Blurred Lines
“Lo,” I called as I walked in the door. “Lo — I’m home?” I questioned whether I should be calling out because as I got further in I heard voices of people having sex. I walked into the bedroom quietly. There she was — lying on the bed, her long red dildo in her right hand plunging in and out between her legs, her phone in her left hand with some porno movie playing. She saw me and without saying “Hello,” or “What are you doing home?” or anything, she let go of her dildo for a second and raised her hand displaying all five fingers indicating that she wanted five more minutes. Her face was contorted in pain and pleasure and her hand immediately resumed its position on her prosthetic cock.
I walked out of the room and into the kitchen where I found two bags of groceries on the floor. With an unexpected five minutes on my hands, I put them away. I also ran the dryer again because the clothes were still wet and I began to look for other menial chores to occupy my time when I heard Lo’s calls indicating she would be done in under a minute.
I returned to the bedroom and she was panting deep breaths as if she had just sprinted the 100 yard dash. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said to me between breaths, contritely.
“Hello,” I said, since we hadn’t greeted each other yet.
She laughed.
“What’s up?”
She looked at me sheepishly.
“Lo?” I asked in the way that Ricky would speak to Lucy when she had done something bad.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I went to the store to just pick up some milk and. . .”
“And what?” I felt like saying “And what, Lucy?” with that Cuban accent, but I didn’t.
“And there was a cute boy there and I accidentally followed him.”
“A cute boy? Accidentally? How old was this ‘boy’?”
“He was about my age. He was a construction worker. He was wearing jeans and work boots, with a white tank top. He was jacked. And as soon as I walked into the store I saw him in the produce isle grabbing a sandwich. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He must have known because he asked me where he could find drinks. I mean, everyone knows where to find drinks in the supermarket, right? But he asked me. So, instead of telling him, I had him follow me.”
“What were you wearing?”
“My little black skirt and my pink blouse.”
I gave her a long, silent look.
“OK, OK!” she screamed, breaking down under the interrogation, “So, I might have unbuttoned a button on my blouse as I led him to the drinks aisle.”
“A button.”
“A couple of buttons, big whoop!”
“Lo!”
“He followed me and. . .”
“You walked with your little ass sashaying this way and that.” I demonstrated for her.
She giggled. “Yes, Daddy, just like that. I led him to the refrigerated section and I told him I needed a drink too.”
“And so you bent down to get one, let him look down your blouse and made a little motion with your open mouth as you came up just by his waist. Am I right?”
She threw a pillow at me. “You know all my tricks!”
“And then what happened?”
“He said, ‘Thanks,’ and he walked away, but he didn’t leave the store. So I followed him down the aisle.”
“Getting very wet, no doubt.”
“Getting so wet,” she said. All this time her fingers were still playing with her pussy lips unconsciously. “And to make it look less conspicuous, I just kept on putting stuff into my basket. I don’t even know what I bought.”
“That explains the dog food and the light bulbs.”
“Then, when he got in line, I got in the line next to him.”
“Let me guess, you gave him your name, address, phone number and a good time to call on you.”
“No, Daddy. I wish I was that bold. He was out of the store before I was and I didn’t see where he went. I got my groceries and came right home.”
“And got to work on cumming at home, I see.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I can’t help myself.” There was a moment of regret and shame on her face, but only a moment before she followed it up with, “I’m going to take a shower now. Will you have me when I’m done?”
“Go on, get in the shower,” I said.
Her naked body hopped up and leapt into the bathroom where she locked the door. I heard the squeak of the shower knobs turning and the spray of the water. Again I was left alone while she had her solo-time. I sat on the bed with every intention of reading a book. I started to read, but then I noticed Lo’s phone just lying there next to me. Now, before you go judging me, there’s something you should know about Lo and me: We have a mutual understanding that there is no judgment and there are no secrets and so she regularly looks at my computer history and I occasionally look at her phone’s history. I picked up her phone and hit the history button. Just as I did so, Lo hit her high note again in the shower. Before I had time to peruse her pornographic choices, she opened the door to the bathroom and looked at me with her “I want you now” look.
Her look only lasted a moment. When she saw what I was doing she lunged — naked and dripping wet — at me on the bed. She struggled with me for her phone and tore it out of my hand.
