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 skirt and letting it fall to the floor around my feet. I’d continue to be unmoving, like a mannequin.
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.
