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I had my face buried in Lo’s ass, eating out her special spot. I had just begun and I paused, pulled my face up to ask, “Did you jill it?”


“Did you cum?”

“Yes. Why?”

I went back to licking up and down, around, in and out of her spot without a response. The fact was, I could smell her cum intensely. I liked it. Don’t get me wrong; I loved it. She had come home from work to find a colleague and me consulting together in the living room. She said her hellos and adroitly slipped into the bedroom and master bath to shower and use the two hand-held showerheads to bring herself to an orgasm. That not being enough for her, she then slid into the cool sheets, naked, and watched a video on her phone as she stroked and fingered herself to climax. Not long after that, and after my colleague had left, I came in the room and she immediately turned on her tum and put her bum in the air and said, “I took a long hot shower, just for you, Daddy.”

I eagerly complied with her wishes and within moments she was face down into a pillow screaming — the pillow hardly muffling her ecstatic calls. When she was done, I flipped her over and began going at her missionary style. She was well lubricated from all the activities thus far and I eased in with a splash.

We were going at it and she began screaming — this time without any pillow muting her voice. Louder and louder she called, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” The intensity was fever pitch and, in order not to be distracted myself, I covered her face with a pillow. I continued until her orgasm wound down and then I turned her over and went at her from behind, doggy-style (her favorite).

No sooner had I begun, than the damn doorbell rang. “Who the fuck could that be?” I asked as I put on my pj bottoms and a t-shirt.

“You can’t go out there like that!” said Lo as she looked sideways from her downward dog position on the bed.

I looked down and saw the protruding tent pole popping out my pj’s. “What am I supposed to do?” I thought of wrapping a towel around my waist, but that would just look more conspicuous. I settled with pulling the rod straight up, pointing to midnight on the clock, and trapping it in the elastic band of my pj bottom and then throwing a long sweatshirt on to cover it’s peek-a-boo head.

I went to the door (after the bell rang a second time) and answered it. It was Ted, our neighbor from upstairs. His bedroom is directly above ours. “Oh boy,” I thought, “he’s finally had enough and he’s going to complain about the noise.”

But no. He appeared in the doorway with a smile on his face and an envelope in his hand.

“Hey Ted,” I said meekly. “What’s up?”

“I know it’s a bit late, I mean, for Christmas, but I just got these and I wanted you and Lo to have them as a gift.”

He passed me the envelope. I opened it. It was two tickets to the NHL. . . .

“Thanks! Thanks a lot.”

You see, Ted works for a local news station and every once in a while he has access to some event or other, so he didn’t actually have to pay for the tickets, but it was a very nice gesture to give them to us.

. . .

Lo was less excited, but willing to go none-the-less, for she had never been to a professional hockey game (or any hockey game for that matter).

Lo was a good sport about it, even refrained from calling me a letch when the cheerleaders greeted us with free swag at the door. We got our seats — very close to the boards — and the game was soon underway. At first Lo was shocked by the physical punishment the players undergo on the ice — “Hey! That’s not fair! He crashed into him to get the puck! How can they let that happen?” — causing more than one person sitting close to us to chuckle at her innocence. I explained checking and she eventually began to cheer for the home team to “Check him! Come on, you can do better than that!”

Then, about halfway through the third period a fight broke out. Not a big fight, but some fists where swinging and occasionally they made contact. When the skirmish was over, Lo was very surprised by her own reaction to it. Lo, normally one who is appalled and revolted by violence, found herself squirming in her seat and oddly aroused by the sheer brutality on the ice — especially when their helmets came off and she could see their faces. She squeezed my hand and asked if we could leave before the end of the game in order to get back home a little faster.

On the subway ride home she was just a writhing, tense, sexually charged nymphet. Her knees were pressed tightly together and she leaned over at one point and whispered to me, “Daddy, I just squirted.” Sometimes it happens like that to her, without even the slightest touch.

We got home and she showed me the wetness that had seeped into her jeans between her legs. I stripped her down naked and gave her a good (and violent) what-for in bed. She was loud and unabashed about it. When we were done — or rather, when I was done — she was still aching for more. She pulled out her long red dildo and went at herself, looking at something on her phone. Sometime in the night I was woken up by her screams as she orgasmed — spraying the bed sheets and using the dildo like a billy-club, whacking her puss with it.

The next morning. . . she pushed me away and said, “Daddy, no. For some reason I’m so sore.”

“Maybe because you pummeled your puss last night?”

“Oh yeah,” she groaned with a little smile, evidently recalling her self-abuse. “I’m on the wagon,” she said.

“What wagon? — the shaggin’ wagon? — the fuck truck? — the shame train? Please, be precise.”

I sat on my knees and I asked her what, exactly, she was hoping to do for Ted to repay his favor.

At this question, her eyes opened and she asked, “What have you been up to?”

“I just looked at your phone, is all.”

“Daddy, you are bad.”

“Not as bad as you, dear. Now tell me.”

Her legs were spread and the covers pulled down. She began to go into some detail about what she’d like to do with Ted as I stroked myself looking at her beautiful, but off limits, puss. She liked watching me and she continued to tell me all the naughty things she’d do with him. “You know,” she said, “when you’re not home and I know he’s home, I go in the shower with my toys and I jill it.”

