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Frankie Gets Fucked

Lola awoke in a cold sweat and with a hot, soaked puss.

“What is it?” I asked, startled from unconsciousness suddenly.

“I just had the weirdest wet dream.”

“OK,” I said, realizing that there was no returning to sleep now, “tell me about it.”

“Well, you know how you try to make me jealous talking about what’s her name from what’s that show?”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more definite than that.”

“Anyhow, I had the weirdest dream about her.”

She then proceeded to tell me the following.

She was Casey’s babysitter.  Now it was just the two of them, home alone, and she was horny.  She had been fapping to Lola Down and the erotica of mysexlifewithlola.com all night.  She hadn’t slept.  Her sheets were soaked.  She wanted to feel another’s flesh on hers, between hers, deep inside hers.  She wanted that hot white cum.  She wanted to be a slut.  She didn’t want him to think of her as that “older woman,” a cougar, beyond the bounds of propriety.  She wanted to get down and dirty for him.  Shock him.  Shake him out of his innocent naivete about women of a certain age.  About women in general.  About her.  She was a woman – a woman with needs, wants, desires, lusts, and deep, dark, hidden shame, disgust, and revulsion.  “Debase me,” she thought, “and I can rest in my degradation.”

She led Casey to the bathroom where she had up a poster of Lola Down.  She lured him there with a request that he help her “clean the drain.  It’s clogged.”  He followed her, admiring her ass, against his better judgment.  He was ashamed of himself.

She showed him the drain.  It was clogged.  After only a few minutes, they agreed it was time to call a plumber.  He noticed her sex toys strewn around the sink, the bathtub, even next to the toilet.  He didn’t say anything.  He looked around.  She looked at him.  It was awkward.  In order to break the uncomfortable silence, he looked at the poster and said, “Nice.  You?”

 

They looked nothing alike.

“No, it’s Lola Down.  Have you heard of her?”

“No.”

He was shy.

“She likes to fuck.”

“Oh.”

“Do you like to fuck?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Bridgette.  Um.  I. . .”

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, removing her clothes.  She was naked.  She leaned over the sink.

“I guess I’ll get going,” he said, not leaving.

 

“Fuck me,” she said, protruding her ass back toward him.

“What?”

“You heard me.  Fuck me.”

He simply could not believe this was happening.

“Are you a virgin?”

The question took him aback.  Was it an insult?  Was she demeaning his manhood?  He was a virgin, that was for sure.

“I knew it,” she said without a word from him.  “Now’s your chance to change that.  Fuck me.”

He was fumbling to undo his belt and get out of his pants.

She turned around once she saw in the mirror that he had gotten it out, but not gotten hard.  She got on her knees and looked up at him.

“How long have you wanted me to do this?” she said, her lips parted inches away from the tip of his flaccid cock.

“I. . .”  He didn’t know what to say.  He couldn’t deny that he had often masturbated to the thought of her.  When she was babysitting and after he went to bed, he had stroked it thinking about her face or about finding her naked in front of the TV asleep.  Why had he fantasized about that?  Vaguely, as if in a dream, a distant memory rippled across his mind.  He saw her, on the couch.  He had gotten up in the middle of the night.  The TV was on.  People were on the TV.  It looked like they were fighting, wrestling.  They were naked.  Her jeans were down by her knees.  Her hand was between her legs.  She didn’t see him.  He just watched.  He stood silently on the stairs and watched.  She was engrossed in the images on the screen.  He noticed something bulging in his pajama bottoms.  He didn’t know what it was.  A change had come over her.  She pulled her hand out of her crotch.  She sniffed it.  She licked it.  She clicked the TV off.  She pulled her jeans up.  She stood up and walked to the kitchen, away from him.  He went unnoticed.  He returned to bed, feeling guilty and dizzy.  The hard thing in his pajama bottoms wouldn’t go away.

She blew gently onto his detumescent, flagging flesh.  It felt good.  A tickling, caressing breeze.  She put her warm wet lips over that thing.  He knew what this was now.  He was old enough to know.  He never thought it would happen with her.  His babysitter, whom he had fantasized about for so long with pangs of guilt.  The babysitter he had played football with – who tackled him like a boy with laughs and fun.  The babysitter he had cozied up to while eating popcorn and watching “Blue Mountain State” with, against his parent’s wishes while they were gone.  The babysitter who had kissed his bruised knee better, causing a tempest of confused feelings in the pit of his stomach.