“What?!” I asked, surprised by her reaction.
“Nothing!”
As she said this, she was hastily deleting her history.
“Why are you doing that?”
“No reason.”
“Lo, what have you been up to?” I asked, again with the Ricky Ricardo tone. Seriously, life with Lo was like a sex-sitcom. I could almost hear the laugh track.
“OK, OK, I’ll tell you, but it’s embarrassing.”
“Go on.”
“I was looking at bad videos.”
“So? You always look at bad videos.”
“No, these were really bad.”
“Tell me what they were.” I was excited by the prospect of learning something new about Lo’s salacious mind.
“Well, they were videos of a. . . No! I can’t. I can’t tell you. It’s too embarrassing.”
“Go on, Lo. You know I don’t judge. Not even when I accidentally found all those. . .”
“Don’t say it!”
“Well, no judgment here.”
“But I judge. I judge myself.”
“You can tell me.”
She shut her eyes and blurted it out all in one shot: “A woman was being held down by many men as she let them take turns cumming on her face. There!”
“That’s it? That’s not half as bad as the Anne-Marie and Charlie,” I said, making reference to a little fetish of hers I discovered.
“I told you not to say it!”
“Still, it’s not so bad.”
“Well, it was a lot of videos like that. They were so nasty, demeaning, and degrading!”
“And they positively turned you on.”
“I know! I’m horrible.”
“Still, it got you off.”
“No! No, I stopped watching before I came.”
I laughed a big, loud, hearty belly laugh.
“What are you laughing at?” she asked as she hit me with another pillow.
“Your masturbatory ethics.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Is there a difference between watching those videos and cumming to them?”
“Yes,” she said in her stubborn tone.
“What’s the difference? Either way, you’re using those misogynist videos. Every click on those porn sites increases their revenue. You know this. You’ve written so much about this in your porn reviews. You don’t need me to explain it.”
She couldn’t argue with me, but she tried. “There’s a difference. I didn’t cum to it!” Her increased volume indicated the weakness of her argument.
“So, if I watch porn of sexy women,” I said, knowing that this would piss her off, “and I don’t cum to it, it’s ok with you?”
“Fuck you!” she said.
“But it’s ok for you to watch that so long as you don’t climax?” I was relishing in the opportunity to needle her about this. “And what if I went shopping,” I continued with the hypotheticals, “and when I got home I suddenly ran into the bedroom and began jackin’ it cause I had talked with a hot stick-skinny-blonde-woman at the supermarket?” Uh oh, I may have overplayed my hand with that one.
A barrage of pillows was shot at me.
“Oh, come on, sweetie,” I said after she ran out of ammunition, “I’m just giving you a dose of your own medicine. What? Can’t take it?”
She rolled over on her tum so she didn’t have to look at me. I gingerly touched her leg to apologize. “Aww, don’t be that way,” I said. “You know that I’m just kidding with you.”
She kicked her legs.
“So, you don’t want me now?”
She remained still.
“OK, fine. I’ll just go then.” I walked out of the room and sat down on the living room couch to read my book.
Within a minute of my opening the book I heard Lo stomping down the hallway. She stood naked over the couch and, stomping her right foot on the floor as she spoke for emphasis, she said, “You know that I want you! I want you to fuck me! I want you to fuck me hard! I want you to stuff your cock down my throat and shut me up! I want you to fill my puss with your dick and make me sorry for all the bad things I do! I want you to make me good again. Don’t you know by now that whenever I yell at you or get angry with you I’m really just crying out for you to love me!”
“No, no I don’t know that. You really disguise your pleas for love well.”
“Well, don’t just sit there,” she exclaimed, “get up and do me! — Doggy style!”
I didn’t waste any time. I got up, bent her over so that her face was facing toward the open window, and fucked her from behind until she began to scream that it hurt. Then I gave it to her even more forcefully before telling her to get on her knees, open her mouth, and putting my pulsating cock deep in her mouth to ejaculate down her throat.
When I was done, she sprawled out on the living room carpet, put a finger to a stray drop that was on the corner of her mouth, licked it and said, “Baby, you’re the greatest!”
[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]
