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My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

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“I’m so fat!” she decried as she stood in her bikini looking in the mirror at her reflection.

“You say that like fat is a bad thing,” I said with a smile.

“Shut up.”

“What?  All I’m saying is I like some meat on your bones.  You always tell me how much you like my meat and to bone.”

She threw a pillow at me.  “You’re tapping into my greatest insecurity.”

“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.

“Your weakness is me.”

“I know.  I know.  Lola, you’re my Kryptonite.  I’m the Man of Steel.  But after being around you I go soft as a Slinky.  But seriously,” I said, “come here.”

She walked to me like a child who had just been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She stood in front of me.  I grabbed and kissed the small bulge above her bikini line.

“Stop it!  You know I hate that!”

“But I love it.  It’s so sexy.”

“I have to work on my beach body.”

“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”

“We both should exercise.”

“Exercise?!  Are you kidding me?  I just heard about a forty-year-old man who dropped dead – DEAD! – while on the treadmill.  Oh no.  Not for me, thank you.”

“What are you talking about?  He probably had a preexisting condition.  He probably had heart problems or was overweight.”

“That’s proof!  Proof that exercise is bad for you.  Positively lethal!”

“That’s not proof.”

“All I’m saying is that you never hear of a perfectly healthy forty-year-old man dying on his couch while reading a book.”

“Give me a break!” she said, throwing her arms in the air.

Lo and I went down to the pool of the hotel.

It was Valentine’s Day, we were on vacation in a warm-weather city, and Lo was looking like one sweet-tart.

Lo thought that, as usual, I had failed to make any plans for V-Day.  There she was wrong.

After some hours by the pool where she only got jealous of the other bikini babes walking past me, lounging in the reclining chairs, or dangling their feet in the water, we both were hungry and, after changing, I surprised her for the first time that day by actually having a lunch destination suggestion.

“Chinese?!” she questioned, both skeptical and disappointed.

We drove through the grid of the city to the special Chinese restaurant I had scoped out.  This wasn’t just your average Chinese joint; it was a newly opened, chic, “Asian-fusion” place simply called Red that was all the rage.

Luckily, Lo was impressed.

After our meal, Lo’s Fortune Cookie read: “Emotion is energy in motion” and I added “in bed.”

When we got back to the car, a compact, two-seater, Lo laughed as she got in.

“What?” I asked, curious as to what she found so amusing.

“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.

“I want to know.”

“I’ll tell you later, when you’re older.”

“Lo, I’m older now.  I’ll always be older.  So, out with it.”

“Where are we going now, Daddio?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Where would you like to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. . . some dive bar.”

“That should be easy enough,” I said as I got the car started and, put the top down, and pulled out into the busy road by the beach.

No sooner had we gotten stuck in the see-and-be-seen crowd of the resort road, than Lo leaned back with one high-heel shod foot dangling seductively over the edge of the door and the other up on the dash as she flashed me, venting up her skirt in the warm, humid, sea-salty air.

“Lo, you’re doing it again?”

“Doing what, Daddio?”

“Flashing in public.”

“Am I?  But we’re in the privacy of our own vehicle.”

“Lo,” I said, as I gave her a side-long glance, trying to focus on traffic.

“You like, Daddio?” she asked.

That night I surprised even myself by having dinner reservations, chocolate, cupcakes, roses, and a card all lined up.  Good job, HH.  I congratulate you.  When we got to the red rented convertible, I popped the top down and looked in the back seat, saying to Lo, “Oh, look there, someone must have left something in the car before we rented it.”

She looked over the bucket seat and saw, sitting on the leather behind her, the scarlet box of chocolates, the bouquet of roses, a box of pink-frosted cupcakes, and a cardinal colored envelope.

Hopping in, she tore into the card.  It was an e. e. cummings poem and a little note from me.

She read the e.e. cummings poem and looked at me seductively and said, “Soon I’ll be-e cumming too.”

She then opened the cupcakes and slowly sank her mouth over the pink-frosted top, taking a slow, seductive bite.

“Lo!  We’re on our way to dinner,” I jokingly rebuked her.  “You can’t eat dessert before dinner.”

“But Daddy,” she said, looking at me with frosting on her lips.  “you know that I can’t pass up a good cream filling.”

“How did you know it was a cream filling?  You’ve only just had the frosting.”

“I wasn’t talking about the cupcake,” she said as she bit into it again.  She then leaned over the seat and gave me a big, wet, frosted kiss.  “But I know that you know that cream filling is my favorite and so I figured you got me what I wanted.”

Secretly, I delighted in seeing her eat the cupcake.  A certain kink, that is, if she was into it too, which she most definitely was not.

We got to the restaurant and Lo was wearing a cute, short red dress and matching pumps.  She looked adorable.  I could tell that all eyes were on her, just as she likes it.

“Lo,” I said as we sat at our romantic, candle-lit table, “you look better than ever!”

“Oh, go on,” she said, vainly.  I love her vanity.

“Really, they say that men get better looking with age and that may be true.  But you, my dear, look better to me every day we’re together.”

She slipped her right foot out of her sexy shoe under the table and lifted it to rub my leg up and down, showing her appreciation of my sincere, but flattering words.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Why not, Daddy?”

“Because I may have to ravish you right here and now, rather than wait until we get back to the hotel and in bed.”

“Sex is not just something that happens in bed.  Sex is a lifestyle.”

“You should write adult fortune cookies.”

She continued to rub my leg up and down, stretching now to touch my crotch.  Her antics were hidden by the long tablecloth draped over the cozy round table, but I have no doubt an onlooker would be able to tell what she was up to.

After our meal, the waiter asked if we’d like dessert.  I looked at Lo.  “I really shouldn’t, I had the cupcake in the car,” she said.

I looked at the waiter and ordered an espresso and the red velvet cake for the lady.

After the waiter left, Lo said to me, “Daddio, I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then do it.  Why not?  It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

The cake and espresso came and I almost did too as I watched Lo eat the decadently delicious confection.

“Let’s go to the hotel and order a whole cake for you to eat while I eat you out,” I suggested, eager to have my luscious little Lo.

“Not yet, Daddio,” she said.  “It’s early.  Let’s go out for a few drinks first.”

“But I want you so much right now,” I said as I watched her tongue lick her red lips of the crimson cake crumbs.

“I’ll give you an appetizer in the car.”

We got in the convertible and Lo turned toward me in the red leather bucket seat.  She spread her legs and rubbed her pussy over her cherry colored panties.

“I like how your entire outfit matches.”

“I’m good like that.”

I drove down the main drag of the city and Lo let the seat go back, lifted her feet onto the dashboard, and removed her panties.  “I won’t be needing these where we’re going,” she said as she tossed them high in the air.  I saw them fly upwards and then down onto the road behind us.

“Lo!” I scolded.

“She laughed.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of us.”

“Oh, Daddio,” she said, rubbing my arm, “don’t be so rigid about the rules.  Are you rigid?” she asked, moving her hand down to my cock.

“Like a ruler,” I said.

“If only you were twelve inches!” she exclaimed.