She moved her mouth, tongue, lips in ways that made his thing grow.  It grew hard.  She let go and turned around again, facing the mirror.

“Fuck me, Casey,” she insisted.

He moved forward.  She was taller than he.  He needed to stand on his toes to get the right spot.  He couldn’t.  She reached back, impatient, grabbed it, pulled it forward violently.  “Go in!” she demanded.  He went in.  She was wet.

She grabbed something from next to the sink.  It was a dildo.  She covered it with lube of some sort.  She passed it to him.  “Put this in my ass.”

“What?”

“Put this in my ass,” she repeated.

He took the pointy fake penis and pressed it to the spot.  It didn’t go.

She moved her right hand back to the spot.  She inserted one, two, three fingers easily.

“Try again.”

He repeated the gesture.  It went in.

“Hold it there,” she said.

He held it there.

“OK,” she said a little later, “Pull it out.”

He pulled it out.

“Put your dick in my ass.”

These were very elementary instructions, yet they perplexed him.

“Put. Your.  Dick.  In.  My.  Ass.”

He pulled out and put his dick in her ass.

“Harder!”

He tried to go as hard as he could.

“Slap my ass.”

“What?”

“Slap my ass.”

He gave her ass a slight graze with his open palm.

“No, slap it!”

He slapped it.

“Spank it!”

He spanked it.

“Harder.  Fucking harder!”

He was hitting her ass as hard as he could with his open palm.  It scared him.

“Call me a slut.”

“What?”

His repeated questions were frustrating her.

“Call me a slut!”

“Slut?” he meagerly pronounced.

“Call me a SMILF.”

“SMILF?  What’s that?”

“Sitter-Mom I’d Like to Fuck.”

“OK, SMILF.”

“Call me a cunt.”

“You’re, you’re a. . .” he began crying.  She could see it in the mirror.

“Fuck, you’re useless.  I can’t even feel you in my ass.  Pull out.”

He pulled out.

She turned around.  She got on her knees again.  “How small are you?” she said, observing the thin, diminutive member with wonder.  In her haste to fornicate, she hadn’t thought about it much when she had it in her mouth.

She put the toilet seat down.  She grabbed a dildo from the bathtub, ran it under the water of the sink and suction-cupped it to the lid of the toilet.  She eased her ass down on it.

“Pass me that,” she said, indicating another dildo by the sink.

Casey passed it to her.  She took it and inserted it into her pussy.

She had a look of maniacal gratification on her face.

She looked up at him looking at her with wonder.  The wonder years, she thought.

She looked down and saw his cock, erect.  She realized he must be in incredible discomfort.

“You need to cum?”

“What?” he asked again.

“Shut up and come here,” she said, pulling him towards her with her left hand wrapped around his buttocks.

He involuntarily moved forward.  She put his cock in her mouth again, roughly.  Her right hand was manipulating the dildo in her pussy.  Her left hand controlled him from behind.  Her ass slid back-and-forth on the dildo attached to the toilet seat.  In her mind she thought about being a sexy cheerleader, the free-use girl of an orgy, a goddess worshipped.  She thought about Lola Down. . . .

 

She was horny.

“Call me a dirty, disgusting, whore.”

He was silent, looking down at her.

Her left hand moved down toward his ass.  She fingered his ass and slid a finger up inside.

He suddenly ejaculated in her mouth.  The thick, copious cum dribbled out of the corners of her mouth and onto her nipples.

“OK,” she said, “Go.”

“What?”

“Go!”

He pulled up his jeans and left her there on the toilet fucking both her holes.

The next day she called a plumber.  A large, middle aged white man showed up.  He was unattractive.  That suited her just fine.  The more disgusting, the better, she thought to herself.

She led him to the bathroom.  The same bathroom.

He noticed the sex toys, the poster, the toilet seat with the suction cup dildo attached to it.

“Is this the bathroom or the playroom?” he said with a chuckle.

“A little of both,” she said seductively.

Without much more conversation, they were both naked in the tub.  The same tub where it had happened.  The thought of it made her feel disgusting and worthless.  That’s how she wanted to be treated and that’s how men – real men, like the plumber, not like Casey – treated her.

