“Do you remember last night?”
“Of course I do,” she says, licking her lips.
“Do you remember falling asleep?”
“Ummm, no,” she says. “Why?”
“I don’t want to get into it.”
“Oh, yes you do,” she says, pulling her legs out from under the covers and spreading them for me. She slaps her pussy and says, “You want to get into it, don’t you Daddy? I was having sex dreams all night.”
“Was I in any of them?”
“I think you were.”
“Think? You think I was?”
“I’m sure you were.”
“Sure? Was I in your dreams or not?”
“Come here, Daddio, and get in me.”
“I’m mad at you,” I say.
“This isn’t about me,” she says.
“No, this is about us and there are two letters in ‘us’ and one of them is ‘u.’”
“Are we fighting again, Daddy?”
“No,” I say, “I’m going to make breakfast.”
After I leave the room I hear her cumming and then cumming again, alone in the bedroom. Then I hear other voices. I walk in the bedroom and find her watching porn, three dildos on the bed, the biggest one between her legs. She raises her left hand and has her index finger raised, as if to say, “One second” the way a person who is about to sneeze asks for a moment.
Then it comes out — loud screams, trembling legs, curling toes.
She drops the phone, falls back, and says in a whisper, “OK, your turn.”
I get between her legs and say, “You’d like it if you were fucked by a team of guys and then could say, ‘OK, your turn’ to me after I make breakfast.”
“You know it,” she says as I saw away at her wet thighs.
I fuck her good for three more orgasms before I finally cum. As I lie in bed recovering she says, “Why did you fuck me?”
“Because you asked for it.”
“I did not.”
“Not with your words, but with your body language — you were screaming for it.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I just did.”
“No you didn’t.”
“I said it with my body language.”
“Hmmm, it seemed like you were saying ‘fuck you, fuck you.’”
“Yes! You’re like a meat tenderizer!”
“I take that as a compliment,” I say. She curls up to me and rubs my tum. “You know,” I say, “you’re so much more amicable after I ejaculate all over you.”
“No, you are more amicable.”
“I’m always amicable,” I respond.
“Well, then you’re less demanding.”
“And more cummanding. Get it?”
“Go back to sleep.”
[Excerpt from the story, “Nympho Tendencies,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]