I parked the car and we went into a cute little bar called “Rosebud & Thistle.”

“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said as we walked to the joint.

“Rosebud.”

“What about it?”

“That was the last word he said.”

“And the name of his sled.”

“Did you know that it was also what William Randolph Hearst called his wife’s clit?”

“Now you’re just making that up,” she said skeptically.

“I appreciate your esteem of my creativity, but that’s a fact.”

“Well, why don’t you have a pet name for my clit?” she asked peevishly.

“Because, to me, you’re so much more than your clit.”

“Good save,” she said as we walked in the bar.

Inside was drenched in dim, romantic, rubicund light with lots of tufted leather love seats and a long bar with classic, 1950s style shiny red leather and chrome stools.

“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.

She scanned the space and settled on the bar, leading me to the far corner.  We found two vacant stools kitty-corner to each other.  She made for one that was next to a lone gentleman who stared into his dwindling drink.  She interrupted his ponderings to ask if the stool was taken and he politely invited her to sit.  She slid up on the stool which, given her diminutive size, meant that her feet didn’t touch the ground.  She smiled at him and I could see her eyes penetrate his dark soul.

Immediately she initiated small talk with him, telling him that we are from out of town and never had been to this place before.  “Is there something pretty and sweet that catches your eye?” she asked before adding, “on the menu.”

He began to make a recommendation, but before he could even get it out, she interrupted him and said, “You know,” grabbing his elbow, “I’m in the mood for something stiff.”  He looked at her, his eyes growing a little wider.  “What are you drinking?” she asked.

He simply said, “Whiskey.”

“Straight?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Well, I’m not straight,” she said, “I want something complicated.”

She looked at the drink menu and put her finger to her lips, contemplating the choices in her mind.

I cleared my throat since throughout this award-worthy performance, I had remained silent.

“OH!” said Lo, introducing me, “This is my man, HH.  HH, this is. . .”

Obviously she didn’t know his name.

“Ron,” he said.

“Hi, Ron,” I said.

“HH, will you order me a pomegranate martini?  I’m going to freshen up,” she said as she attempted to scooch off of her stool.  But the sliding down lifted up her red dress and nearly exposed her rosebud.

“Whoops!” she exclaimed, waiting just long enough for Ron to see before pulling down the front of her dress.

Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.

I sat at the bar making conversation with Ron for a few moments before Lo returned.

“So, Ron,” she said almost immediately, “why are you here all alone on Valentine’s Day?”

I felt that that was none of Lo’s concern, but there was no putting the question back in between her just glossed lips now.

Ron went into a long story about breaking up with his girlfriend of four years only a few days ago.  Turns out she was cheating on him.

“What can I do to cheer you up?” asked Lo, sliding her dress up.

“You’re already cheering me up,” he said with great appreciation in his voice.

Lo’s drink came.

“How’s your drink?” I asked as she took a sip.

“It’s wet.”

“Your drink?”

“That too.”

Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.

I took great delight in seeing her eat her third dessert and flirting with Ron as I sipped my Manhattan.

“Mmmmm, this is so fucking good!” she said as she took another bite.

“‘Fucking’ is unnecessary and vulgar,” I replied.

“I don’t agree at all.  For me fucking is completely necessary and appropriate.”

“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.

“That’s what I meant,” she responded immediately.  “Why, what were you talking about?”

“I was talking about your vocabulary.  You have a dirty mouth.”

“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”

Then Lo turned and offered a taste of the cake to her new friend and he took it.  “Isn’t that just heaven?” she asked as her right hand rested his left arm on her bare leg.  He nodded yes and I could see him rubbing her thigh.  When the cake and drinks were consumed, Lo paid the bill, pulling some dollars out of her ruby purse.

“I would have got that,” I said as the bartender took Lo’s cash.

“That’s ok, Daddio,” she said, “this has been my treat.”

Lo kissed Ron on the cheek, slid awkwardly off the stool again, and wished him a happy Valentine’s Day, adding, “Next time, let her cheat – it’s more fun that way.”

Lo put her arm around mine and we went out to the car.

“Lo, you were very bad in there,” I said.

“Was I?” she asked, feigning innocence.  “I thought I was very good.”

When we got in the car, she kicked off her heels and put her feet up on my lap.  “Rub them, Daddy,” she said.

I caressed her toes and instep with my left hand and she moaned.

“Did you like Rosebud, Daddy?” she asked.

“You mean the bar or your clit?” I asked back, looking at her rub her pussy as I pulled out of the parking spot.

“Yes,” she said enigmatically.

“I liked watching you eat three desserts,” I said.  “Maybe tomorrow I’ll get donuts for breakfast.”

“I’m like the perfect donut – delicious, hot, fresh, with a lovely hole.”

“You sure have a way with words,” I said.

“My tongue is wicked, that’s why it’s red, but my soul is pure as the driven snow.”

“Well, that wicked tongue of yours was really charming the pants off of good ole Ron.”

“Can it charm the pants off of you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked as I looked at her, driving distracted.

“Take your cock out.”

“Lo, I’m driving.  In a convertible.  On the main street of this city.”

“Exactly,” she said, wiggling her toes over my lap.

At a red light, I unzipped and pulled out my hard shaft.

We drove on and as we did her feet and toes caressed me. The surprise of it all brought me to an unexpected climax as well, covering Lo’s toes with my warm jizz.

This presented a problem.  My trousers were soaked.  The seat had a puddle.  Everything was wet and sticky.  How were we to get into the hotel to clean off?

“Well, isn’t this a fine mess you got us into?” I asked, mimicking Oliver Hardy’s constant refrain to Stan Laurel.  But the allusion was lost on Lo.  Different generation.

“What do you mean I got us into?!”

“Just kidding, dear.  But what are we going to do?”

“Not a problem.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Just drive up to the side entrance of the hotel.”

“What are you going to do, put on your invisicloak?”

“Sort of.”

I drove up and Lo said to me, “Leave your phone and wallet in the car and follow me.”

I followed her and she used her hotel key to let us in the pool entrance.  She walked as if she was tipsy and, as if she were walking a balance beam, she tiptoed along the edge of the pool before “accidentally” falling in.

After a split second of shock, I kicked off my shoes and dove in after her, fully clothed.

A few of the guests and the staff ran over to the pool.  I held Lo in my arms, her red dress clinging to her breasts, her little bare feet kicking and splashing.  She faked coughing.

“It’s all right,” I called out.  “I got her!  But could someone get us a couple of towels?”

Men rushed to help and we both got out of the pool even more soaking than we had been a few moments ago.  We wrapped ourselves in the plush white terrycloth towels and I turned to Lo and said, “Pure as the driven snow.”

She looked at me, her mascara dripping down her face, her hair matted down, and she smiled saying, “You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome?!  I saved you!”

“By letting you save me, I saved you.  Happy Valentine’s Day Daddy.”