“What do you think?” asked Frankie, looking up eagerly from the pages in her hand.

“That’s your treatment for the next episode?” asked Zach.

“Yeah.  You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So?”

“Well, you’re going to do all that on camera?”

“Yeah.  What?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Can I ask a favor?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I be there to watch.”

She laughed and leaned in to kiss him.  “Only if you call me a dirty little whore while I’m getting fucked.”

“Deal.”

“So you like it?”

“I do, but I don’t think you’re going to get the greenlight to make it.”

“Why not?”

“Frankie, there’s too much that is. . .”

“What?”

“Taboo.”

“I have a way of getting to green.”

“Through the redlight district, no doubt.”

“The way involves a few curves and back roads, but I’ll get there.”

 

“A dream within a dream?” I asked.

“More like multiple orgasms within an orgasm.”

“I think you need to call Christopher Nolan.”

“Yeah, we could make a film together and call it MetaPorn.”

Protected: “Paint me like one of your slutty girls.”

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Finding Lola – Three Covid Stories

Covid Quarantine had a way of messing with our mental life.  It has been well documented that people reported having more intense dreams during the first lonely months of quarantine.  Since then, many people have experienced a strange time distortion when attempting to recall any sort of chronology.  Things basically fall into B.C. (“Before Covid”) and whatever it is that we’re living through now.  But placing events exactly on a timeline post-Covid is a bit wonky.

For us, Covid was a time when we made a lot of new friends virtually.  In order to help people through the forced “celibacy” of the quarantine (both single people and the people like us who are non-monogamous and so had to curtail their outside playtime) we started up our free books program where we sent a complimentary copy of Match, Cinder & Spark to friends, fans, and avid readers in exchange for their sending back to us a sexy photo of them with the book.  That was so much fun that we’ve continued it on a limited basis.  (Please request one via email if you’re interested.)

We heard from a lot of you out there in Lolaland and we continue to receive sexy missives from our beloved kinkster community.

This week we are going to feature three short stories sent to us by new and old friends.  Diving into Lola’s Letter Box, we are pleased to bring you a story about a single college student, a married couple, and sisters who learned a lot about each other in lockdown.

The first comes from Melissa, a college student who, like Grace, was stuck at home with her parents in the spring of 2020.  “At the time, it was the middle of my freshman year.  I’m a shy introvert, an voracious reader, a bookish nerd,” she says.

I also am a closeted nymphomaniac.  With limited tolerance for social interactions, I found that it was just easier to get off on my own.  In fact, that’s how I found your blog.  I was concerned about my internet porn binging and, by doing a search to find some way out of it, I came across Erica Garza’s book, Getting Off.  And not only did I come across it, I came to it and got off even more!  I couldn’t get off enough and so I did a deep dive (into my pussy and on the internet) until I found your post about ‘Her Porn Addiction’ and everything I read, except for Lo’s confidence and extroverted personality, sounded very familiar to me.

After that, she was hooked.  She became a regular reader of the blog for a while, but she was hungry for more.  Similar to Grace, she was afraid of ordering one of the books and having it arrive at her house, only for someone in her family to discover it and expose her.  So, she too found a way to get off during those isolating times though other means.  “I purchased all five volumes of Match, Cinder & Spark on audiobook and masturbated every night to the voice of Jupiter Grant reading the sexy stories while simultaneously scrolling through the photos of Lola on the blog.”

As we all remember so well, getting out during Covid Quarantine, even just to do shopping or go for a drive, was a big deal.  Melissa relayed that her favorite sexy thing to do was to up the stakes and take risks by getting in the car and playing the audiobook on the speakers while wearing a skirt with no panties and finger-fuck herself or dildo while driving.

Lying down in bed, masturbating naked was fine, but it didn’t have the interaction I craved.  I wanted to be around people.  Also, there’s a difference between hearing Jupiter Grant’s voice through the earbuds and hearing her through the car’s speakers.  Every chance I got, I borrowed my mom’s car and went for a drive.  Listening to the stories was like an education – I learned about some great books I should read and I learned about sex.  Win-win!  But as the months got warmer, I would drive around with the windows down.  One day I pulled up to a stoplight just as Lola was describing being mounted and pounded, used and abused, in the story ‘Pound.’  I was on the verge of cumming when I noticed the guy in the car next to me had his windows down as well and he heard everything that was making me so wet.  He gave me an intense, sidelong glance.  I just looked at him, blushed, and tried to shut off the radio, but I suddenly felt an orgasm violently taking over my body as I reached for the button.  No use.  The light turned green.  Neither of us moved.  I came.  He watched.  It was hot!

