Tag Archives: Slut

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.”

Sexy Shorts: Like Clockwork

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It’s getting late and I wonder why Lola’s still asleep.  I walk into the bedroom and find her naked, her fingers between her legs, watching a video on her phone.  She doesn’t stop, as she usually does when I interrupt her solo-time, so I sit in the chair and watch her.  She looks up from the bed and says, “Do you mind?”

“What?”

“I’m not masturbating to put on a show for you.  I’m masturbating because I have to cum before I go to work and I have to be at work in fifteen minutes.  I trying to get this done here.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

“You are stopping me.  I just want to fuck myself and finish.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Grrrrr,” she grumbles, dropping the phone, pulling out her dildo and stuffing it in her wet crotch with both hands.  In-and-out, in-and-out she furiously pounds herself until, thirty or forty seconds later, she slides the twelve-incher out of her and ejaculates a spray of cum all over the bed.

As she catches her breath, I say, “Feeling better?”

“Yes.  No thanks to you.”

“It was a win-win.  You came, I got to see you cum.”

“I would have cum faster if you hadn’t interrupted me.”

“I’m sorry, I was just checking on you because I didn’t want you to oversleep.”

“Well, I’m up.”

“And now, so am I.”

Game Time

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It was Thursday.  The Thursday before Super Bowl Sunday to be exact.  It was just your average Thursday until, unable to shake a persistent cold, I went to the doctor.  After a check-up, X-rays and bloodwork, I was diagnosed with pneumonia and ordered to get bedrest.  Lo, of course, was as caring and fussing as the most attentive nurse and she took pity on my pain and suffering.

“Daddio?” she said Thursday night.

“What?” I replied in a raspy whisper.

“You know, it’s been so long since. . .”

“Lo, don’t tell me you want to fuck.”

“OK, I won’t tell you,” she said, reaching her hand to my groin, “but I’ll show you.”

She pulled out her double-ended dildo and, before she could go to town with it, I interrupted.  “Lo, I just need to get some sleep.  If you want to fuck your brains out with that thing, can you do it in the living room?”

“Daddio, it’s been days!”

“According to my calculations,” I replied, “I think it’s been since Tuesday.”

“Yes!  You see – two days!”

“Living room.”

She moped away, dildo in hand, her intentions of seducing me shattered.

I didn’t hear much more from her that night because I quickly fell off to sleep, the Nyquil silencing any extraneous noise she may have made during her solo session.

The next day when she came home from work I was recuperating on the couch, watching mind-numbing TV.  I turned to Lo and asked, “Why is everything on TV so stupid?”

“Because smart doesn’t sell,” she said without missing a beat.

“Where are you going?” I asked her as I saw her put down her work bag and pick up her clutch.

“Out,” she said simply.  She pulled a piece of paper out of her clutch and looked it over.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s my ‘to do’ list.”

“Oh yeah?  Whose names are on it?”

“Funny.  Do you need anything?”

“Some more orange juice and throat lozenges.”

“What you need is sex,” she said, bending over to put on her pumps.

“I still have a 102 temperature.”

“I’m just saying, sex, it does a body good,” she smirked, looking at me upside-down between her legs.

“It sure does your body good, but mine is beyond repair.”

“Oh, Daddio,” she said as she blew an air-kiss my way, “I’ll get you your OJ and lozenges.  Kiss kiss.”

Later, as I lay on the couch wallowing in my misery, Lola sent me a pic on my phone.  It was of her topless in panties.  “Like?” she asked in the text.

“Where are you and what are you doing?”

“Shopping.  I thought you could use a little lingerie photo shoot.”

She was in the changing room of Victoria’s Secret or something, taking seflies for me.  I can’t deny that, even in my state of dysphoria, I found her antics alluring.

I texted her which panties I liked.  There were not many that I didn’t like.

“Maybe I can sell them on-line?” she texted back.

“People can buy them themselves from the store, you know.”

“I meant my used panties,” she responded.

“Oh.  I hadn’t thought of that.  Yeah.  Go for it.”

“I’m coming,” she texted.

“Lo, this is no time for you to be masturbating in public!”

“I mean, I’m coming home now.”

“Oh.”  Phew.

Soon she was walking in the door and she asked me how I was feeling.

“The same.  Still watching mind-numbing cable TV.”  A cooking show was on instructing how to make a baked pastry filled with fruit.

“I love those,” said Lo, sitting next to me.  “Do you?”

“I hate tarts. . . .  Present company excluded, of course.”

“Mmmm, this is making me hungry,” said Lo.  “Did you eat anything today?”

“Yes.  I made myself lunch.”

“What did you have?”

“I had a grilled cheese and a chocolate milk.”

“You realize,” said Lo, “that that is the lunch of an average fifth-grader.”

“Are you implying that I’m average?”

“Ugh.  Are you hungry?”

“No dear.”

“You should eat.”

“No thank you.”

Lola went into the kitchen and, before long I heard her cussing at something.  I got up and saw her having a devil of a time trying to flip her omelet.  “Stand back,” I said, “it needs a man’s touch.”

“Well, I know something does,” she said to me.  After I flipped it she asked, “Do you want me to blow you?” and she dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor.

“No, I don’t want you to blow me.  I’m sick.”

“And I’m horny.  Each of us can cure the other,” she said looking up at me, fumbling in my pajama bottoms for my cock.

“Lola, your omelet is ready.”

She sat down and I served her.  As she ate she asked me, “How do you reconcile my silly and sexy sides?”

Sitting across from her, nursing a drink of water, I said, “You’re a complete cable package with porno channels and Comedy Central.”

“I like that,” she said.  “I can’t wait to show you my new panties.”

“You already did – virtually.”

When we went to bed, I was still feeling miserable.  I rejected Lola once more and she made a little tent of the sheets and opened up her phone and went to town on herself to who-knows-what naughtiness of pornographic material.  We had gone to bed early, around nine, and when I woke up around eleven, she was still at it.  Ignoring her, I used the bathroom and returned.  She didn’t even notice my brief absence, or at least she didn’t indicate any notice.

The next morning, Saturday, she sauntered naked into the living room where I was sitting, sipping my tea and honey.  “Morning dear,” she said.

“Oh, what a long fucking night,” I responded, having slept very poorly.

“Back in the day we’d have a long night fucking,” she quipped, followed by, “Those days can happen again, Sugar.”

“Not today they won’t!” I insisted, exhausted by her libido without having enjoyed any of its fringe benefits in days.

“Awww,” she said, cuddling up to me, “still not feeling well?”

“A little better,” I said.  “At least I’m hungry.  That’s a good sign.”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” she offered enthusiastically.  “How about pancakes?”

“OK.”

She went to the kitchen and I followed her when I could smell the delicious aroma.

“Uh oh,” she said.

“What?”

“Too high, too long.”

“What?”

“My pancake.  The heat was on too high and I left it on too long.  It burned.”

“Oh no it didn’t.  That’s just how I like it!”

I ate and was feeling better.  We needed to do food shopping and I offered to go with Lola to the store.  She drove and when we got there, she said, “You stay here.  I’ll go in.”

“No, I can go,” I protested.

“You rest.  I’ll go in.”

“Why can’t we both go in?”

“I’ll give you three good reasons: I’ll make it quicker, cheaper, and easier.  Now that I think about it – that’s exactly what people said about me in college.”

“You are incorrigible.”