Back in the hotel room, after a long hot shower, as I lay naked on the bed watching Lo brushing out her hair, I put on a song that summed up Lola’s V-Day shenanigans.  It’s called, “What Ever Lola Wants,” sung by Sarah Vaughan

 

Whatever Lola wants
Lola gets
And little man little Lola wants you

Make up your mind to have (your mind to have)
No regrets (no regrets)
Recline yourself resign yourself you’re through

I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for

Whatever Lola wants (Lola wants)
Lola gets (Lola gets)
Take off your coat
Don’t you know you can’t win (can’t win you’ll never never win)

You’re no exception to the rule
I’m irresistible you fool
Give in (give in you’ll never win)

I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for

When she came out of the bathroom, she said, “Damn straight!  And now I’m coming for your cock.”

She crawled on the bed and, just to tease her, I said, “I thought I’d read a little.”

She spread her legs and replied, “Read between the lines,” as she placed her middle finger between her lush red labia.

“Looks like it says, ‘Rosebud,’” I said as I indulged in my dessert.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

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It was one of those lovely summer days when you look out the window from your office and see everyone walking on the crowded street in t-shirts and miniskirts and you just wish it was the weekend and not Wednesday.  I had walked to work in the morning and, though I knew it would be a scorcher walking home in my suit, I couldn’t wait to get out of the office.  Finally five-o-clock arrived and I walked under the still blazing June sun back home, feeling the sweat soak the back of my shirt, but glad to be outside.  It was like some sort of primitive instinct.  We are sometimes more animal than human and this was one of those times that my body knew with greater intellect than my mind that we were not made to sit eight hours a day under florescent lights.

Walking up the street to home, I saw Lola sitting on the front stoop in her little blue Daisy Dukes and very loose-fitting tank top (no bra) talking with two young men.  As I got closer, I could see (without hearing the words spoken, just from their body-language) that the two guys were simply making small-talk in order to keep looking down Lo’s shirt.  I could also see that Lo was more than happy to let them, feigning complete ignorance of what was happening.

I got a little closer yet and now, even from the distance where I was, I could see Lo’s nipples through the white T.  She was smiling and saying something that I could just about hear.  Oh, that’s it, she’s complaining about how dry it has been and what it’s doing to her flowers as she crouches down to caress one of her prized plants.  This was just a rouse, of course, to allow them to see more of her breasts and to get her eyes level with their groins.

It was at that point that she spied me walking home.  She stood up and said, “And this is H.H.”  She nodded in my direction and added, “Like I said, he’s going to be away this weekend.”  I greeted the two young fellows with a handshake, and they introduced themselves as Roy and Gary.  “They live there,” said Lo, standing a bit on her tiptoes, pointing down the street.  “They just moved in a couple of weeks ago.”

The boys picked it up from there, explaining that they’re brothers and one of them just graduated high school, the other is a freshman in college and they just moved in up the street.  I introduced myself and Lo again said, “It’s too bad you’ll be out of town on business Friday through Sunday cause it’s supposed to be perfect beach weather.  I can’t wait to start my tan!  Maybe Friday, after work, I’ll lie out in the back yard.”  Though she was saying all of this to me, it wasn’t meant for me at all.  It was meant for the boys.  A transparent code for, “I’ll be alone this weekend and in a bikini (or less) and you should definitely come see me.”

The boys, big grins on their faces, knowing that they got away with something, made their excuses for having to go back home and said, “Nice meeting you,” as they left.

“What was that all about?” I asked Lo when they were gone.

“Just being neighborly.”

“By letting them see your tits?”

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.  Does that upset you, Daddy?”

“Plan on throwing a little party for them while I’m gone this weekend?”

“I hope they’ll both come!” she said, running her tongue over her lips.

“I’m sure they will.  You’re very lucky that such good looking guys moved so close.  You could be their go-to slut.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Should I drill a couple of holes in the fence?”

“Oh, Daddy, you’re bad!”

“No, you’re bad.”

“Well, if you have time before you have to leave and it’s not too much trouble. . . ”

“Lola!”

“Just kidding.  Why don’t you go inside, take a shower, and then drill me.”

We’re Good

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saying your name.”

“Out loud?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

[Image, of Lola Masturbating by JoKoss.]

Sexy Shorts: Master Debater

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In the bar, I held my cold beer and watched from a distance as some stranger tried to pick up Lo.  A smile ran across my beer-froth-covered lips as I saw her sitting on the barstool in her tight dress looking delectable with her curves in all the right places.

Earlier that night Lo and I had met up with the doppelgangers, Lilly and Jim, for the first Presidential Debate.  None of us were up to the task of hosting, so we decided to enjoy the political poppycock in a public forum.  We found the smallest, saddest, scuzziest dive-bar we could and went in there hoping for a subdued crowd of barflies.  We got what we came for and the little old man tending bar was more than accommodating to us.  Not only did he turn on the debate, but he had no objection to turning up the volume when a crowd of boisterous twenty-somethings filtered in (after being thrown out of some other place, no doubt).

When we arrived, Jim sat to the left, then Lilly to his right, and then Lo.  I stood behind the three of them because I wanted to both hear the TV and also be able to hear everyone’s conversation.  But that had the unintended, yet most welcome, consequence of making it look like Lo was unattached.

A middle-aged man in a flannel shirt came into the bar.  I saw him glance over all the possibilities before he sat on the stool next to Lo and ordered a beer.  Within mere moments he was talking with her – asking her what he had missed of the debate and soliciting her opinion about the opponents.  At first, Lo was rebuffing his advances.  I could tell by her body language.  She repeatedly turned her back to him and tried to talk with the doppelgangers.  But, by his second beer and repeated conversation starters, I could see that she was beginning to let her guard down.  At one point she looked over her shoulder at me and, no doubt, saw my devilish grin.  She responded with a mischievous, seductive look in her eyes, as if saying to me, “I’m going to leave this bar with you and fuck you later, but first I’m going to make you good and hard by flirting with this guy next to me.”

If that was her plan, she performed it to a tee.

Since Jim and Lilly have no inkling about Lo’s secret hotwife-life, when the guy at the bar got up to use the Loo, Lo took that opportunity to say to them, “I just realized, with HH standing back there and me here, it looks like I’m a third wheel!  Like I’m single!”  She said it as if it were astonishing, but I knew it was all an act.  She added, “I think I’ll have some fun with this.”

When the man returned to his barstool, Lo turned to him, tossing her hair with her hand, and began a deep, heated conversation.  I could only hear snippets of their words because they were talking in the hushed tones of an intimate exchange; no longer the public commentary on the debate.

Lo opened the conversation with, “So, are you married?”

“No, divorced,” I heard him respond and then he went on to explain for a while, much of which I didn’t catch.

Lo nodded her head and looked deep into his eyes, feigning empathy.  At one point she put her hand on his and said, “Oh, you poor thing.”

Soon he was inching his stool closer to Lo’s and put his hand on her back and rubbed it up and down a bit.  Lo leaned into it and made him feel comfortable doing it.  She was flirting with her eyes and tongue.

I was rock hard in my pants as I pretended to be a bystander watching the debate, but I was actually watching the two of them very closely.

