Hi, I’m Lola Down. I’d like to be clear up some confusion. A lot of people think I’m the author of mysexlifewithlola.com. I am not. I am the muse, star, and hotwife to the literary graphomaniac behind the words, HH.
Now that we’ve cleared that up, allow me to welcome you into our world. Here, HH has written a memoir of sorts — or what he pompously calls a ro·man à clef — about, well, you guessed it, his sex-life with me. He is in his 50s and I am in my 20s. We are madly in love with each…
[For the backstory on my sister, begin here: A Time to Love.]
“It’s one thing to get cumtributes from fans,” said Lo as she scrolled through her emails. “But it’s completely another thing to get photos from fans of guys shooting their loads all over photos of my sister.”
“What?!” I asked.
“Yeah, look,” she said, turning her computer screen toward me for me to see photo after photo from different men ejaculating on pics of Robie, Lo’s sister. Some were pics of guys cumming on her tits and others were pics of guys cumming on her face.
This week, please allow us to introduce a wonderful writer, lover, mom, sex worker, and keyboard comedian — Mysterious Witt!
We’ve been following her on Medium for a while, but recently a few things have happened that changed her and her approach. Her partner was diagnosed with a tumor in his neck and she has shed the shame of those who would judge her and revealed her face for all to see.
She has worked as a dominatrix, worked as a sex author at Hustler and Playboy, had kids, and then recently tried to get back in the biz. But…
If you haven’t heard, Medium has created a new requirement for authors to get paid through the Medium Partners Program (MPP). If you’re a writer who wants to get paid for your posts on Medium.com, you will have to have at least 100 followers to be part of the program in 2022.
You may be aware that we (me and H.H. — the author of the outfit), try to promote new writers and that recently we posted about expanding our list of Top Sex Writers on Medium. (See the link to find out more.) …
“Lo,” I said, “you got a package.”
“So do you!” she said, grabbing my crotch.
I gave her the package that had arrived. “Looks like it’s from Europe,” I observed.
She held it and began walking to the bedroom.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Yes, but not in front of you. You’re not allowed.”
She shut the bedroom door.
The door opened. Lo popped out naked and said, “Don’t go in there!” like it was the scene of a murder…
A bit of background about my sister.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your sister?” I asked Lola.
“That’s not a reason.”
“You knew I had a sister.”
“But you never said anything about her. You only told me that she had ‘problems’ and was sent away when you were young.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Yes, but you never told me she and you, well, you used to. . .”
“Are you hard?”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“It’s not fodder for your imagination as you fuck me.”
“It wouldn’t be,” I lied.
Today is Labor Day and in honor of those who work, we want to introduce you to two friends (of ours and each other) who work hard for their money. We also want to ask you to support them through a very special gift.
Samantha (Sammi) Masog and Mrs. Sins.
I’ll let Sammi tell you about herself and her business:
My name is Sammi. I am from a small town in central Minnesota. I am currently expecting my first child. My husband and I are very excited and nervous! We have two beautiful little kittys named Heinrich and Leonardo. I…
[Continued from Immoral Support.]
It was a long, tense time of waiting, but ultimately Cam tested negative for pregnancy. Lo was elated. Not only did it mean that the lucky winner wouldn’t be from the corrupted batch of sperm, but it also meant another session with Ted. Unfortunately, that’s not how it turned out. When the Bat-signal was given, indicating that Cam’s ovulation was at hand, Lo couldn’t make it on the evening when Ted would be there. As a consolation prize, Lo sent Ted a few sexy pics. He reciprocated by sending Lo a photo of him in the…
“Gazing at the written world, seeing the elegant self-restraint that guards an inner decomposition, a biological decay until the last moment from the prying eyes of the world; that bilious, sensually disadvantaged ugliness that is able to kindle its smoldering fire into a pure flame and to even usurp the throne in the kingdom of beauty.”
— Death in Venice, Thomas Mann
“Really?” asked Lo as I mixed the gin in with the tonic and sliced up a sliver of lime.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s not even noon.”
“What is time in a global pandemic anyway?”
We were two weeks…
The work. The work. The work. . . . THE WORK!
You, who sit at home so comfortable in your athleisure or nothing at all, you who so easily decide what’s wrong and what’s right, what’s acceptable and censurable, what pushes the bounds of kink and what titillates, and what is off-limits and call it a night.
I’m not hear to garner your sympathy. I know what I am and what my place is. I produce disposable porn for your insatiable appetite. You read the first few lines, glance down the page, slow down when you get to something juicy…