When we got back home, having missed work on Friday, I tried to do a little work from home that afternoon since I was feeling slightly better (at least I had no fever).  Lo came in the room, naked again but for her new thong, trying to seduce me.   I tried telling her that I had a lot of work to do.  “I’m really quite behind.”

As if on que, she bent over and showed me her ass, the thong hardly visible.

“That’s quite a behind too,” I said.

“And it’s all yours, Daddio.”

“Let’s not exaggerate.  All?”

“Well, you can have it all right now, if you want.  And then later someone else can have it all.”

“At least you’re more accurate now.”

“Well?”

“Not now darling.”

“Fine!” she said, pouting.  “I’m going out tonight.”

“Fine.”

Later she appeared, all dolled up, wearing her favorite earrings designed like little anchors and a sweater with a nautical theme designed into it.

“Well, don’t you look cute,” I said, trying to be nice.

“I look like a little sailor!”

“Trying to find semen.”

She threw a pillow at me.  “You’re crude and rude!”

“It’s true.”

“Even if it is true, you have a vulgar mouth.”

“As Jesus said, it’s not what comes out of the mouth that makes it vulgar, it’s what you put in.”

“Well, darling, when I come back home tonight and tell you what I’ve put in it, I guarantee that Jesus never imagined such a string of words coming out of anyone’s mouth, especially not from such a little angelic beauty as I.”

“I can’t wait.  Pack your condoms!  A sailor doesn’t want to get caught without a rain jacket!”

“Don’t you worry,” she said as she kissed me goodbye.

I heard nothing from her the rest of the night.

When she got home, long after I had turned in for some much needed sleep, I heard her undress and slither under the sheets, pressing her chilly skin up against my nice, warm, almost feverish body.

“Did you have a good time, darling?”

“Frustrating,” she whispered.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“We went to a gay bar.”

“Where’d you go and who’d you go with?”

She gave me the details and then told me that they went to see a burlesque show.  It got her all riled up without any release.

“And, let me guess – now you are crawling back from your fishing expedition looking for my rod.”

“Let me have it.”

“No,” I said.

“Let me suck it.”

“No.”

“Please.  Let me just hold it.”

“Lo, I’m still sick.”

“Me too.  I want you to catch what I have.”

“Lo.”

She knew I wasn’t joking around.  For a third night in a row she was reduced to playing with her toys rather than me (or someone else).

The next day was Super Bowl Sunday and we had been invited over to Mark and Stephanie’s for the game.  I still wasn’t sure if I was up for it.  I was feeling light-headed and dizzy, occasionally perspiring and having the chills.  I didn’t think it was a good idea.  Lo pleaded with me, however.  She did her level best to nurse me all morning and afternoon, and when 4:00 came around and a game-time decision had to be made, I conceded and said I’d go.

It was a big crowd and Mark and Stephanie had gone all out to make it a super Super Bowl party.  There were dips and sandwiches, a fully stocked bar and coolers of beer, and Mark was even manning the grill outside on the deck next to the Jacuzzi.  And apparently it was a no-kids party, since I saw neither hide nor hair of the little rug-rats.

We got there and Lo took as little interest in the game as I did in the food.  Unfortunately, due to my infirmity, I had no appetite.  Lo, got me comfortably seated close to the TV and then she flitted around in her short skirt and sexy blouse.  She looked good and I enjoyed watching her go from circle to circle smiling and seducing with her charms.  At one point she came over to check on me and she grabbed my bicep and said, “Mmmm, I want you.”

“You don’t fool me, Lo,” I responded back.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know perfectly well what it is you want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want Mark’s meat – and I don’t mean all the burgers and sausages he’s cooking on the grill.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”  Her apology was an admission of guilt.  “But he’s wearing that short sleeve shirt and, rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” her tongue made a purring sound, “he’s so hot.  But I really do want you.”

“You want to hop on my cock and use me while you think about him.”

“Just the same, I still want you.”

“I’m flattered,” I said flatly.

“Come on, I’ve been denied for almost a week now!”

Cock substitutes are no substitute for cock according to Lo.

The party and the game went on close to midnight and when it was over someone – the safe money is on Lo – suggested getting into the hot tub.

By this time, I was long ready to go, but I stuck it out on Lo’s account.  She, of course, had no bathing suit, but that wasn’t going to stop her.  Mark descended the staircase in his Speedo and carrying a few robes and towels for people.  There was room for six or eight in the tub, but I abstained, not wishing to catch double pneumonia.  Mark, a couple of other neighbors, and Lo all were game, however.  The neighbors and Lo took turns getting out of their clothes and into their birthday suits under their robes in the downstairs bathroom.  Then it was out into the cold dark night, on the deck, beer and wine in hand, and, down fell the robes, in went the naked bodies to the tub.  I could see the crew from the kitchen window where I stood, next to Stephanie who also chose to forego the midnight hot tub excursion.  Whether it was due to disgust at Mark’s behavior, jealousy of Lola, compassion (or some other feeling) for me, or her stated reason, “to clean up,” I don’t know.  All I know is that as she collected and cleared off the dirty dishes, I helped by arranging them in the dishwasher.

Occasionally, I peeked out the window that looked out from the kitchen over the deck, but, not intending to gawk, I made conversation with Stephanie, who, I spied, also was monitoring the situation in the tub from her perch behind the kitchen sink.

“It was so nice of you and Mark to have us all over for the game.  You two throw a great party.”

“Oh, we’re just so glad you could make it.  I was really worried when I heard about your pneumonia.”

“I’ve been taking my antibiotics and I’m no longer contagious, I promise.  I’ve been taking my antibiotics for four days now.  I’m just feeling lousy at this point.”

“Well, you really rallied for tonight.”

“It’s always nice to see you. . . and Mark and it was sweet of you to invite us.”

“To be honest, we think you two are a great couple!”

“Thanks.  I wish I could live up to my part of the bargain tonight.”

“You are.  See, we’re getting to talk now.”

The truth was, I was feeling weak-kneed, but was rallying for both Stephanie’s sake and to keep a close eye on Lo.

“I wish I could be more fun.  It looks like they’re having a good time out there in the hot tub surrounded by the snow.”  I gestured out the window in an attempt to get a sense of Stephanie’s thoughts on it.

“I’m sure Mark is having the time of his life,” Stephanie said, almost to herself.

“What?  What’s that?” I asked as she passed me a plate.

“Oh, nothing.”  She dismissed her comment.

“I hope that Lo isn’t making. . .” I didn’t know what to say, but luckily Stephanie rescued my faltering ellipses.

“Me jealous?  That’s not it.  Can I be honest with you?”

“Yes, please do,” I said.

“After our second kid, I just lost all of my sex-drive.  I feel terribly guilty about it.  I love Mark.  I love him so much and I know he loves me.”  She grabbed a paper towel to wipe her eyes that were watering up.  “But, I just don’t feel it anymore.  I don’t know what happened.  I want him to be happy and I know that he. . . never mind.”

“He what?” I was desperate for her to continue.  “You can tell me.  It’s ok.”

“I know he finds Lola attractive.  Who wouldn’t?  So, let him have his fun.  But I shouldn’t say that.  Doesn’t it bother you to hear me say that?”

I took ahold of Stephanie’s elbow and I said to her very quietly, “You both deserve to be happy.”  I had no idea what I meant by that and I think that Stephanie didn’t know what to make of it either.  Those were just the words that came out of my mouth in a moment of connection and compassion.