They talked and talked as the debate went on and on.  Finally, when everyone stood up to leave, Lo introduced the man to Jim and Lilly and then turned to me and said, “And this is my boyfriend, HH.  HH, meet So-and-So.”  I didn’t catch his name because I was too enthralled by Lo’s dramatic flair for bringing her flirtations to an end.  I extended my hand and shook his and then Lo and I left the bar, arm-in-arm, with the doppelgangers.  When we were outside, we all had a pretty good laugh about it.

Back at home, Lo and I had a very good tryst in bed, as I told her what a bad girl she was and she repeatedly teased me with what a slut she is and the various things she would do with the guy from the bar.  She admitted to me that the only reason she didn’t bring him home was because we were out with the doppelgangers and she didn’t want to take the chance of frightening them off.  Let them find out more about us, little-by-little, first.  She’s a wicked one.

Priestess of Porn

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Lola and I were discussing my latest publication and the woeful lack of financial reward gained from it.

“Do you think that the problem may be with the world, not with me?” I asked, tired of being responsible for the failure of monetizing our sexy, silly, sensuous, serious, sappy, serial story.

“Yes, of course,” she said, “the problem is the world, not you.  The blog is the best writing you do.”

“Thank you dear,” I said, “you are an inspiration.”

“The world just isn’t ready for you,” she said.  The way she said it, I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic.  I shrugged and allowed myself to take it as a compliment.

“You know, you’re right.  I’ve put a lot of thought to this and I honestly can’t think of one author who is comparable in terms of range.”

“Oh boy,” she said, “here we go.”  Her tone was that of exasperation, as if she had heard this all before.  But I had never mentioned this to her.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about range?”

“Yes dear, please, tell me about your range.”

“Well, I’ve written plays, screenplays, works of philosophy, art theory, novels, poetry, and, erotica – don’t forget the erotica.”

“I am aware.”

“Perhaps,” I said, gazing off to the middle distance, rubbing my beard, “there is one, one author who has an equal range.”

“And who would that be?” she asked as if reading from a script.

“Marquis de Sade.  Yes, yes,” I said more enthusiastically the more I thought on it, “he had range – plays, philosophy, theology, erotica.”

“And look at how the world treated him.”

“Precisely, my dear, precisely!  They put the genius in prison!  I suppose I should count my blessings that I have not been arrested, charged, indicted, found guilty and imprisoned.”

“By that reckoning, you’re ahead of the game.”

“No matter how things go, I am fully confident that someday my true talent will be recognized, like with Sade.  It may just have to be posthumously.”

“Great,” she said totally devoid of enthusiasm.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be remembered as more than my mistress.  You’ll be known as my divine muse.”

“Just what I’ve always aspired to in life.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“And you sound like a pompous ass!  You know, I’m more than just your muse.  I have great achievements in my own right.”

“Of course you do,” I said, “but we’re talking about an immortal legacy.  For that, you’ll be remembered as I see you; as high priestess in the holy church of Venus.”

“As a porn star, you mean.”

“A priestess of porn.”

“A slut.”

“An entelechy of the divine feminine.”

“A pinup calendar model.”

“Why must you speak in such pedestrian terms?”

“Your speech flies to the heavens.  I’m here to keep you grounded.  Earthly delights, remember?”

 

Cake & Bar – Interview with a Kinky Amateur Porn Couple

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

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

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

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

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

Q: How long have you been a couple?

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

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

A: Yes, we’re monogamous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HH & Lo: Thanks so much!!!!

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

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

 

 

Red-Handed

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Sunday morning and, uncharacteristically, I slept late.  I usually “arise” hours before Lo – meaning, due to her lovely slumbering, naked body next to me, my cock is up before the sun and then I awake and, wishing to avoid disturbing her, I sneak out of the bedroom and perch myself on the couch in the living room writing erotica about her until she wakes and is ready to have me.

However, that morning was different.  For whatever reason, I didn’t get up before dawn and when my eyes did finally open, I awoke to find Lo on her tum next to me in bed.  Her phone was carefully placed at the head of the bed so she could read or look at something on its screen, her left hand was between her legs caressing her wet pussy lips and her right hand was casually giving my erect cock a hand-job.

Just as my eyes were opening in order to take all this in and attempt to make out the digital numbers on the clock, I heard her orgasm ramping up as she moaned into the pillow.  Her right hand let go of my cock and assisted her left in caressing her pussy.  The moans grew louder and her ass lifted in the air as if she were being penetrated by a phantom lover behind her.  She looked like an inch-worm as her ass slowly descended flat again with the passing of the ecstasy.

Without words, I gently pushed her over onto her back and spread her legs, entering her very wet pussy.  Her orgasm must have been blissful because she was unaware of anything at that moment, allowing me to see what was on the screen of her phone as it was still on, tilted against the headboard.  It showed pictures of Brian.  Apparently he works out a lot and he has a whole page of various images of himself bench pressing, curling, and doing sit-ups – all shirtless.  Lucky Lo.

I whispered to her, “Lo, you’re a bad girl.”

“I know, Daddy.  I’m sorry.”  She didn’t even try to deny it.  She was caught red-handed.

“As a punishment,” I said, feeling particularly entitled to demand whatever it was that I wanted, “you will have to do something for me.”

“What Daddy?” she said with some fear in her voice.

“First, turn over.”

She complied.  I got up behind her as if I were that phantom lover.  I penetrated her and began working at pleasing her pussy.

“What Daddy?” she asked, apprehensive of my wishes.

“When you cum,” and I knew she was going to cum soon, “I want you to call out his name.”

“Whose name?” she asked, poorly feigning innocence.

“You know who.”

“No, Daddy.”  My demand for her to own up to her unfaithfulness during sex seemed too much for her.

I spanked her bottom.  She moaned with delight.  “Yes, Lo.  Brian.  You will call out Brian’s name when you cum.  Do you hear me?”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Good.”

I went at her as I’m sure she had been imagining when she came the first time and, sure enough, within thirty seconds of agreeing to my punishment, she began whispering, “Brian.”  Her invocation grew louder and then she was calling out, “Brian!  Yes!  Brian!  Yes!  Fuck me!  Brian, I’m cumming!”

Hearing her call out another man’s name, knowing what she was thinking about, and visualizing all those photos that turned her on so much was too much for me.  I held out as long as I could and then I called to her, “Turn around and get on your knees!”

She jumped off my cock and swung around as I got to my feet on top of the bed and grabbed my throbbing cock.  I came all over her face as she submissively basked in the rain of cum.

When I was done, I simply said, “That’s my good girl.”

“All I want is to be your good girl, Daddy,” she said.

“I know that’s not all you want, but you’re lucky I’m such a good Daddy and I’m willing to give you whatever it is you want.”

“I know, Daddy.  And you’re lucky that you have a dirty little slut like me,” she said as she ran her tongue over her cum-covered lips.

Truth Stick

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It was Friday night and Lo and I were at a fundraising event at our city’s art museum.  It was a lovely affair and the only thing that gets Lo and me more riled up than art museums is art museums at night, with alcohol and lots of good looking people dressed to impress.

In my humble opinion, Lo was the most impressively dressed.  She was all dolled up in her heels, slinky skin-tight blue dress showing a lot of leg and cleavage, and her long hair framing her alluring face.  We were in the courtyard of the museum and a classical string quartet was playing.  I looked up at the sky and said to Lo, “I’m worried about the weather.”