From Melissa’s miles and miles of masturbation, we now turn to our good friends Jane and Andrew.  You will recall these newlyweds discovered their kinks on their honeymoon when it was revealed that Jane gets off to erotic stories (like Match, Cinder & Spark) and Andrew likes to wear women’s panties and takes delight in his wife locking his chastity cage while she mercilessly masturbates in front of him as a form of titillating torture.

This week they sent us a photo tryptic of sorts showing how they have fun.  She hops in the tub, takes a long, relaxing bath, shaves her twat clean and smooth, and then cuddles up with a good book.  In this case it happens to be Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts.  When she is good and gushing, she invites in Andrew.  He knows by now that during her sexy-time he is to be locked and loaded.  She then reads aloud the passages that have her groin grinding.  If he is lucky, she might fondle and cup his genitalia, but he is not allowed any greater gratification than that.  Yet she is free to dive into her toy drawer and pull out all the necessary accessories for her maximal self-care.  She indulges freely in the pleasures of the flesh while denying him the release he desires.

Jane and Andrew reading Match, Cinder & Spark

As she was reading the stories, she asked Andrew, “What would you think if I took many male lovers and had them fuck me in front of you?”

“Like Lola does?”

“Precisely.”

“I don’t know if I’d be able to prevent ejaculating, even in my cage.”

“How would you like it if our entire marriage you were never allowed to fuck me – only watch – as I was banged by so many men on a regular basis?”
“You would make me the happiest husband on the planet!”

“Then learned Leo was wrong – not all happy marriages are alike.  Perhaps each happy marriage is happy in its own way.”

“I know ours is.”

For Your Entertainment

 

Our third story is from Nicci and her sister Malory.

[Abridged.  The unabridged version you can find here.]

Just before the lockdown went into effect, Nicci had traveled from her hometown of Charlotte to visit her sister Malory in Tampa.  Everything was going fine until the day the CDC announced that no one should be flying anywhere.  That nixed Nicci’s return flight.  As with everyone else, her job shut down and then went remote, as did Malory’s.  The two of them were cooped up in Malory’s small, one bedroom, one bathroom apartment with only Malory’s black lab, Lucky, for company.  This made for rather cramped living space.  As Nicci tells it, the couch was too small for either of them to sleep on, so they bunked up in the bed.  When either of them needed “self-care” time, one sister had to ask the other sister for some “personal space” to “take care of business.”  On more than one occasion, stuck in bed together at night, one or the other would begin fapping.  Two twenty-something women isolated from the rest of the world needed an escape from the ever more grim news inundating them each day.

But they weren’t the only ones in need of relief.  Lucky was a rescue dog and by the time Malory had adopted him, he was too old to be neutered.  He was “intact,” as they say.  And, as such, he too needed to get off – on the couch, on the floor, on Nicci’s or Malory’s leg.

According to Nicci, one evening the two of them joined in a Zoom happy-hour with some mutual friends.  Both of them had a couple of strong margaritas and after the happy-hour was over, they continued to drink and reminisce about high school days.  Malory brought up one of their girlfriends about whom it was rumored that she had regular sex with her dog.  Nicci denied the rumor as urban legend and they both shared a laugh about it.  That led to Nicci asking Malory if she had ever seen the movie Sleeping Dogs Lie.  “It’s a terrible romcom about a woman who. . .”

“No, don’t even!”

“I kid you not!”

“What kind of romcom is that?”

The two of them ended up watching it, or at least trying to.  Nicci was right, it was terrible.

Sleeping Dogs Lie

“If I hear another accordion, it will be too soon!” said Malory.

“I know!  That soundtrack was the worst.  Like they were some French film or something.  And it manages to be cringeworthy in every way and insult just about everyone.”

“Not to mention, the moral of the story – if you can call it that.  It’s best to lie – to your spouse, family, coworkers, and friends.”