I was keen on giving her a hug, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure exactly how non-contagious I was and I didn’t know if it would be welcomed at that moment.  As I held Stephanie’s arm, she and I both gazed out the window and we saw Lo emerge, naked as Venus from the churning sea, grab towel, wrap it around herself and then she popped into the kitchen.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Lo said.

“Are you ready, so soon?” I asked, half mocking.

“Thanks for being a dear.  Yes.  I’ll just get dressed and. . .”  She closed the bathroom door and a moment later she popped out.  We waved a friendly good-bye and thank you to our hosts and their guests, still outside, and then Lo drove home.

“How was the hot tub, darling?” I asked.

“It was good,” she said.  She was speeding.

“Take it easy, the cops are just looking for a reason to pull anyone over tonight.”

“I want to get home and do you!”

“What happened out there?”

“Nothing.  I just want you.  It’s been a long time.”

“Nothing?  Really?  Now why don’t I believe that?”

“OK, ok.  Fine,” she said, reaching over to grab my crotch.

“You’re driving, you know.  And this ain’t a stick-shift.”

“I was sitting across from Mark, naked, looking at his big broad shoulders.”

“Dreamy,” I said sarcastically.

“Dreamy,” she repeated, “especially as the steam wafted off the surface of the water.  I would keep on ‘accidentally’ popping my nipples just above the water line so he could see.”

“And everyone else.”

“And everyone else,” she repeated, again groping at my crotch.  “Are you getting hard?”

“Never you mind and continue with your story.”

“Well, I had one hand down between my legs.”

“You’re bad.”

“I couldn’t help it, Daddy.”

“Did anyone notice?”

“I don’t think so.  But, as I stroked it, I kept playing footsie with Mark. He didn’t say anything, but I know he liked it.  At one point, he got up out of the tub to grab another beer and. . .”  She pulled her hand from my crotch and placed it in hers.

“And what?”

“And he was so hard, he was practically exploding out of that tiny bathing suit he wore!”  Her hand was up her short dress.

“You came.”

“I’m cumming.”

“I mean then.”

“Yes.  And now.”

“That’s why you wanted to go.  You couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Right.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

“You’re going to take me to bed and fuck me senseless!”

That was the last thing I remember of the ride home.  I suppose I passed out from exhaustion.  The next thing I felt was Lo trying to wake me gently from the driver’s seat as we sat in the garage at home.  Like a somnambulist, I found my way to bed.  I was the one senseless, not Lo.

The next day, Monday, was a blizzard.  Both Lo and I could have slept in.  But I had missed work since Thursday of the previous week.  I had to go in, at least for a little while.  So, early in the morning, before the flakes had fully accumulated, I snuck out while Lo was still soundly asleep, naked in the warm bed.  I got to work, feeling much improved, took care of some urgent matters, and then drove home carefully through the poorly plowed streets.

When I got back, I found Lo still in bed.  I took one look at her and said, “You masturbated, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to.  It was an accident.”

“Well, I’m going to shovel.”

“What should I do?”

“You could help me shovel, if you’re not too wet.”

“I don’t want to catch a cold.”

“Alright.  See you later,” I said, and, bundling up I went outside to clear the driveway.

I wasn’t upset.  I wasn’t mad.  I was actually glad.  Yes, I was still recovering from pneumonia.  Yes, I had gone into work on a horrible winter’s day when most of the city stayed home.  Yes, Lo had been inside all morning, sleeping late, sexing herself up, and probably jillin’ it once more even as I shoveled away.  But the thought of her, nestled up under the covers pleasuring herself filled me with joy.  I’m a lucky guy.  I can lose sight of that sometimes.  Not this time.  I shoveled with a smile on my face.  When I was done, to my surprise and delight, Lo was not in bed, fucking herself silly to her favorite Tumblr pages.  She was in a silky black negligee, helping me out of my bundled jackets and scarves, and then bringing me a hot cocoa as she tucked me under a throw on the couch.

“What’s all this for?” I asked.

“I just love you and I want you to know that I’m the luckiest gal in the world to have you, Daddio.”

“What do you want, Lo?” I asked in my Ricky Ricardo tone.

“Nothing, Daddio.  Honest.  I just was lying in bed and I realized all you do for me.  I just wanted to do something nice in return.”

I sipped my hot cocoa and read a little of the Sunday paper that was still lying out on the coffee table from yesterday.

Lola sat on the couch next to me, her left hand slowly made its way under my covers to my crotch.  She grabbed my cock and then began pumping it as I read.

“Lo?”

“Yes, Daddio?”

“What are you doing?”

“Do you like?”

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a hand-job.”

She continued for a little while.  Then she pulled her hand away and, like a groundhog or ferret, she nosed her way under the blankets, getting her face buried between my legs and went to work on me with her mouth.  At a certain point, I put down the paper and began guiding her head gently up and down.

She abruptly stopped before I was ready to spout.  “Let’s go to the bedroom, Daddio.  I want to tell you something special.”

She led me down the hall, hopped on the edge of the bed in her little black nighty, revealing her naked ass and puss to me.  “Mount me,” she commanded.  I did as she said.

“What did you want to tell me?”

When she had caught her breath, she whispered over her shoulder, “I was so bad last night.”

“Yes, Lo, you were.  That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
“No, there’s more but. . .”  She was enjoying herself at this point, too much to talk.  She came in about fifteen seconds.  As she came she was yelling, “I love your cock!  I love your cock!”  When she was done she said, “Flip me over and fuck me.”

I did as she asked.  I put her on her back on the side of the bed, held her heels up by my shoulders, and went at her.

“Do you think he liked seeing my pussy, Daddy?” she asked.

“Yes, Lo.  Who wouldn’t?”
“I had got it all smooth for him.”

“So, you had that all planned out?”

“No.  But a woman should be prepared for the unexpected display of her pussy at all times.”

“A woman, or a slut like you?”

“That’s right, Daddy.  Tell me what I am.”

“A slut.  A trollop.  A dirty, cheap, exhibitionist.”  I went on and she came to the cadence of my nasty names.  She came so hard she sqeezed me right out and squirted on the floor.  I grabbed my throbbing rod and watched.

“Can you hold it in for just one more?” she asked.  “I’ve got one more BIG orgasm to go.  Pleeeease, Daddio.  I know you haven’t cum in a long time.  Just hold it in a little longer and then you can cum all over my face.  Promise.”

“How do you want it?”

“Here,” she said, positioning me on the bed.  “Lie back.  I want to taste myself on you.”  She lay me down on the bed and got on her knees and went to town between my legs.  If she wanted me to withhold my orgasm until she had one more, this was not the way to do it.  I felt like her face was in imminent danger of being in the direct line of my fire.

She stopped just in time.  She knows me (or cock) well.  She went to climb up on top of me, straddling my body with her legs, her knees on the bed.  Before she lowered herself down on my very stiff and erect phallus, I said, “No.  Wait a minute.”  I closed my eyes.  Just looking at her may have put me over the edge.  I took deep breaths, but all I could think about was seeing her getting in and out of the hot tub the previous night.  Just the thought was enough to coax a slow orgasm out of me.  I tried to change the channel of my imaginings, but it was as if that special was playing on every station!

“Put a condom on me,” I said.

“What?” she asked in disbelief.  We never use condoms.  We only keep them around for her special guests.

“Put a condom on me.  It’s the only way.”