“What about it?”

“I’m afraid it’s going to rain.  I don’t want you to get wet.”

“Too late for that.  I know what I’m going to do when we get home.”

“Oh boy.”

“Hopefully many boys!”

“Oh, I thought you were talking about me.”

“You and some other eye-candy I see tonight.”

“Like a little girl in a candy-shop, are you?”

She bit her lip and said, “Do you have anything for me to suck on, Daddy?”

“Lo, wait till we get home, ok?”

We were drinking champagne and then I noticed the perfect complement for it.  “Look, Lo, a cupcake bar!  Let’s get some.”

“You’re really undoing all of my effort.”

“Undoing what effort?”

“My diet.  Losing weight.”

“You have to feed your soul.  Soul, being immaterial, never gains weight, but it can starve.”

“My soul is starving – starving for your attention.  Let’s forego the cupcakes and find a coat closet and get right to the main course.”

We mingled and drank a bit more, but the weather was ominous.  Finally I convinced Lo that we should get going.

We picked up the car from the valet, but once we were in, Lo suggested going to a club.

“Lo, it’s already ten o’clock.”

“Already?!  Are you kidding me?  As if that’s late.  The night is young and so am I.”

“Well, young’un, I’m not and I’m tired.  You can drop me off at home and have your night on the town.”

“Well,” she said, “at least tell me I’m going to get laid tonight.”

Silence.

“Oh no, I’m getting fucked tonight, preferably by you.”

Silence.

“If you don’t plan on doing me tonight, then I’m making calls and I’ll find someone who will.”

“Is that the origin of the term ‘call girl’?  I’ve had it backwards all these years!”

“Shut up and feel my puss!  Feel how wet it is?” she asked as she pulled my hand up her dress to her crotch where I discovered the reason for why her dress looked as smooth as skin on her – no panties!

“That’s it, Daddio.”

I began to caress her and she put the seat back to allow me easier access.  Suddenly a car jumped out in front of us from a side road.  I swerved.  She sat up.

“Watch it!” she yelled at me.

“Do you want me to drive carefully or to finger you?”

“Oh yeah. . .  Well, I guess I don’t really need you,” she said as she began fingering herself.

This was almost as distracting for me as my doing it for her.  She came.  She came again.  We pulled in the driveway.  I went to open the door.

“Not so fast, Daddio.”

“We’re home.”

“But we don’t have to go in right away.  How about you kiss me?  You know, I’ve gotten more tongue from a dog than I have from you in the past month.”

“Didn’t I get on my knees and lick your pussy all morning after your shower before we went out tonight?”

“That’s my cunt.  I’m talking about tongue-to-tongue.”

“With a dirty mouth like that, is it any surprise?”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

I kissed her.  She pulled my hand down to her dripping pussy.

“It’s never just romance with you?” I ask.

“It’s all romance with me.  My definition of romance is very wide, very deep, and fits a lot into it.”

“Are we discussing romance or. . .”

“Just shut up and keep kissing me.”

I followed orders.  She again pressed my fingers down on her clit.  She rubbed them around the way she wanted to be stroked.  “I said, keep kissing me.  That didn’t mean to stop fingering me.”

“How about we take this inside?”

“OK, pull down your pants.”

“Not inside you!  I meant let’s go in the house.”

“Oh, right.”

As we were walking into our building, there was a flash of lighting and a crackle of thunder – loud and very soon after the lightning.  Big, heavy rain drops began to fall, one-by-one at first.  Within moments of getting inside, it was a heavy and steady downpour.  “Let’s start this storm off right,” said Lo as she grabbed me, pushed me up against the wall, took my hands and placed them on her breasts.  I kissed her on her open mouth.  It was hot.

We walked to the bedroom.  I got naked and into bed.  Lo went into the bathroom saying, “I just have to take off my makeup.”

I guess I was more tired than I thought.  Within seconds I fell into a deep and heavy sleep.  I awoke to a naked Lo between my legs with my cock filling her mouth.

“Lo, I think I’m too tired,” I said, fearing her wrath.

She pulled her face up enough to say, “That’s a lie.”

“No it’s not.”

“Let’s see what the Truth Stick says.”  She grabbed my hard cock.  “The Truth Stick says otherwise.”

“I should beat you with my Truth Stick!”

“Yes!  That’s all I want!”

She climbed on my erection and slid her warm puss down it, straddling me.

But, no matter what the Truth Stick said, I kept on nodding off to sleep.  I don’t know if she came or if she merely got turned off by the lack of attention, but at some point she climbed down from her pole and sat next to me in bed.  She pulled out her Hitachi and placed it between her legs.  Looking over at me next to her with disdain, as she massaged herself, she said, “Brian, my special friend at work, said he’s really eager to work with me.  He told me today that whenever and wherever I need him, I should just say the word and he’ll be there.  I’m thinking about him right now.  I’m thinking about his big, strong arms.  I’m thinking about his broad shoulders.  His huge bulge in his pants.  I’m thinking about what sorts of things I might ask him to do for me.”

I know she was just trying to make me jealous and simultaneously rile me up to giving her a good hard pounding – plumbing her depths with my Truth Stick – and I was flattered, but unable to give her what she wanted.  As I heard her climax alone next to me the lyrics of a song wafted through my mind as I gently withdrew to dreamland:

She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she cums just like a little whore.

Bigger, Harder, Longer

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Carrying a mug of coffee, I walk in on her just as she is squirting, pulling the Hitachi away from her clit.  Her hands scrunch up the sheets under her and her legs are spread.  Her head lifts and her breasts heave as she breathes quick breaths, screaming, “Oh Fuck!  Oh FUCK!  OH Fuuuuck!!!”  She looks over at me and says, “Don’t just stand there, get me a towel!”  I do so.

“I just came to tell you breakfast is ready.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Daddio!”

“When you’re ready, I’ll see you at the breakfast table.”

“But you didn’t kiss me good morning.”

“Yes I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I did – all night long.”

“Yeah.  I had to punch you to get you to stop and let me sleep.”

“Well, those were your good morning kisses.”

“I want one now.”

I lean over to kiss her good morning.  She lets me kiss her on the lips before pushing my head down between her legs.  “I meant there,” she says.

“Lo, I’m not going to eat you out before I eat breakfast.  It’s on the table getting cold!”

“Just one kiss, Daddio.  Please.”

I indulge her.  One kiss turns to a full-on tongue-fuck-fest of every area between her legs from the small of her back to her bellybutton.  Luckily she cums quickly.  I pull back and go into the bathroom to splash water on my face.  Her juices have a way of soaking my beard and mustache.  I look up, into the vanity mirror over the sink and see her preparing to pound herself with a dildo.

“OK, that does it!” I call to her.  “I’m just going to throw out the breakfast I made.”

“No, Daddio, I’ll be there in. . .”  Her words trail off as she becomes preoccupied with the instrumental manipulation of her puss.