They loved hatewatching it.  Nicci added, “And the entire premise of the film – that a lonely, single college woman would give a blowjob to her dog.”

“I know, right?  I mean, it’s so unbelievable.  If I was that lonely, I wouldn’t blow him, I’d have him fuck me.”

Suddenly Nicci stopped laughing and looked very seriously at her sister.  “What?  You wouldn’t, would you?”

Malory mysteriously said, “Who says I haven’t?”

“Come on!  Stop joking.  Really?”

“Ew!” screeched Malory, dramatically, “I take him out twice a day and clean up his shit after him.  Are you kidding me?  No.”

Sure enough, just as they were having this conversation, Lucky went at it again on the rug.

“Whew,” said Nikki, laughing nervously.  “You had me worried for a minute.”

Malory laughed and, looking at Lucky, said, “If I had been fucking him, I don’t think he’d be doing that like three times a day.”

“You should have named him Horny, not Lucky,” said Nicci.

“Who are we kidding?  We’re all fucking horny and none of us are going to get lucky anytime soon,” replied Malory.

That conversation and movie was enough to set the wheels in motion for both of them.  Who knows, maybe Lucky had this arrangement in mind all the while and that’s why he was constantly causing friction on the carpet.

Before long. . . .

When Nicci would go out to do the grocery shopping or Malory would go for a run in the afternoon or morning, whomever was at home was busy with. . . .

But when Malory went out for a jog one afternoon only to have the sky open up and drench her in a downpour so that she returned to the apartment early, she found her sister dripping wet as well, but not from the weather. . . .  Nicci looked up at Malory with a swirling combination of satisfaction, shame, and helplessness.

. . .

This cozy arrangement continued for about two or three months, until Nicci felt safe enough to return home.  When that fateful day came, she and her sister made an unspoken pact never to so much as mention this intense ménage à trois again.

Nicci wrote to us to say, “Though we never, ever talk about what happened between the three of us in those early months of the pandemic, since then I have found (and shared with Mal) your blog.  (You can guess what I was searching for.)  I didn’t tell her why I was sharing it with her, but I’m sure she figured it out.  Thank you for your honesty, candor, and sexiness!”

Sisters at the beach with Lucky

Deferred Desire

Jane and Andrew

 

Jane and Andrew had just taken their wedding vows.  They celebrated with their friends and family.  They were both in their forties when they finally tied the knot.  After many failed relationships in the past for each of them, they were pleased to finally find each other.  They prided themselves on the fact that the cornerstone of their relationship was honesty.  They loved each other, they admired each other, and they desired each other.

But in the hotel on the night of their wedding, they discovered something about each other neither of them expected.

Andrew was eager to get Jane out of her white gown and get into her wet pussy.  Jane, you see, had been deferring the consummation of their love saying that, though not religious, she wished to wait until they were married before engaging in coitus.  Now that the fateful night had come, Andrew’s desire for his bride had reached its pinnacle.

He slowly unzipped the back of the dress and helped Jane out of it with care.  She wore a white satin bra, white panties, and lacey white thigh-high nylon stockings.  Nearly naked, she sat on the couch and pulled Andrew towards her.  He had already removed his tuxedo jacket, tie, and shirt.  As he stood in front of Jane, he removed his t-shirt.  She had already seen him topless before, but the smoothness of his chest, which lacked any hair, struck her as unusually feminine.  But then she unbuttoned the button on his tuxedo slacks and unzipped the fly, pulling the pants down past his pelvis.  She was shocked at what she saw!

Instead of boxers or tighty-whities, he was wearing a transparent, satin black thong!  His cock was pressed up against the see-through material, barely contained by the tiny triangular fabric, stretching it to almost the breaking point.

“Oh wow!” she said as her face was inches away from the contained cock.  She had never seen him nude before.  “Are these yours?”

“Whose else would they be?”

“Mine,” she said.

He laughed and said, “No, I didn’t sneak into your panty drawer.”

“So you went to the store to buy these special?”

“These and a lot more like them.”

“I see.”

She slid the pants all the way down to his ankles, revealing a second surprise.  He wasn’t wearing black socks, as she assumed.  He was wearing sheer lacey black thigh-high nylon stockings, almost identical to hers.  In their nylons, they were like yin and yang.