She hopped off, rummaged through the nightstand drawer, pulled out a string of condoms and hastily slid it over my ramrod.  The interval was a good distraction for me.  When she was done, she resumed her position and began bouncing up and down, pulling her tits.  The barrier between her dripping pussy and my hard, throbbing cock was just enough to keep me going without my going too far.

I reached up to her breasts.  “Pull and twist,” she said.  “Harder.”  I was stretching out her nipples by about an inch and then turning them clockwise a full 180 degrees.  She wanted more.  I pulled further, twisted further.  She was moaning and bouncing and dripping – I could feel it on my lap.

“When you cum, call his name,” I said.  I wasn’t sure if she heard me.  She was in a frenzy with her eyes closed tight, biting her lip, bouncing her tits up and down.  “Call out Mark’s name when you cum.”

No sooner had I repeated the instruction than she started yelling, “Oh FUCK!  Mark!  Fuck!  I fucking love your cock!  Mark!  Mark!  Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark!”  She was saying his name every time her hips descended down to bounce off of mine.  She was riding fast, at a gallop until she stopped, frozen, held it, and gushed a waterfall downward.  At that, I finally gave myself permission to cum and I did, filling the condom with all the pent-up desire that I had unspent over the past week.  It was amazing.

When we were done, after catching our breath like runners at the end of a marathon, we lay looking at each other.  “He really riles you up, doesn’t he?”

“Not like you, Daddio.”

“Lo, after all of that, don’t you think you can tell me the truth?”

“It’s true.  You’re the one for me.”

“But he turns you on.”

“A lot of things turn me on.  Does that make you jealous?”

“It would, except you’re right.  A lot of things do turn you on and if you weren’t turned on by Mel Brooks, Abbi Jacobson, and certain specimens of other species I actually might be jealous.  But due to your pansexual nature, I try to take it all in stride.”

“That’s why I love you, Daddo.  You really get me.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you rile him up as well.”

“Really?!  She said, her eyes lighting up, her body jumping to all fours like a puppy ready to play fetch.

“Yes.  Stephanie told me as much last night.”

“What?!  Tell me.  Tell me.”  Her imaginary tail was wagging with anticipation.

“When you were in the hot tub, playing footsie and showing off your tits. . .”

She interrupted with a long moan of pleasure at the memory.

“Stephanie and I were talking in the kitchen and she told me that she and Mark haven’t had sex since there second kid was born.”

“I knew that already.”

“And she went on to say that she thinks we’re a great couple and that Mark deserves to get his rocks off to the likes of you.”

“She said that?!”

“Well, not in so many words, but the message came through.”

Lola was running her tongue over her teeth in excitement now.

“Maybe you should clue him into the blog?”

I saw her wheels turning and the exciting prospect of having Mark getting to see Lola up close in all those sexy pics of her and hearing all about her nymphomaniacal exploits, jackin’ it to her every untoward adventure.  But then she said, “No.  Impossible.  We can’t reveal our secret selves to anyone we know.  It’s too incriminating!  You didn’t tell Stephanie, did you?”

“Of course not, dear.  That’s your story to tell.”

“Well, I did leave a calling card of sorts.”

“You left one of your Lola Down cards there?!  But you just said. . .”

“No no no.  I may have, accidentally, totally not on purpose left my panties at their house.”

“You what?!”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.  It was an accident.  I think they must have fell when I was picking up my clothes.”

“I’ve heard of Freudian slips before, but this takes the cake!  How could you not know you didn’t have your panties on?!”

“I knew I didn’t have them, I just couldn’t find them.  They must have fallen out somewhere when I bunched up my clothes after getting into the robe.  I don’t know.  Should I text Mark to look for them?”

“No!  Of course not.”

She gave me a quizzical look.

“Oh no, Lo.  Don’t tell me you already did.”

“I just didn’t want Stephanie to find them.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he found them and could return them to me.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said, ‘That’s OK.  You can throw them out. . .or do whatever with them.”

“Lola!”  Now it was really Ricky and Lucy.

Hopeless, Romantic

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I walked into the office and said, “Ms. Gale, please block out the week of July first through July tenth.  I’m going on vacation.”

She looked up from her desk, her blue eyes framed by her wide-rimmed glasses, and asked, “Vacation?!  Where?”

“That’s right, vacation.  I’ve gotta get outta here.  I booked a resort hotel for Lo and me on a beach in Maui.”

“Ooooo, really?” she squealed with excitement.  “Are you going to propose to her there?”

The question took me by surprise.  “Propose?  Why would I do a darn-fool thing like that?”

“Because, Mr. H., that’s what people do at those romantic resorts on the beach.”

“People,” I said with scorn.  “I am not people.”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?  Why are you just stringing her along?”

“Ms. Gale, you are correct, I am madly in love with Lola.”

“So why don’t you get married to her?”

“Because I am madly in love with Lola.  I am not madly in love with marriage.  Marriage is a comfort that, once achieved, leads to the erosion of love.”

“Oh, Mr. H., you’re such a stick-in-the-mud.”

“And you, Ms. Gale, are a busybody twenty-something who has never been married, divorced, or lived fifty some-odd years to learn from experience.”

“Well, that’s no reason not to get married.”

“If you’re so crazy about marriage, why don’t you marry Lola?” I asked as I walked out of the reception area where Ms. Gale had her desk, slamming the door to my private office.

That was how my day started.  It only got worse from there.  Needless to say, by the end of the work day, which was nine at night for me, I was in no mood for Lo’s tomfoolery.

I walked into the bedroom, found Lola naked under the sheets, doing what Lola is always doing when she’s naked under the sheets with easy access to her phone, and I began to undo my tie and remove my button-down shirt.

“Oh yeah,” Lo moaned.

“Is that meant towards me, or your porn video?” I asked as I removed my pants.

Without taking her eyes off the video or her hand from between her legs, she said, “Yes.”

I washed up in the bathroom and returned, taking off my pants and getting under the sheets next to Lo.  “Well, Daddio, am I going to get any tonight?” she asked as she was rubbing her pussy lips under the covers with one hand and holding my flaccid cock with the other hand, the phone with the video still playing next to her, flat on the bed.  I could hear the couple in the video moaning and groaning.

“You have to get me hard first,” I said.

“That seems to be an insurmountable obstacle,” she replied, lifting and dropping my soft dick.

“Really?  I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“I never have had that problem. . . with other men.”

Within moments I was asleep, or so Lo told me the next morning.  She had to get her rocks off without me. . . again.

When I woke in the morning, I found her curled up next to me, her eyes already open.  “You can fuck me if you want to” were her first words to me.

Luckily, having expelled all my bad feelings of the previous day through my sleep, I was very “up” that morning.

“Roll over on your back and spread your legs,” I said.  My first words to her.

“Oh, Daddy!  You’re so romantic!”  I honestly couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic.

I positioned myself over her naked body and took a good look at her.  “You look good,” I said.

“Prove it!”

“The proof is in the puddin’, and I’m puddin’ it in you.”  I slid in.  She was dripping wet.  “Lo,” I said once I was deep inside her.

“Yes, Daddy?”

“How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know.  Why?”

“Did you jill it?”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Daddy, I’ve been jillin’ it since last night.  I have no idea how many times.  I’m sore and soaked and I want you.”

“What have you been jillin’ it to?”

“Daddy, I can’t remember it all.  Just shut up and fuck me.  Please.”

I shut up and gave her what she asked for.  But she asked, “Can I turn over, Daddy, please?”