I walk out of the bedroom, my hard-on leading the way.  I sit down at the breakfast table alone and eat the luke-warm eggs and toast while I hear her sing-song voice of oohs and ahs crescendo from the bedroom.

When we’re both done, I stand up, put my plate and glass in the sink and I bring her her breakfast on a tray.

“Oh, breakfast in bed!” she squeals, leaning over to put her toys away safely stashed under the bed.

“If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Mohammed.”

“Daddy, I’ll cum to anything.”

“Don’t I know it!  What did you cum to today?”

“I’m sorry Daddy,” she says, looking guilty.

“Why?  Because you let your eggs and toast get cold?”

She shakes her head, no.

“What is it then?  That you used my mouth, but kept all the orgasms to yourself?”

Again she shakes her head in the negative.  Keeping orgasms to herself gives her no guilt.

“Then what?”

She passes her phone to me.  I look at it.  It’s a photo of a giant black cock.

“A friend of yours?”

“Not yet, but I hope someday.”

“Who is it?”

“Just a fan.”

“A fan of your pics, not my writing I assume.”

“I don’t know.  I didn’t ask him about it.”

“What’s he have to say for himself?”

“I don’t know.  He just sent me this pic and. . .”

“And it’s got you all preoccupied.”

She shook her head yes with a guilty look on her face.  “I want it, Daddy!” she said like a girl asking for a big lollipop at the circus.

I turn to leave the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To do the dishes.”

“I’ll do it!”

“No, I’ll do it.  I don’t like the way you do it.  Besides, you have to eat your cold breakfast.”

“Why do you wish to maintain control all the time?”

“It’s not a matter of retaining control.  It’s a matter of maintaining standards.”

“You have so many standards.  Double standards.”

“I only have one standard. . . the best.”

“That’s my line,” she says, followed by, “but, if you’re speaking about me, then go on.”

I finally walk out the bedroom into the kitchen.  As I’m in the midst of putting dishes into the dishwasher, Lo saunters up to the entrance of the kitchen naked as the day she was born, she turns to me and says, “Are you jealous?”  She’s always trying to get me jealous, to no avail.

“Lo, you’re standing right where the neighbors can see you through the window, you know.”

“Does that make you jealous?”

“No.  But it may make the neighbor’s wife jealous!”

“Phhh,” she sounds dismissively, bending over to give the neighbor a more explicit view.  As she’s bent over, she says, “I’m just a hotwife with an exhibitionist’s streak and a loving man who can use his fingers to type out stories that make people come back for more.”

“I don’t think your big friend was coming back for my writing.”

“Well, I can’t help it if behind every good nympho is a line of men waiting to fuck her and behind every bad nympho is a longer line.”

“Which one are you?”

“Fuck me, Daddy, and you’ll see.”

“No, Lo, I already know.  I was just testing to see if you would admit to it.”

“The line behind me is very long, very hard,” she says as she reaches over and grabs my cock.

“That doesn’t make sense.  How is the line hard?”
“Fuck me and I’ll show you.”

She bends over, this time with her rear towards me rather than toward the window.

“Are you still doing the same old thing?” I ask.

“You mean you?” she asks, looking at me from between her legs.

“Very funny.  This ‘old thing’ is going to work.”

“Work on me!”

“Didn’t I make you cum this morning? – and you squirted all over me and the bed!”

“That was a drop in the bucket.”

She wiggles her ass, like she’s playing charades.  So I guess, “You’re horny.”

She sees the bulge in my khakis.  “And you want me.”

“Yes, Lo.  I always want you.  But sometimes I have to actually go to work.”  I walk over to her and give her wiggling bum a good smack.

“Mmmmm,” she moans, “again!”

I repeat.

“I love spankings,” she says, “they’re like applause, but on my ass!  Let me hear how much you like my ass.”

I ‘applaud’ her five or six times.  But I do no more than applaud.  I then walk out of the kitchen.

“But Daddy,” I hear her call down the hallway, “what about my encore!”

I leave the house and go to work, but on my way home that afternoon, I stop and run a special errand for Lo.  For a while now I’ve wanted to try a cock sleeve.  I run into my local adult toy shop and peruse the possibilities.  After a careful review, I decide on one that is a total of 11 inches, dark brown in complexion, very realistic, and best of all, has a ring to wrap around my balls to anchor the sleeve in place.

Back at home I find that Lo has invited a few people over for a little get-together.  Unaware that we were expecting company, I have to find a way of sneaking the rather large box in the house inconspicuously.  I decide to pop my head in, say hello to the guests, and declare that we need some more beer.  I run out to the local store and pick up a six-pack.  I throw the toy in the plain brown bag and rush in, crossing my fingers that no one stops me on the way.

They are all in the living room and I call out, “I’m back!  I’ll just pop these in the fridge and be right there.”  I head to the bedroom first, hide my stash under the bed, and then put the beer in the fridge, removing one for myself first.

Walking in on our little circle of friends, I take a look at Lo and see that she has put on a stunning little number.  Her heels, her short-shorts, and her black tank-top with her one-size-too-small push-up bra under it, giving her quite the shelf popping out of the top.  What’s the reason for this, I wonder.

I give her a kiss hello and tell her I’m famished, looking at her quizzically.

Lola complains that the meal she prepared didn’t come out the way that she was hoping.

I say, “You know, I don’t think love is blind so much as love is deaf.”

“What does that mean?” she asks.

“You could go on complaining like that all night, but because you look so good, I don’t hear a thing.”

I get a little laugh from everyone there and then the ‘guests of honor’ arrive.  Two young men from across the street who had moved in recently were invited by Lo.  Brothers.  Built.  Did I mention young?

“HH, you remember Roy and Gary,” she says, that look of desire in her eye, her tongue running over her lips as she introduces us.  “I just thought,” she says innocently, “since we were having people over, I’d invite them as well.”

“Very neighborly of you,” I say.

The rest of the night goes on with Lo dancing that fine line between being a charming hostess and a wicked vixen.

Finally, past eleven, all our guests leave, including the brothers from across the street.

Lo goes into the bedroom and when I emerge out of the bathroom, cock sleeve firmly in place, Lo nearly jumps in fear and fawning over the giant extension between my legs.

“What the hell is that?!” she cries out.

“Just something special I bought for you today.”

“What?  Why?  Today?”

“Yes.  Because you were so enamored of your fan who sent you that pic that was longer than your forearm.”

“But Daddio, you know I love you,” she says, reaching out to grab the long appendage and feel its heft and girth.

“Yes, but you long for bigger, longer, thicker, and bigger.”

“You mentioned bigger twice.”

“I like how indignant you are.”

“Indignity is my forte.”

“No, lack of dignity is your forte.”

“Daddy, I have loads of dignity.  I just prefer to be degraded in the bedroom.”

“Well, do what you do best and get on the bed, spread your legs, make yourself good and wet, and let me pound you with this monster cock.”

“I thought you’d never ask.  Oh, and by the way, I’m already super wet.  I have been all night.”

“The brothers?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

I do as she wishes and I have to admit that it was a little difficult to fit the bulbous bad-boy in, but once in, Lo takes all of it with grace and gratitude.