“Well, well, well,” she said, “what is this all about?”

“Do you like?” he asked her nervously.

“I do.  Just about anything kinky gets me wet,” she said seductively.

He was thrilled.  He had taken a real chance by dressing up like this under his wedding tux, but he had to know how she’d feel about his kinks.  All was going to plan.  He had suspected it would, but out of fear of rejection, ridicule, or even worse, indifference, he had not revealed this side of himself to her ever before.

“Shall you be Mistress’s little Sub-Boy?”

This question from her took him aback.  He had not thought this far along in the chess game.

“I am Mistress’s little Sub,” he said, furtively, fearful of the wrong answer.

“Go fetch Mistress’s bag,” she said to him.  He brought to her the large weekender bag she had in addition to her suitcase.

She reached in.  He had no idea what was next.  Out of the bag she pulled a paperback book – Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts.  It had a drawing of a woman in tight blue shorts, bent over on the cover.

“Mistress likes to read,” she said.  “Make Mistress an ottoman so Mistress can put her feet up.”

He complied by getting on his knees on the floor and turning himself into a stool for her feet.  She sat in the comfortable chair and read while he dutifully demeaned himself to her will.  However, time went by and he began to wonder if any relief to the raging erection he had at the mere touch of her silken-clad feet was to come.

“Mistress,” he whimpered.

“Yes little Sub?”

“May I please smell your pussy?”

“Yes little Sub.”

She spread her legs and allowed him a good whiff of her cunt through her white satin panties.

“Mistress,” he asked again.

“Yes little Sub?”

“May I please kiss your ass?”

“Yes little Sub,” she said, turning over in her chair.

He kissed her ass.

“That is all,” she insisted, putting an end to his probing tongue.  “Mistress wishes to recline on the couch,” she added.  “Stand by me, little Sub, and allow me to amuse myself with your member while I continue reading my book.”

“Yes, Mistress,” replied Andrew, standing at attention, allowing himself to be used and fondled as plaything of her whim.

“Little Sub,” she said eventually.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Lick my clit.”

“Mistress?” he asked, taken aback by the request.

“You heard me.  Get on your knees and lick my clit as I read.  I have come to a particularly puissant passage and I wish to be stimulated orally.”

She spread her legs and allowed him to pull her panties to the side far enough for his mouth to make contact.  All the while she kept reading her book.

He got down between his mistress’s legs and began to lick politely, respectfully.

“Fuck my cunt with your tongue, damn it!  Make me cum.  Now!” she demanded.

He licked, sucked, flicked, and fucked her orally as best he could.

“Yes, that’s it – make your mistress moan!”

She came, and her cunt drizzled its joyful juices on the white leather couch causing a puddle under her ass.

“Mistress?” he asked once he had emerged from her love-spot.

“Yes little Sub?” she asked breathily.

“Will we ever consummate our love?”

“Little Sub, you have that long protrusion in your panties and I think that as punishment for that, you shall never be able to use it.”

Andrew’s erection grew powerfully in his panties as he contemplated the thought of ever desiring his wife, never satisfying her, never releasing his pent-up phallic powers.

She got up to pee and while she did, Andrew grabbed the book that was lying open to the page Jane had been reading.  It was a story called “Pound” and it had some very taboo imagery in it.

“What are you doing?” Jane demanded when she returned.

“Uh, um, reading Mistress.”

“Without permission?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

She got on the couch across from him and used her feet to tease his cock as he read.

“Is this the story that brought you to an orgasm?” he asked.

“And if it is?” she replied superciliously.

“Well, then I suppose there are more kinks about you that I have yet to discover.”

“Isn’t that what love is all about – the slow reveal of each other’s depravity?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“You would if you read more about H.H. and Lola.”

“Am I allowed to cum to her, or them?”

“Absolutely not!”

“But you are?” he asked.

“Mistress’s needs are not for you.  Mistress keeps her cunt off limits.  All her erotic experience is in the mind, in words, in the denial of the dissipation of your desire.  I shall keep you around as my obedient canine.  You shall obey your Mistress and never give in to the aching needs between your hind quarters.  You shall ever remain in a state of perpetual penile priapism.”

Andrew could not have found a better match for his masochistic longings for a sadistic matriarch to marry.