I let her turn onto her tum and she put her ass up in the air to be had from behind.  But then I saw her grabbing her phone and looking at it.  One hand held it up for her to see and the other was manipulating her clit. I tried to see what she was looking at, but couldn’t quite make it out.

“Lo, what is that?” I asked as I leaned forward and put my hands on her shoulders to see better.

“Never you mind.  Just get back there and do your job.  I want to feel you, hard and deep and hard.”

I complied with her demands.  She came.  At the moment when I felt her pussy clench on my cock, I came too, deep inside her.  She collapsed into the pillows, dropping her phone.  I fell on top of her.  Eventually, I slowly pulled out.  Looking down at her, I quoted one of her favorite films, “Little full, lotta sap.”

She laughed and then said, “Clean me up.”

I took care of her and then suddenly she was up and out of bed.

“I have to go now,” she said.

“But you only just came!”

“Work, Daddio.  I have a job, remember?”

She went into the bathroom to get ready.  I picked up her phone and went through her browsing history.  I was shocked by what I saw, but I figured I’d ask her about it that evening, when we could explore her fantasies together.  I put down her phone as if I wasn’t looking at it just as she opened the door to the bathroom.  She was putting on her makeup.  “Honest answer,” she called to me, “do I look like a trollop to you?”

“Honestly? – Not enough of a trollop.”

“Perfect.  That’s just what I’m going for.”

Pound

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Pound

 

“Don’t hug her, hug me!” Lola demands, picking up my pillow and chucking it across the room.

“Jealous much?  It’s a pillow, not a mistress.”

“Yeah, well, hug me, damn it.”

I cuddle up with her naked body.  I grab her by the curves just under her bellybutton and just above her puss.  I squeeze it.

“Stop,” she says.

“I love this part of you.  It’s my favorite.”

“Is it a FUPA?”

“A what?”

“Fat Upper Pussy Area?”

“If you want to call it that.”

“No, I don’t want to call it that!”

“You brought it up.”

“Cause you’re kneading me like dough.”

“Cause I knead you.  Get it?  I ‘knead’ you?”

“Yeah, I get it.  I still don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“I put on a pound or two.”

“And, if you ask me, you could put on a pound or two more.  I find you incredibly sexy!”

“You find my fat incredibly sexy.”

“I find all of you incredibly sexy.  What difference does it make what turns me on?”

She reaches down to feel me between my legs.

“Also, your pecker here was protruding into me all night,” she says.

“I know,” I say, “I was hard all night.”

“Then why didn’t you fuck me?”

“Because you were asleep.”

“First, so?  And second, it would have been preferable to this –”  She demonstrates by rubbing her hands up and down my chest rapidly.

“I did not do that to you all night.”

“Wanna bet?”

“I was asleep.”

“Well, I have come to the conclusion that the only reason you have such strong biceps is from all of this motion you do all night long.”  She performs the curling motion of her arm going up and down my chest.

“You may be right,” I humbly admit.

She reaches down between my legs again.  “Feels like that must hurt.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Well, what are you waiting for?  Fuck me.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.  Use me.  Go on.  Get your rocks off.  Get it all out of your system.”

She spreads her legs and reaches down with two hands and spreads something even more intimate.

“You look good.”

“Fuck me,” she commands.

I slide into her wet and waiting hole.  It didn’t take long before I pull out and, grabbing my cock, cum on her face.

“Feel better?” she asks, looking up at me.

“Much.”

I get up and clean up.  I eat breakfast and after breakfast I hear Lo calling me from the bedroom.  “Come!”

“Are you summoning me or giving me a real-time account of your activities?”

“Come!” is all I hear in response.  I follow the sounds and find her as I left her – naked and spread on the bed.

“Cuddle me, Daddy,” she says in her little-girl voice.

“Lo, I have to. . .”

“Just get into bed and hold me while I use my Hitachi.”

I climb into bed next to her, fully clothed, and hold her.  She puts the machine between her legs.

“I’m sorry you didn’t cum earlier,” I whisper to her.

“Oh, I did.”

“Really?  I didn’t even hear you.”  That was unusual.

“Yeah, well, I held it in because I was mad at you.  I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”

“Why?”

“Cause I was mad at you.”

“I can’t believe you came.  I was so fast.”

“It turns me on when you pound me furiously, using me to get your rocks off.  I like being your fuck-toy.”

“Mine and everyone else’s.”

“Now shut up.  I’m trying to masturbate.”

“You know what I was thinking about when I came?”  No answer.  All I hear is the soothing hum of her Hitachi.  “I was thinking about you and me going on our vacation next month, finding that nude beach and walking down it together.  All the guys would see you in your birthday-bathing-suit and you’d lead them on.  They’d follow us and, as you’re lying on your blanket, you’d encourage them to jack it over you.  There’d be about six of them and they’d be jackin’ it to your naked body.  All of them would cum on you.  Some two at a time, some taking turns.  You’d be covered in jizz and then you’d proudly get up and walk slowly across the sand into the water to wash off.”

She clicks the Magic Wand into high gear and says, “Shhhhh.  No talking.  No talking while masturbating.”  And then she cums and cums hard.  Her knees shoot up into the air and she squeezes her legs together tightly.

I hold her as her whole body convulses and she lets out a stream of expletives.  Then I get naked and push her knees apart.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to fuck you,” I say.

“But. . .”

“But what?”

“But I just came.”

“I know that.  That’s why I’m going to fuck you.”

She no longer resists.  I try to penetrate her, but find I can’t.  “Is that the right spot?” I ask.

“Yeah.  Why?”

“You’re so tight.  I thought it was your ass.”

“I’m tight because I stopped my squirting.  I didn’t want to squirt.  I just changed the sheets.”

“Well, let me in.”

“Push and push hard,” she says.

I do as she commands and cannot believe the resistance I’m met with.  Once I am fully enveloped by her, I say, “That’s better.”  It’s as if a switch had gone off and she went from snug and still to stretched and swashing.  She cums again, harder than before.  I pull out, dripping wet from her.

“Aren’t you going to cum?” she asks, perplexed.

“No, darling.  That was all for you.”

“Please,” she begs.  “Cum on me just like you described those guys on the beach cumming on me.  Stand over me, you letch, and jack off hard to my naked body.”

I stand up on the bed and grab my manhood and stroke it furiously.  Her natural lubricant is all I need.  Her fingers are pulling at her pussy lips as she says salacious things to me.  “You like?  You like my pussy?  You want it old man?  You think you could satisfy me?”

I see her looking up at me, enjoying what she sees.  She continues to talk dirty.

“You know what I was thinking about when I came?” she asks.  “I was thinking that I wish that there was a way to go to the local animal shelter and say, ‘Do you have any unneutered dogs that need to get their rocks off?’  They’d lead me to a special room where women can go to be mounted.  They’d let in one, two, ten dogs, depending on how much I want to volunteer.  I’d get naked and on my knees and. . .”

Before her words form images in my mind, I cum like rain down on her tits, her chest, her neck, her face.  Just the sound of her words are enough.

“That’s it,” she says as her hand reaches up to touch my balls, feeling them as I ejaculate.  “That’s it.  Unload.  Feel better?  Good dog.  Now get back to the pound where you belong.”

Masturbation Monday: Creative Writing and Performance Art

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Creative Writing and Performance Art

 

I heard her typing as she sat across the couch from me, but I also heard her moaning.

“Lo,” I asked, looking over the brim of my book, “what are you up to?”

“Oh nothing, Daddy,” she said, but the biting of her lip that followed her response belied her words.