“Can I use my Hitachi?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say, since with this sleeve it’s easy for me to lean back and give her enough room to fit her Hitachi over her clit.  With the sleeve on, there is significantly less sensation and I welcome the vibrations of the Magic Wand.

Within mere moments Lo is saying, “Pull out!  PULL OUT!  I have to squirt!”

I do as she says and an impatient stream of spray shoots out on me.

“Holy shit!” she says, as if she had never cum like that before.  Maybe she hadn’t.  Maybe every time it feels like the first.  But just as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she rolls over and says, “Take that silly thing off now and fuck me rawdog!”

I obey and begin from behind her and say, “Lo, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t even feel you.  That sleeve spread you so wide.”

“Don’t you take this the wrong way,” she says over her shoulder, “but I can hardly feel you.  Now fuck me like you mean it.”

I do as she commands and as I pound her from behind, all the wetness covering her ass splish-splashes with each thrust and it makes a slick slapping sound.

I continue harder and faster, hoping to register something within her, and after much striving I finally succeed.  I hit my target and she cums even harder than she did the first time.

But then something I’ve never seen before happens.  She literally passes out mid-orgasm.  She faints from fucking.  She swoons from sex.  She is out cold for about three or four minutes.  When she comes to, she just asks to hold me.

“What happened Daddy?”

“I don’t know,” I say.  “One minute you were cumming, the next you were out cold.  How much did you have to drink tonight?”

“One glass of champagne.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.  I swear.”

“Have you ever fainted from fucking before?”

“No Daddy.  Never.”

“How do you feel?”

“Great.”

“Did you cum in me Daddy?”

“No, Lo.  I didn’t cum at all.”

“Are you sure?” she asks feeling between her legs.

“Yes Lo.  That’s all from you.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.  You were wonderful.”

“But I passed out – literally on you.”

“It’s ok.  I took it as a compliment.”

“You would.  You have such a big ego.”

“If you’re talking about this,” I say, holding the sheath, “then you’re right.  It is big.  I had a big ego before, and now it’s even bigger.”

“Daddy, a man’s ego is not his cock size.”

“No.  I agree.  But the bigger his cock size, the bigger his ego.”

“Well, you’d better watch out.  You know what they say?”

“No, what’s that?”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“Oh?  Is that how it goes?  I thought it was, the harder they cum the harder they pass out.”

 

Fuck Noir

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It was one of those weeks when I was feeling low rather than feeling Lo.  A depression had settled in and, too depressed to do anything, I felt like trying to shake it was as futile as anything else I had tried to do in my life.  Dark thoughts.

Lo had been trying to seduce me all week.  “Fuck it out,” she’d say, “you’ll feel better after.”

“Lo,” I’d reply, “you know that depleting my Chi energy through ejaculation is a certain method for moving my mood from the ground floor into the basement.”

“Well, then just don’t cum.  I’ll cum enough for the both of us!”

Though I found her determination amusing, it did little more than evoke a wry smile from my lips.

As a direct result of my lack of amorous affection for her, Lo felt no desire to keep herself primed and ready for a good romp – with me or anyone – and she let her hair-down-there grow out.

Coming to bed one night, I saw her lying naked over the covers.  “Wow,” I remarked, unaware of the words escaping my mouth, “you’re looking very 1970’s!”

She immediately pulled the blanket up and over herself, saying, “I suddenly feel a cold draft.”

I can be cruel when in the throes of depression and so I responded with, “You shouldn’t be cold, you have a warm fleece.”

I climbed into bed and opened a book.  Beginning to read next to her, she turned to me and said, “With that facial hair you look like a movie villain.”

“You know, don’t you, that the villain of every story is the hero of his own story?”

“Yeah, well you’re the villain – even in your own story.”

“I can live with that.  You know that Milton’s great dilemma when writing Paradise Lost was that he had drawn the Devil in such a villainous way that he became the most compelling and interesting character.  God didn’t have a chance when the Devil was on stage.”

“Really?  Milton?  Really?  You are the most literary narcissist I ever did meet!”

“I take that as a compliment,” I said to her.

She reached over, more lovingly this time, and she said, “Daddy, you really do need to trim your beard.”  She rubbed my rough beard with her hand and tugged a little on it.

“When did you masturbate?” I asked.

She looked guilty and then said, “A little while ago.”

“When?”

“Just before you came into the bedroom.  How did you know?”

“I can smell you on your fingertips.”

“Well,” she replied, “if you’re not going to finger me, then someone has to.”  As she said this, she moved her hand down to my crotch.

Never one to miss a moment to spoil the mood when my mood is foul, I called out, “Why are your hands so cold?!  Were you giving the Ice Man a handjob before he cometh?”

She wrapped her legs around my bare legs and I felt her feet on my feet.  I followed my first question with another, “A foot job too?”

“The Ice Man has a warmer heart (and bigger dick) than you!” she said, rolling away from me and grabbing her phone.

I fell asleep to the tap-tap-tap of her texting with someone.

The next day was Saturday and it was a beautiful spring day.  Lo was up and about and I was lying on the couch in the living room.  Lola approached me like a puppy and said, “Come outside with me!”

“No.”

“Yes.  It’s so bright out there.”
“But it’s so dark in here.”

“Look,” she said, opening the blinds, “it’s the first beautiful day of spring!  Let’s get out and enjoy it!”  She proceeded to open all of the blinds and the windows to let the warm breeze flow through the room.

Like a vampire mortally injured by the light, I got up to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Are you going to come in the bedroom? – Because I’m going to take a nap.”

“I’ll probably cum several times. . . anywhere.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I said, as I went to the bedroom and locked the door.  She followed and was nonplused at finding the door locked.

“Let me come in!”

“No, no!  Go, go!”

“I’ll come in, you’ll cum in.  It will be even!”

“No.”

“Then at least come out.  Look, to get out of this depression you need to do something.”

“Well, I’m not doing you.”

“That was my first suggestion, but I’ll settle for going for a walk or to the gym.  Physical activity will help.”

I unlocked the door.  She entered the bedroom.  “Fine,” I said.

Getting ready for the gym, I put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“You’re not really going to wear that, are you?” she asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like a senior-citizen mall-walker.”

“And?  I’m just going to the gym, not a cocktail party.”

“And won’t you be hot?  Aren’t you going to break a sweat in that?”

“Oh, gosh, I certainly hope not!”

She was naked and sitting on the edge of the bed.  “Come here,” she asked seductively, spreading her legs and putting her hand between them, using her fingers to spread her pussy lips.

“No.”

“Don’t you want it, Daddy?”

“No.”

“But I want you.  I can see the outline of your big, thick dick in those sweatpants.”

“Lo, what are you going to wear to the gym?”

“Come here and I’ll tell you.”

“No.”

“Please.”

I gave in and walked over to her, convinced she wouldn’t succeed in her seduction.  As soon as I was between her legs, her knees clamped on my legs, capturing me and holding me tightly.

“Lo, you’re a human Penis Flytrap!”

“I think you must have Adult ADD.  One of the symptoms is relentless bad puns.”

“You’re saying I have AADD?”
“If you want to put it that way.”