Introducing Elizabeth Wylde

Elizabeth Wylde

“Lizzy, the book got returned,” Lola said as she sat on the couch, playing with her cooch.

I could hear Lizzy, that is, Elizabeth Wylde, on the other end of the phone let out a moan of disappointment.

“They won’t deliver to P.O. boxes.  What should we do?”

“Try this address,” said Lizzy, telling Lo where to have the book shipped.  “It’s my aunt and uncle’s house, but they won’t mind.”

Lo laughed.  “You sure?  What if they open it accidentally?”

Lizzy also laughed and said, “That would be a tough one to explain.”

About two weeks later the book, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts, arrived for Aunt and Uncle Wylde.  They didn’t open it, but they were curious.  They called Lizzy and she came over one Sunday to pick it up.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” asked Auntie Wylde.

“Nah, I know what it is.”

“What is it, Lizzy?”

“A book for work.”

“Work?” asked Uncle Wylde.

Now Lizzy got herself into it.  Lizzy’s work, you see, is sexy phone chat.

“Yes,” she responded, “work.”

“I thought you were out of work since the pandemic started,” inquired her aunt.

“I’ve picked up a job I can do out of the house.”

“Really?  And what is that?”

Lizzy had to think quick on her feet.  “Customer service. . . for BJs.  I make sure everyone gets what they want.”

“Oh, so I might get you next time a package is lost?”

“You might,” said Lizzy, laughing to herself.

“So, what is that?” asked her uncle, returning to the rectangular shaped package in Lizzy’s hands.

“Instruction manual.”

“Don’t they have that online?”

“Top secret.  The internet isn’t to be trusted,” said Lizzy.

Luckily, she managed to get out of that jam without opening the book in front of them.

She quickly drove home, stripped naked, hopped into bed, and opened up her literotically Lola paperback.

Just as she was about to feast upon the non-fiction fuckery, her work phone rang.  It was Henry, a regular client.  At his request, Lizzy told him exactly what she was up to.  He requested that she read to him.  She opened the book to the middle and began reading the story, “Home Entertainment.”  She had no idea what she was in for!  As the story progressed, Lizzy realized the taboo topic she had waded into and waded is the right word for she was very, very wet by this point.  She could hear Henry moaning on the other end of the line and soon enough both of them were climaxing together to the cadence of the chapter.

When she was done, she pulled out her laptop and added a line to her brief bio:

            Hi, I’m Elizabeth Wylde – a sexy, crazy, caring, fun-loving girl who provides erotic phone conversations.  I’m a sex addict who channels my issues through making explicit adult content.  I love being watched and turning people on, getting them hot, making them cum.  In some weird way it’s an exciting accomplishment just knowing that you blow a huge load or squirt by fantasizing about little ole me!  Give me a call for some sexy talk or, if you want, I’ll read you a taboo tale from Match, Cinder & Spark – my favorite collection of literary smut.

When she was done, her phone rang again.  It was Henry coming back for more.

 

HERE is Lizzy’s LINKTREE and a few fun photos too!

Lizzy Reads Match, Cinder & Spark

 

 

Lizzy and Lo

Cum to the photos, stay for the story.

A view from behind

Lizzy is waiting for your call.

Toon of Lizzy

The Real Deal

Lizzy is ready

toon time fap

toon time fap no panties

Don’t you want this ass?

This ass wants you!

Lizzy & Lo

Lizzy & Lo

Naked News Flash – Women Get Older! Who Knew?

If you are like me, or simply not living under a rock somewhere, then you probably have been watching a lot of news lately. None of it is particularly good. So, in order to take your minds off of world events for a brief moment, I present a little news worthy distraction. As you all know, I am old. Older than Lo by a long shot. As you might also know, I am, as Lo fondly says, “an incorrigible lech.” How fitting that I am paired up with an incorrigible nympho. Anyhow, for many years, I have been a fan of Naked News and especially of their first news anchor, Victoria Sinclair. She began in 1999 and continued there until 2015. Below you will find some photos of her that I have tried to organize in chronological order, but I will allow you to correct me where I am wrong. She has grown right before our eyes and, in my humble opinion, like a fine wine, she has improved with age. What do you think?

 

Do you see a resemblance or is that just my imagination?