said, “that.”  For a moment I was under the impression that she was anticipating my return and that she had shaved for me.  She disabused me of that notion right away.

            “I told you,” she said, “I was seeing Robert last night.”

            We were in the bed now.  I was looking down at her lovely body.  “You did that for Robert?”

            “Semper fi,” she said. 
            “Semper fi?” I asked, perplexed.

            “Yeah,” she said, “Always prepared; the motto of the marines.”

            “Semper fi means ‘always faithful.’”

            “Oh,” she said.  “Whoops!”

            “You can say that again.  So, were you faithful?”

            “Fuck me and I’ll tell you.”

            I was arched over her and I enjoyed looking at her beautiful body as her hand guided my protruding member up and down her wet labia.  “Come on, Daddy,” she said, “fuck me.  You know you need it.  Take it.”

            I penetrated her.  From the feel of things, she needed me as much as I needed her.

            Once I had fully engorged her, I asked, “So, what happened last night?”

            She was too busy enjoying my rod.  She came within seconds.

            I waited for her to catch her breath.  “Tell me,” I commanded.

            “I met him at his house,” she said in her breathy voice.

            “What were you wearing?”

            “A short skirt.  My leather boots.  A tight top.”

            “Go on.”

            “I met him there.  He kissed me hello.”

            “On the lips?”

            “Yes.”

            “Mighty forward of him.”

            “I made sure it was on the lips.”

            “Oh.”

            “We talked a little and then he drove us to the restaurant.  I think he liked being seen in there with me.  It looked like a first or second date, I’m sure.”

            “What did you talk about?”

            “Him, mostly.  His needs.  His wants.  His desires.”

            “Oh, so you talked about you.”

            “You could say that.”

            She came again.  Nothing excites her as much as she.

            “And then?”

            “We went back to his place.  He invited me in.  He offered me a drink.  We sat on the couch.  Before I finished my first drink, we were making out.  His hands were under my top, feeling my breasts, pulling my nipples.”

            Too much!  I came.

            As I pulled out of her and rolled on my back, she said, “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait to hear how the night ended.”

            “Uh-uh,” I said, “You’re going to finish this slut-saga tonight.

            “Only if you’ll fuck me again.”

            “Start talking.  You know what your words do to me.”

            She moved closer to me and her index finger twirled around my flaccid cock as she spoke:

            His fingers were running up and down my clit over my panties.  Within a couple of strokes, my panties were soaked.  He could feel it. 

‘Why have you held out on me all this time?’ I asked Robert as he was feverishly trying to slide my panties over my boots.

            He got them off and he was trying to remove my skirt, but it has a zipper in the back.  I kissed him and slowly stood up, turned around, and let him unzip it.  The skirt fell to the floor and he felt my bare ass with his hands and then he began kissing it. 

            ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.  ‘Even more beautiful than in your photos.’

            ‘Thank you,’ I said, turning around to face him.  He saw my silky smooth pussy.  He kissed it.  I came.  I came hard just from the light touch of his lips on my soft triangle.  I had to grab his shoulders to steady myself.  I pulled his head in to my tum and he kissed me as he slowly removed my shirt.  He sucked on my tits as I stood totally naked before him. 

            ‘Here I am, bare as the day I was born,’ I said, ‘and you have all your clothes on.’

            I began unbuttoning his dress shirt.  I got him out of it and out of his t-shirt.  I then got him to stand as I got on my knees and I undid his belt, his pants button, his fly, and slowly pulled down his trousers.  I could see his enormously long cock in his boxers.  I wanted it.  I pulled down his boxers and there it was, just as I remembered it.  It was beautiful, but it was as soft as you are right now.

            I was soft, but getting harder.  “He did tell us that he has a performance problem,” I said.

            “Yeah, I know,” she said.  “I sucked on it and gave it my best blowjob, but damn it all, I couldn’t get it hard.”

            “Really?!”  That was a first.

            “Yeah,” she said.

            “Please demonstrate,” I asked.  “Perhaps there is a problem with your technique.”

            That really pissed her off.  Never insult Lo’s skills in the bedroom, or any other room.

            She put her mouth on my cock and said, “I have impeccable technique.”  That she did.  She worked on my slack slinky and it slowly regained some rigidity. 

            As she lifted her soft lips off my stuff, she said, “He didn’t respond to my loving labia, so I got under him and opened wide, taking his huge balls in my mouth.  That he liked.  It got an immediate reaction.”

            “You are fond of instantaneous reviews.”

            “He then guided me to the bedroom where. . .” 

            “No, wait,” I interrupted, “let me get in you now.”  I was hard-up and wanted to hear the end of her story from a position that would allow me to gage her level of excitement.  I slid my arousal-meter inside her and she continued.

“We got into bed and, well, he was still having difficulty performing.  I asked him, ‘Do you want to look at some porn together?’”

“You wanted it bad, didn’t you?” I asked.

“I’m always up for porn,” she said, nonchalantly.  “And he was too.  He pulled up the blog.”

“Our blog?!”

“Yes.  What other blog?”

“OK.”

“And we scrolled through some pics together.  He settled on one of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.  And he got hard.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No I’m not.  I asked him, ‘You like his cock?’ and he said, ‘Yes.’”

“You wouldn’t put me on like that, would you?”