Now I looked more carefully.  Her hand was shifting from her computer keyboard to her crotch.  (She reclined on the couch in just her oversized nightshirt.)

“Care to share?” I asked.

“In just a moment,” she said, typing and masturbating in turn.

When she finally came – pressing her legs together tightly so as not to ejaculate – she slammed the laptop closed and then looked at me, blushing and panting.

“Yes?” I inquired.  “Can I help you?”

“You sure can,” she said, getting up and commanding me from her standing position to march into the bedroom.  She lifted the shirt that draped over her butt, revealing her sweet ass to me as she wiggled it enticingly.

I placed my bookmark between the pages and got up, knowing I was expected to perform.  Lo’s masturbatory exercises are more often than not just a warm-up for sex and her two or three orgasms that result from the sex are just a warm-up for her next masturbatory session.  In logic we call it a ‘vaginal-circle.’

Once horizontal in the bed, I asked her what this was all about as I aligned my cock with the opening between her legs and began to slide in.

“Don’t you believe in foreplay anymore?” she asked as she squeezed her tits and pulled on her nipples, extending them as far as they would stretch.

“What was your solo session on the couch just now if not foreplay?”

“Look,” she said, very demandingly, “look at these.”  She indicated her chest by taking her tits in her hands and squeezing them hard and pointing her nipples at me.  “Many men – and women – would love this rack in their face.”

“I see,” I said, impressed by her impertinence.  “And you too seem to enjoy them – enough for both of us!”

“Well, what are they for if not enjoying?  Here,” she said, pulling my hands to her nipples, “pinch, twist, pull.  Repeat.”

I humored her for a while as she moaned.  My fondling her breasts freed up her hands to pinch, twist, pull and repeat on her pussy lips – something that gets her very aroused.

“You may pet my ass now,” she said, rolling onto her tum and raising her bum in the air.

I slapped her ass hard and said, “That’s so you’ll come to your senses.”

“I cum to a lot of things.  Cumming to my senses is one, but cumming to your cock is more fun.”

“Then let me have you.”

“No.  Not just yet, Daddio.  Play with my ass,” she implored, grabbing her ass cheeks with both hands and showing me exactly the spot she wanted touched.  I obliged.  “Mmmm, yeah,” she cooed.  “I wish you could take a picture of that so I could see it.”

“You need one of those extension poles people carry with them nowadays,” I said, not knowing the proper terminology.

“It’s called a selfie stick.”

“Selfie stick?  Don’t you have a few of those under the bed?”

“Ha!” she chuckled, “Don’t make me laugh.  Not now.  I want to. . .”  She came, squirting downward on the bed.  The combination of the gentle caress of my finger rounding her target and laughing broke the dam.  “Finger me, Daddio.  Feel how wet I am.”

“Lo, I see how wet you are.  Let me feel you with my cock.  I’ll put in my dipstick and give you a more accurate reading of your fluids.”

“Oh, Daddy.  Why do you use such horrid metaphors?”

“Because, my dear, you’re like a BMW – it’s not the price, it’s the maintenance that will get you.”

“OK,” she said, flipping over onto her back, spreading her legs wide, looking up at me.  “How can I deny that raging rod?  Get in me and I’ll tell you what I was up to on the couch.”

She didn’t have to ask twice.  I was stem-to-stern in, our faces cheek-to-jowl.  She whispered in my ear:

 

Another hotwife found our blog and reached out to me.  She’s married to a fifty-year-old and she’s in her thirties.  She’s ‘very bi,’ as she says, and eager to be with a woman again.  And not just any woman, but a woman like me – dominant, sub, sexy, femme, who can give and take a giant cock.  She wants us to get together and I was just telling her how I fantasize it would happen.  After drinks in a hotel lobby, we’d go up to the hotel room.  Since her man is older than you (twice my age, in fact) and you’re older than she and she’s older by ten years than I, the three of you would marvel at me – this young meat.  You’d all be salivating, wondering who would get to have me first.  But I would have it all planned out.

In the hotel room I’d stand still in my heels, blouse, and short skirt.  I’d tell you that each of you gets to remove one article of clothing.  Only one.  We’d go in age order – youngest to oldest – and so she’d begin by slowly unbuttoning my blouse as I stood stone still.  One-by-one she’d undo the buttons until my blouse was wide open and then she’d slowly undo the buttons of the cuffs and ever-so-gently guide my arms out of the sleeves until I was standing in nothing but my bra on top.

Then it would be your turn.  You’d look me up and down and consider, ‘Shoes?  Blouse?  Bra?’  Generous guy that you are, you’d let them have the choice articles, so you’d go for unzipping my blouse and letting it fall to the floor around my feet.  I’d continue to be unmoving, like a manikin.

Then the older gent would have to pick – bra or panties?  Being a gentleman, he’d go for the bra and carefully unclasp it from the back.  His trembling hands would slowly, reverently pull down my shoulder straps and, thinking the bra would fall, he’d step back to watch his handiwork.  But I’d use my arms to keep it up so that he’d have to tug on it a bit to get it fully off of my torso.

Then it would be her turn again and she’d get on her knees and, using her long, delicate fingers, she’d pull down my thong little-by-little until it fell around my ankles.

I’d continue to stand still and say, in the same order, you may touch, pull, squeeze, grope, kiss – whatever you want.  It would all be very Marina Abramovic.  It would be your turn and so you’d come right up to me and kiss me on the lips, whispering, ‘I love you.’

Then it would be his turn and, thoroughly loving my young, perky tits, he’d cup them, caress them, hold them, squeeze them, pull on the nipples.  He’d step back, letting his wife approach.  She’d again get down on her knees and she’d ever-so-slightly kiss my pussy as her hands reached behind me and grabbed my ass.

This would go on for some time as each of you enjoy whichever part of me you wish.  Then I’d say, ‘Put me on the bed.’  The three of you would lift me and smoothly place me on my back on the bed.  I’d spread my legs and, since it would be her turn, I’d call her to me to place her face there and eat me out.

Next it would be your turn and you would go in, but only for a moment, before I’d say, ‘That’s all for you, HH.’

Then it would be his turn.  He would be allowed to penetrate me, but he’d have to wear a condom that his wife would put on – her hands pulling the ring down the shaft of his cock and pointing him right into me.  He’d have a good go at me for a while.

After each of you had a turn with me on my back, I’d turn over and get on all fours.  By this time she would have her strap-on fully in place and she’d fuck me good and hard from behind.  Then it would be your turn again, and finally his.  I’m sure I’d cum multiple times through this exquisite torture.  Finally, when I felt I couldn’t take it any longer, I’d flip over onto my back again and I’d have her get on her knees at the foot of the bed and eat me out while the two of you jacked it over my open mouth until you both came over me in unison.

 

The whole time she was telling me this story, I was barely moving inside her for fear of interrupting her lovely imaginings with my orgasm.  But that didn’t stop her from cumming and cumming again, each time having to take deep breaths before continuing her story.

“Is that what you were writing?”

“Yes, Daddy.  I know I’m bad.”

“And this admirer of yours?”

“She told me it made her cum a lot.”

“So, she wants to get together?”

“Yes.”

“And him?”

“I assume so.”

“And you?”

“I can’t wait.”

“So, this is your way of asking permission?”

“No, this is my way of telling you what’s going to happen.”

“So you want me to cum on your face.”

“Yes.  Badly.”

“Now.”

