All Dolled Up
The next morning, Lo was up before I was, which is something very unusual. She was already stroking it to Brian’s photos that she had found by searching him out on Facebook. Just as I was stirring, her left hand grabbed and held my right wrist tightly as she again convulsed, pressing her knees together, clasping on her fingers between her legs, dropping her phone, biting down hard. And then it was over.
“Morning Daddio,” she said pleased as peach.
“I want to fuck you,” I said.
“Nope. Not till tonight,” she said and she got up and went into the master bathroom, sat on the pot with the door open and looked at me as she squirted into the bowl and then peed. She knows that this is a real turn-on for me and she did it deliberately to arouse me.
She got up, bent over and flushed, went to the sink and began brushing her teeth, all the time popping her little ass out at me and looking over her shoulder to make sure I was watching her.
“Are you coming home before your date tonight?”
“Of course I am,” she said.
“So I’ll see you around five?”
“Yeah.”
Soon she was out the door going to work. She texted me and asked, “Are you still hard-up for me?”
I texted back three eggplant emojis.
Later that day, Lo came home and, after a perfunctory little peck on the cheek, she removed all her clothes and hopped into the steamy hot shower. I went to peek in and I was greeted by her yelling, “Get out!” as I saw her wearing her shower cap — something she hates to be seen wearing.
When she was out, she spent a good long time naked in front of the mirror doing her makeup. Finally, she came into the bedroom where I was watching her and she said, “This sucks.”
“What?”
“Look,” she said, showing me the little dangling string between her legs.
“Today?!”
“Yes. Can you believe it? I got it hard and heavy. I’m so fucking pissed.”
“Well, you weren’t planning on fucking him anyhow, were you?”
“When I go on a date I like to know that all options are open.”
“And all holes.”
“You’re so vulgar.”
“But right.”
“Yeah, so?”
She slid on a sexy little thong, put on her bra, and slid into her sexiest dress.
“Remember,” she said, as she put on her heels, “no cumming for you! Not until tonight.”
“Have fun,” I said as she dashed out the door, already late for her six o’clock appointment. “Remember,” I added, “not to mix business with pleasure.”
She turned around and, with a laugh, she said, “Darling, pleasure is my business,” as she smoothed out her dress over her curvy ass.
She left and with those parting words I thought about what a trollop she is.
Left to my own devices, or rather, my own vices, I poured myself a generous helping of scotch and ensconced myself on the couch with my computer to write. Every so often, when I wistfully thought of my little lush Lo, I would pull up her photos to look at — and only through a manly act of willpower, prevent myself from pleasuring myself to them.
To my surprise, nine o’clock came and went. Then ten. Then eleven! I didn’t dare text her because of some sadistic pleasure I took in the not knowing. But where the hell was she?!
Finally, at eleven-thirty-five, I saw the lights of a car pull into the driveway. It was Lo. She walked in the door and looked at me on the couch. “Hey Daddio,” she said as she sauntered up to me, leaned over and kissed me. She then turned to walk toward the bedroom and as she did so, she slowly slid her dress up over her ass so that I could see her bare bottom.
“Hey,” I called after her, “you were wearing panties when you left!” I got up and followed her to the bedroom where I managed to see her pull the dress up and over her head. She undid the clasp on her bra and took it off just before turning out the light and hopping into bed.
“How was your night, Daddio?” she asked, purposely being coy about her night.
“Fine,” I said.
She reached down and pulled out my hard cock. “Did you miss me?”
“What do you think?”
“I want to hear it. Did you miss me?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A lot. Why are you so late and why don’t you have your thong on?”
She stroked my cock. “Were you good or bad?”
“I think I should be asking you that.”
“I asked you first.”
“I was good.”
“Did you jack it?”
“No.”
“Did you look at porn?”
“Only yours.”
“Did you cum?”
“I told you, I didn’t jack it.”
“Yes, but you could cum just by looking at my porn.”
“That’s true,” I said upon reflection, “but I didn’t.”
“Good.”
“Tell me about your night.”
“Are you sure you want to hear?”
“Yes,” I said, bracing myself for whatever she might reveal.
[Excerpt from the story, “Slut Lust,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]