“Sounds like my report card from high school.”

“You see, perfect example!”

“I heard once that among entrepreneurs there is an inordinate proportion of people with Adult ADD.  I heard that those entrepreneurs are good at multitasking and that they surround themselves with lots of competent people who stay on task.  That’s what I do.  I’m a captain and I have a lot of first mates.”

“Oh really?”

“Well,” I said more kindly, “my dear, you’re my first first mate.”

“I’m my own captain.  I’m no one’s first mate,” she said, putting her thumb to her sternum, pointing to herself proudly.

“Captain, eh?”

“That’s right, and I like to be surrounded by lots of semen.”

“And you say I have bad puns.”

“Give me some semen, Daddy, please,” she asked, pulling my cock out from my sweatpants and putting it in her mouth, to no avail.  Having failed in her attempt, she then got on the bed on all fours, flaunting her ass in front of me.  “What do you think?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Booty-full,” I said.

“Punny,” she said sardonically.

“Honestly, Lo,” I said, “I wish that I felt well enough to put my penis in your vagina.”

“Daddy!” she exclaimed, feigning shock.

“I’m sorry dear, I couldn’t think of a more poetic way of phrasing that.”

“That’s ok.  I like the direct route.”

“Are we going to the gym or what?”

“Yes,” she said, “because if we’re going to go to a nude beach this year, then we have to get in shape.”

“We?” I asked.

“Yes, we.  Us.”

“I’m in a shape.  In fact, I think I look flabulous.”

“Flabulous?”

“Yeah.  I might not have abs.  I might have flabs, but they look flabulous.”

“Well, then,” she said, “at least I feel like I have to get in shape.  I think I gained four pounds this winter.  Does it show?”

“Lo, you know that I would be happy if you gained forty pounds!”

“That’s nice of you to say but. . .”

“You know, there’s a kink out there called feederism, or something like that, where gaining weight is considered sexually arousing?”

“So, I have to get fat in order to get you up?”

“I’m not saying that.  I’m just saying all bodies are beautiful bodies.”

She rolled over on her tum and asked, “All?”

“Well, dear,” I corrected myself, “yours most of all.”

“That’s more like it.”

On the way to the gym, I remarked to her, “I was listening to Billy Joel the other day.  Some of his lyrics are just brilliant.”

“Like, ‘I heard about sex but not enough’?”

“Of all his lyrics, that’s the one lyric that you remember?”

“It speaks to me.”

“Well, I was thinking about the song, ‘I Go to Extremes.’”

“What about it?”

“It speaks to me.”

When we got to the gym, Lo wanted to start in the weight room.  Our gym is co-ed, obviously, and in the weight room there are lots of big, burly men who love to look at themselves in the full-length mirrors that surround the room on all the walls.  Lots of mirrors.  There are, of course, some women who, truth be told, also like to look at themselves in the mirrors.  They just don’t make as big a show of it as the guys do.

Lo likes looking at everybody, including herself, and, this particular morning, I found out in the worst of ways, she liked to be looked at as well.  She went right for the bench press and, asking me to spot her, she got on her back under the bar, her feet flat on the floor, her legs spread, and she asked with great deference, for my advice on lifting the twenty pounds (plus the weight of the bar, of course).

I gave her a few pointers and then stood behind her head, my hands cupped under the bar just in case she needed a little boost.  She looked up from the bench where her head was perched perfectly between my legs.  Had we been alone at home, she would have had a perfect angle for some fun play.  Her tongue ran across her sparkling white teeth and she mouthed the words, “Oh, Daddy!” as her eyes roamed to my crotch.

I rolled my eyes, but soon saw that some of the guys in the gym were stealing glances our way.  “Lo, try to get it up, will you?”  I honestly didn’t mean to say that.  I was talking about the bar, but it just came out that way.

“I’ve been trying all week,” she said.  “I think that with this good, hard, steel rod, I can make some progress.”  She went to lift the bar and lower it to her chest.  With a controlled exhale, she pushed the bar back up.  “That was good, right?!”  She was very excited by her accomplishment.

“Excellent!” I said, trying to be encouraging.  I looked up and noticed more guys’ eyes looking at her.  Was it that her legs were spread?  Was it that her face was down by my crotch?  Was it her breasts heaving as she lay flat on the bench?  I couldn’t tell what the interest was, but across the room the guys doing curls with free-weights, causing their already large biceps to bulge, were looking right at Lo.  It seemed like she was giving them inspiration.

After bench pressing, we did a few other strength exercises and we didn’t exact quite as much attention.  She told me that at the top of the hour a yoga class was starting and she encouraged me to join her in it.  “Yoga will be good for you.  It’s known to reduce depression.”  Reluctantly, I agreed.

In the yoga studio, the mats were arranged in five rows of four deep.  People gradually entered and chose their spots and began stretching out.  Lola took the front-center mat in the room and told me to take the spot behind her.  I did so.  I tried stretching.  Touching my toes was a challenge.  When the room was full, the instructor came in and she stood right in front of Lo.  We began easily enough and all was fine, until “Downward Dog.”  That’s when I figured out what the guys in the gym were looking at – Lo wasn’t wearing any panties!  Here little green yoga shorts were loose-fitting enough for her pussy to peek out when doing the bench press and now at yoga.  She looked over her shoulder at me when she came out of the pose and she knew that I knew what a bad girl she was.  Needless to say, part of my body was not as limber as it should be for yoga after that.  I think that I wasn’t the only one to notice my little slut’s slutty ways.  I played it off like I wasn’t with Lo.  Who?  Her?  That one in the front row showing her joie de vivre to the class?  Nope, don’t know her at all.  I’m just right behind her for the best view.

When the hour was over, Lo made it clear to the class that I was her man and she was my hotwife by grabbing my arm and congratulating me on getting through the entire class.  She looked down at the protrusion in my sweatpants and said, “I think you need to walk that off.”

I gave her a deriding look.

All the way home, she walked in front of me wiggling her little ass.

When we got home she said, “I’m so wet from working out.”

“I bet you are,” I replied.

“I’m going to take a shower.  Care to join?”

“No.  I’ll take one later.”
“Fine,” she said in a huff, “I was going to masturbate in there anyhow.”

“I figured.”

She was in there almost an hour.  When she was done, she walked stark naked into the kitchen and began slicing a tomato.

Hearing her futzing about, I came into the kitchen and asked, “Did you take a shower?”

“Yes.”

“Did you jill it?”

“No.  I made myself smooth.” She turned from the counter toward me and displayed her silky white skin of her mons pubis to me.

“Then why aren’t you bent over the bed?”

“Because I’m making you dinner.”

“Can’t I have an appetizer first?”

“Oh, now you want it?  What happened to your depression?”

“I’m just asking for a small taste to whet my appetite.”

“Just a taste?” she asked, incredulously.

“Yes.  April is abstinence month.”

“Really?  Since when?”

“I just proclaimed it such.”

“Well, this month sure won’t last long.”

“I’m telling you Lo, it’s Celibate City for me.”

“Forget it, Daddio, it’s Vaginatown.”