“I didn’t know that. Go on.”

“I do it a lot. He gets home at five, when you’re still at work. I make sure to grab the mail in the hall when I see him walking up the stairs.”

“You’re bad. What do you wear?”

“Usually just a tee and my panties.”

I began bouncing the tip of my cock on her puss and she called out, “Owe!”

“You deserved that,” I said.

“Do it again.”

“Tell me more,” I said as I slapped her puss once again and she flinched in pain, followed by a smile.

“Sometimes I just wear a towel. The building is so quiet and when I take a shower, I am so loud.”

“Oh, I know.”

“And I’m sure he hears me. I’m sure he goes into the bathroom and listens while he jacks off in there.”

I flipped her over. She licked her finger and then reached back to circle her special spot.

“You want it, Daddy? I’m not sore there.”

“I’ll teach you a lesson, little girl,” I said. “A lesson you won’t forget.”

I began entering her and at first it felt like the tip of my cock was a submarine trying to enter the eye of a needle. She cried out in pain — very loudly.

“You want to be bad, do you?”

“Fuck me till I’m good again!”

“What else have you done, you whore?”

“After I cum in the shower I go into the living room with the blinds open. I turn porn on the TV and I jill it right there where everyone on the street can see me. I hope that he goes out front to watch.”

“Suck my cock,” I command. She swings around and she takes me in her mouth, licking with her tongue consuming me like flame of a fire, her finger fingering her ass simultaneously. She takes her mouth off my cock and looks up at me and says, “Penetrate me, Daddy.”

She turns around once more and spreads her ass as I ram it home. She screams and falls face first into the pile of pillows.

“Make me a Hostess cupcake, Daddy. Fill me up!” she begs as she senses my approaching climax.

I pull her hips up close to me and hold her there as I explode deep inside her.

“Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!” she calls out before collapsing in the bed.

I slowly pull out and wave my dick over her.

“Clean it up,” I instruct.

Like a spent marathoner, she slowly lifted her body off the bed and turned around to put my soft cock in her mouth and moved it from side to side — bulging first one cheek and then the other.

She looked up at me and said, “Am I forgiven, Daddy?”

“Did I fuck you back to being a good girl?”

“Oh yes, Daddy. Thank you.”

“Then you’re forgiven.”

“Oh, thank you, Daddy,” she said as she reached down to grab my limp dick.

“Hands above the waist,” I demanded.

“Your waist or mine?” she asked as she began to masturbate.

“I thought you were sore.”

“Oh, I am,” she said, “but I can’t stop. My ass is happy as a clam, but my clam wants to be as happy as my ass.”

“Fine,” I said, “I have to get ready for work anyway.”

“Good,” she said in response, “Don’t come near me.”

“Don’t come near you?” I asked incredulously, “I just came in you.”

“Take your shower, Deee-Lite.” she said, as she grabbed her phone and turned on her tum.

“What did you call me?”


“Why did you call me delight?”

“Deee-Lite,” she said, drawing out the “dee.” They sing the song, ‘Groove is in the Heart.’”


“Oh, you’re so old!” she said exasperated. “Groove is in the heart,” she began to sing.

“I’m not that old,” I said. “I know that song. But I thought they sang, ‘Groovin’ the hole.’”


“Groovin’ the hole,” I began to sing.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed as she started typing into her phone.


“I gotta post that!”

“Never mind that, why did you call me that?”

“Cause you’re like Deee-Lite, you’re a one hit wonder.”

“That was a low blow!”

“Oh, I can blow lower than that, Daddy-O!”

I hopped in the shower and by the time I hopped out I heard her cumming. I peeked out of the bathroom and saw her on the bed, ass in the air, one hand reaching and fingering from behind and one underneath, between her legs, fingering her puss.

She called out, “Oh my fuck! Fuck me! Yes!”

I began to get dressed. Not even so much as a pulse from down below.

“Kiss me before you leave,” she said as I finished tying my tie. She was already busy looking up new videos to jill it to.

I walked to the bed and she grabbed my tie and pulled me close and kissed me, saying, “I love you, Daddy. Have a good day at work.”

“Don’t you work too hard, either,” I said.

“Oh, it’s never too hard,” she replied as I walked out the bedroom door.

I grabbed my coffee, got my briefcase, and put on my shoes and she was cumming again as I walked out the front door, only to meet Ted in the lobby — Lo’s voice clearly audible.

“Hey Ted,” I said.

“Morning H.,” he said.

“Thanks again for the tickets. It was a great game!”

“Not a problem. Glad you liked it.”

We both were very consciously ignoring the orgasmic acoustics.

“Oh, and tell Lo that the station has a rule that we can’t accept any payment or gifts in return for tickets we get from work.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that.”


“Though I’m sure she’ll be very disappointed to hear it. She was just thinking out loud about how she could show her appreciation.”


“Yeah, she’s very eager to do something for you.”

“Well, it’s against company policy,” he said, nervously.

“I’m sure she will think of something.”

“There’s no policy against thinking out loud, I guess,” he said as he hopped in his car.

[Excerpt from the story, “Thinking Out Loud,” from the blog:]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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