“Always.”

“That would prove difficult.  How about we start with now?”

“Yes.”

I pulled out and got on my knees next to her and she reached up, grabbed my cock, stroked it and it only needed one or two caresses of her hand before, seeing her open mouth, I shot like a bottle rocket.  The first spurt went clear across the bed.  She readjusted the aim and pulled my cock down towards her face and managed to get covered with the second, third, and fourth rounds.

“Had your fill?” I asked as she began to clean up.

“Did I ever tell you my bukkake fantasies?”

“Lo, I’m not up for any more fantasies tonight,” I said.

She grabbed my limp dick and said, “I can see that.  That’s why I have bukkake fantasies,” and she reached under the bed to pull out her toy box.

Sea of Porn

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Sea of Porn

It’s hot.  It’s humid.  It’s February and we’re on vacation – an escape from the winter wonderland of our northern home.  Lying out by the pool, I admire the scenery, much to Lo’s consternation.

There’s a DJ who’s also doubling as the MC for the spring-break crowd.  He has the limbo bar set up and is spinning “Limbo Rock” as the scantily-clad bikini babes and the sculpted bros do their annual mating dance under it.

Every limbo boy and girl
All around the limbo world
Gonna do the limbo rock
All around the limbo clock

“Enjoying the Bimbo Rock?” Lo asks me, her voice dripping with derision.  She glances at me as she asks, but I see her taking in the eye-candy as well.

Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick
All around the limbo clock
Hey, let’s do the limbo rock

Limbo lower now
Limbo lower now
How low can you go?

“They’re playing your song,” I say to her.  “They’re calling your name, ‘Hey Lo – how low can you go?”

First you spread your limbo feet
Then you move to limbo beat
Limbo ankolimboneee
Bend back like a limbo tree

Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick

“I’ll tell you what,” she says to me, looking over the rim of her dark sunglasses, “I’ll spread my limbo legs and you give me your limbo stick, and I’ll show you just how low Lo can go.”  As she says it, she spreads her legs wide on the reclining chair.

“That’s sounds great,” I reply, “but first, let’s just see who wins, ok?”

“Grrrrrrr,” she says in frustration at my intentional taunt.  “Get me a beer, Daddio,” she commands.

“Sure, do you want it in a glass?”

“Yes, please.  But pour it right!  I don’t want any head.”  She paused.  “I’ll be giving head later. . . in bed.  That’s the only head I want.”

“I can’t wait,” I reply.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she barbs back, “I’ve got my eye on a few likely candidates.”

Later, up in the hotel room, she asks me, “Did you have fun at the pool, dear?”

“Yes – I particularly enjoyed making you jealous.”

“Well, you do a good job of it.”

“It’s not hard at all.”

“It looked pretty hard to me.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” I say.

“Fine,” she says, turning up her nose at me since she apparently took my choice of shower as a snub of her.  But there she’s wrong.  I just like to be clean and fresh for her.

“You know Lo,” I say before going into the bathroom, “I only have eyes for you.”

Lo ignores this and simply looks at her phone.  “Oh, look at that,” she says to me, “A friend of mine just posted that he thinks that his girlfriend looks like Beyoncé.”

“So what?  He’s in love?”

“Aren’t you in love?  You say I remind you of Lucille Ball!”

“Don’t forget Bugs Bunny!”

“Bugs Bunny?!  Really?!  Why not at least Jessica Rabbit?”

“You talk like Jessica Rabbit, but you act like Bugs Bunny.”

“Great.  That’s love.”

I hop in the shower.  When I come out, I find Lo on the bed, naked, her legs spread, one hand holding her phone and one stroking her puss.

“Tell me what you want,” she says to me without even looking at me.

“No, you tell me what you want,” I respond.

This is a familiar game of ours, especially when she’s both mad at me and horny.

“Do you want me?” she asks, seductively.

“Do you want me?” I echo.

“Say it,” she demands.

“No, you,” I say, not willing to give in first.

“Tell me what you want,” she pleads, still stroking herself and pulling at her pussy lips.

“Not till you do first,” I protest.

“I want you to tell me you want me,” she says.

“There you go!  You said it!” I declare, victorious.

“Said what?”

“You said, ‘I want you.’”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“You know, Lo, I love you too much.”

“Why do you say you love me too much?”

“Because I let you off too easily and you get off too easily,” I say as I slowly slide inside her.  She’s dripping wet and very loose.  She moans as I slip in.  Her phone is still in her left hand and she looks at it as I hold her naked body tightly.  Her right hand is still over her clit and she rubs it as I thrust.

“Stay deep.  Just stay deep,” she orders.

I obey.  Her hips slightly gyrate up and down as her fingers quickly pulse on her clit.  She cums within seconds.  Her thighs clench so tightly she squeezes me out unintentionally.

“Sorry,” she manages to whisper as she climaxes.

“You just used me to get off.” I protest.  “You just masturbated with me inside you.  I was completely incidental to your orgasm.”

“No, Daddio, you were instrumental to it.  Now flip me over and do me from behind.”

I obey.  Her phone is still in her hand in front of her now so that I can see what she’s looking at.  It’s a lesbian Tumblr page.

“Do you like them?” she asks me about the women I see on her phone over her shoulder.

“It’s like a sea of porn,” I say.

She immediately shuts off her phone.  “Not for you!” she says.

“Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink,” I say.

“You can have your fill of this all you want.  It’s plenty wet,” she says as her free hand now slaps her ass and then fingers her puss from behind.  Her other hand is still busy between her legs from the front.

Without warning, I cum and cum a lot, deep inside her.  Her pussy clenches on me, hungrily.  But when I’m done, she flips over and complains, “You didn’t wait for me!”

“What?” I ask, perplexed.

“Ladies first,” she reminds me.

“You did cum first.”

“Ladies first and second!”

I go to the bathroom to clean up.  When I return, I find Lo looking at the porn on her phone again, jilling to it.  I begin to object to this, but she holds up a finger to indicate that I should wait till she finishes.  I am polite and wait.  She looks up at me with a smile.  “Cum often, cum a lot.”

“The Lola Down motto.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” she says.

“I thought the saying was ‘Cum early, cum often.’”

“That too.  As well as, ‘Cum one, cum all.’”

“I thought that was the motto of all your blog fans.”

“That’s not their motto, that’s their modus operandi.  I cum and then they all cum.”

“You know, Lo, sometimes our relationship really surprises me.”

“How’s that, Daddio?”

“Sometimes I feel like you’re the guy and I’m the gal.”

“Sounds like fun.  Tell me more.”

“I mean, you get off on those prurient pics, but I. . .”

“Oh no, here it comes!  Spare me your highbrow criticism.”

“I was just going to say, I like a good story, not just T-and-A.”

“Porn stars and women are human too, you know.”

“Really, women are people?  Is that so?”  I asked, facetiously.  “Even you?  I thought you were a goddess.”

“You sound like you’re making an object out of me.”

“Darling, you are first and foremost, a subject – the subject, in fact, of reams and reams of pages I’ve written about you.”

“Now you sound as though you’re fetishizing me.”

“Really?  You think so?” I ask, even more facetiously.  “If you haven’t noticed by now – NEWSFLASH! – you are my fetish.”

“Good grief!  Freud would have a field day with you.”

“Lo, you’re all the porn I need.”

“All I’ve ever wanted to be was a good amateur.”