“I swear,” she said, sincerely.  “I asked him more about it and he told me that he thinks his problem might be that he’s gay.  He said he likes being with women, but he gets turned on by looking at guys.”

“So what did you do?”

“We looked at some more porn together, mostly gay porn, cuck porn, and swinger porn.  He eventually turned me over, doggy-style, put his laptop on my back, and fucked me from behind.”

“He used you like a coffee table?!”

“Well, if someone invented a cross between a coffee table and a fuck doll, then, yes.”

“Good idea.”

“And then he asked me if he could go in my ass.”

“The audacity of that man!”

“And I said yes.”

“You little slut.”

“Yes, Daddy.  Say it again.  You’re turning me on.”

“You skank.  You trollop.”

“He went in my ass and then he asked, very politely, if he could cum in me.”

“You anal whore.  I bet you wanted him to.”

“Well, I had cum so many times by that point, it only seemed fair.”

After she said that, I came, not in her ass, but deep in her, for the second time. 

“I’m glad you were able to be so charitable while I was away,” I said.  I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealously and, for a moment, I regretted not taking advantage of my opportunity on the plane. 

“Why didn’t you sleep over?” I asked her.

“It had been a long time since I had anal sex,” she began to say.

“Don’t I know it,” I added.

“And so I wanted to go home to clean up.  I’m sorry, but I may have made a bit of a mess on your car seat.”

“You mean, Robert’s mess.”

“Yes, Daddy.  Are you mad?”

“Lo, I can never stay mad at you.”

“But are you mad now?”

“No, Lo.  I’m actually perfectly content.” 

Turning the Screw

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            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.   

Hot & Cold

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Oh, Hi!

            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. 

Community Chest

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What’s black and white and read all over?

            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.

Clickbait

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“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.

“What is that?” I ask. 

“You’ve never seen a woman before?”

“Not until I laid eyes on you, darling.”

“Funny.”

“What is that page?” I ask with more specificity. 

“Oh,” she says, “I created a Pinterest page.”

“I can’t help but notice, I’m nowhere on it.”

“Do you like it?”

“The pics of you, yes.”

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:

  1. It is an instrument of pleasure.
  2. It is a canvass for cum.
  3. It inspires creativity.
  4. It drives people crazy.
  5. It drives me crazy.
  6. 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:

Lola,

You are a much curvier, sexier, more luscious version of Audrey Hepburn. Think about it, HH is Gregory Peck. And you, my dear friend Lo, you are a Princess.

You’re so innocent. He’s older than you. He’s a writer, a professor, a man of mind, body, soul and spirit. He’s brilliant. You are his muse. He is obsessed in the best possible way by you. You dominate his thoughts, his feelings, his emotions. You go further than he could possibly believe now…you’re so deep in his consciousness; as deep as his dick passionately penetrating the walls of your strong, shaking, quivering pussy.

Because of the way HH writes about you and your magnificent personality, I want you! I have a deep desire to have you pop my girl-on-girl cherry. However, HH has got to be there and ease us through it. I want him to watch us, jerk off, and then we both share his cum.

He just channels your soul’s sexiness, your perfect pair of tits, your sweet soft strong flexible box, and your behind. Your behind forces him to forget anything that isn’t about you. He loves not just looking at you, he loves to take you with his eyes. In his mind he is cumming into every atom of your being.

HH is a Voyeur. He’s a genius. And I have a crush on HH because I’m perfectly straight, yet I adore you Lo, I truly do, because you are one of the funniest, most caring, sexiest women in the world. I feel your sexiness and your body through HH and I want both of you!

I have never had a FFM. I’ve had two MMF trysts in real life, but the guys freaked out about touching each other. I’m not saying a need a bi male partner. I would love that, however, the way you yank me into your stories…WOW! I want to co-write a hot story of Lola introducing me to you. I believe this should be a gift from us to you.

Lola’s the hottest thing since fire! – classy, highbrow, but with a twisted, kinky, warped sense of humor. Imagine the Magical Kink Fest Lola and I could create for you.

HH, I need you to pitch your fantasy for this erotic project I’m co-creating with your sweet innocent lollipop licking Lola.

Let me know if you want my company in your bedroom or dungeon.

Kisses babes,

Jen X

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.”

Wordless, Intimate Erotic Lovemaking

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Lusty Lola

            You know, dear reader, not everything between Lola and me is hotwife, cuckold, chronic masturbation, fetish, bukkake, squirting, spanking, MILF lust, sadomasochistic, bestiality, giant dildo, public fucking, anal massage, strap-on, nymphet, perfect vulva, high heels porn, cockfest, ejaculation, climaxing crazy sex, lesbian sex machine, leaking pussy, ass fingering, self-pleasuring, jilling-off, Ben Wa Balls, thongs, giant cock, swollen vulva, candid cleavage, strippers, erotic boudoir, summer skirts, ass pounding, public pussy, sapphic lovers, sexy volleyball, legs spread, open crotch, love juice, naked beach volleyball, kneeling rosary beads, orgasm face, MILF parties, babysitter sex, men jerking off, nude art classes, wet panties, vibrators, leashes, short shorts, foot fetish, erotic indulgence, nympho in heat, gangbang, clit stroking, protruding nipples, exhibitionist teachers, negligee nympho, fisting, 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. 

Sun-Kissed

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Beach Reading

            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.”

Sex & Death

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“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.”

The Porn Identity

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“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.”

Express Yourself

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            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.