I lie down next to her.  “You’re the best,” I say as I immediately begin to fall asleep.  She complains that I’m uncomfortable to sleep on.  “Your big barrel-chested torso is impossible to lie on.”

“It’s a big bed in a big room in a big hotel in a big city. . .”

“With a big jerk right in the middle of it!”

As I fall asleep, I can hear and feel her going at it again for that magic number three.

Subspace: Pleasure Spiked With Pain

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Subspace: Pleasure Spiked With Pain

“No!” she said firmly, “I’m not calling him.”

“OK,” I said, not putting up any argument to her decision.

“I mean, he didn’t bother to call on my birthday,” she went on to explain her reasoning, “or to even ask how I’m doing when I called him for his birthday.”  She paused, and I could see now that her lower lip was trembling a bit and she was allowing her mind to feel all that pain again, the way one presses on a bruise just to be reminded of how much it hurts.  “So, fuck him!  Maybe it will give him some much needed silent time to self-reflect about what an asshole he is.”

To be fair, she really had only touched on the tip of this iceberg of harm, neglect, and self-absorption.  All her life he had been a palpably present absentee father.  By that, I mean, he was there in body, but his mind was eons away alone on a raft floating in a sea of vodka.  And in the past few years – the years she had been with me – his very active passivity had ramped up in ways that had caused serious damage to just about everyone around him.  Like Jonah, sleeping in the hold of the ship while his choices caused the ship’s crew to risk life and limb in a tempest, Lo’s father was a whirlwind of destruction cycling around a ghost of the shell of a broken man.

And now it was Father’s Day and unfortunately Hallmark doesn’t make cards that say, “You didn’t try.  You didn’t give a shit.  I tried.  I keep on trying.  You lie and you keep on lying and I’m sick of it and so you can go to hell.  Happy Father’s Day.  Better luck next year.”  So Lo didn’t get a card.  She didn’t go to visit.  She didn’t get a gift.  And she sure as shit wasn’t going to call him.  Yet, that decision put her into her own personal torment with the guilt of imagining her father alone on Father’s Day.

I held her for a while as she cried her eyes out.  Perverse as it may be – I can’t help it – I find her crying and holding me arousing.  She felt my barometer rising and she held me tighter.  Tears were dripping down her cheek onto my shirt.  Her hand slid down under my pants and grasped my shaft, holding it firmly.  We began to kiss and our bodies danced horizontally of their own accord as our minds were locked on each other’s thoughts.

I entered her as she whispered in my ear, “I love you, Daddy.”

“Who do you love?”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

She repeated it again and again, each time with a slightly different inflection as her hips rose and fell and pulsated and clenched.

My hand was behind her head, cupping her.  I grabbed a tuft of hair.  She reached up to my hand and tugged on it.  She brought it to her cheek and held it there a moment.  Then she pulled it back and forced it toward her face.  I knew what she wanted.  I gave it to her.  Once.  Again, harder.  A third time, even harder.

Then she said, “Make it hurt, Daddy.  Take away the pain.”

I opened my hand and threw it down with a whap.

“Again” she pleaded.

This time I used my left hand against her right cheek.

“Yes.  Make it hurt.”

I continued with ever greater force and intensity until she was screaming, squirting, shaking, and then quietly breathing in a mind-state beyond consciousness.

I caressed her cheeks softly.  I stroked her hair.  I held her until she muttered, “I love you. . . Daddy” one last time.

G.I. Confidential

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[This story was published today, in honor of Memorial Day and all those who serve, on MyErotica.com.]

G.I. Confidential

 

It started when he wrote an email that said simply, “Love your blog.  Can I please have a password?”  From that brief, shy, initial correspondence grew a virtual pen-pal connection with one of our men in uniform deployed abroad – somewhere in the deserts of the middle east.  He couldn’t say where because it was confidential and who knows who was also reading those emails?  But whoever was reading them was in for a tantalizing treat.

[Some images you get from a Google search of “mysexlifewithlola”]

            Lo wrote back, in her flirtatious, friendly way, and soon found out much more about her G.I. fan.  He was twenty-two, married, one kid.  He had been deployed for two years.  His wife wrote to him frequently and he loved and missed her dearly.  But she sent sexy pics only on occasion, and even then, they were more suggestive than explicit.  He loved her, but he dreamed about Lo.  He read the blog and studied her pics.  He had hotwife fantasies and wished that his own wife would send a nude pic now and then with a note saying, “Please share with your friends.”  But that was beyond the realm of possibility.

Because he was so shy around women, it took him a long time to get up the courage to write to Lo requesting a password to the protected posts.  Little did he know how flattered she would be.  Little did he know how she secretly had a fetish for men in uniform.  She encouraged frequent correspondence, but, due to his rigorous duties and the limited time he got on the internet, he could only write back very brief missives.

Even so, he complimented her, flattered her, and reported on his “down time” – his “Lola Down” time, that is.  Excited to the point of bursting, Lo sent him many explicit photos with little notes like, “Please be sure to share with your bunk mates,” or “Tell all the guys with you that Lola wishes them all to be safe, strong, and hard.”

After gaining his trust, the G.I. sent Lo some pics of himself and his family.  Lo thought it was sweet and that his wife was truly beautiful.  He sent a pic of her on their honeymoon in Hawaii where she wore nothing but a lei. Then he sent her the address where Lo could send him actual letters and such.  She sent him a signed calendar, saying, “I’ve always wanted to be a pin-up girl.”  She told me after the fact.

When she received a warm thank you from him, in which he told her that he posted it by his bunk in the barracks and that all the soldiers were commenting on it, she was thrilled!  When he wrote to her a week later, saying that someone had stolen it, she was even more elated.  She took it upon herself not only to send her pen-pal a replacement copy, but one for every guy in his battalion.

You can imagine her delight when he wrote her the following email:

 

Hi Lola.  All the guys say thank you for the calendars!  They are envious of me because you have been like a hotwife to me.  I ordered your book, Match, Cinder & Spark, (even though it’s really expensive in hardcopy!)  and at night, before lights out, a bunch of us sit around on our bunks and we take turns reading HH’s stories about you.  Last Sunday, we were given some R-n-R and we read the book in the morning.  After reading it, five of us went to the showers.  It’s one long tiled room with about fifty showerheads.  The five of us were naked, under the hot showers, soaping up and very hard and horny from the story we had just read.  I hope my wife never finds out about this, but as we were there, lathered and rinsing off, we all started casually grabbing at our cocks.  Eventually we started jacking off.  Someone grabbed the cock of the guy next to him and soon enough it was a full-fledged circle jerk.  We came on each other and laughed and washed down, smacked one another’s ass, and got out of the shower much refreshed.

Pretty soon Lola was getting emails from other guys in the troop and some of them told her how they had Tumblr accounts with their wives or girlfriends on which each would post something that turned them on or pics of themselves so that it was like virtual sex.  They told her that they were including Lo’s Tumblr pics so that their wives could see what they like.  Lo was thrilled to be the object of the attention of those couples – her virtual three-way.

After a few months of this sort of thing, Lo encouraged her original soldier to tell his wife about mysexlifewithlola.com and loladown.tumblr.com in the hopes that she would become more adventurous in their marriage.  With trepidation he did and, we’re happy to report, she opened up to him like never before, admitting to all her erotic longings, fantasies, and desires.  The grateful soldier thanked Lo and eventually his correspondences with her became less and less frequent.  Hopefully the hot couple is blissfully reunited by this time.

Many thanks to all our men and women in uniform serving our country!