Charlotte and Samantha and Moby Dick

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I let the poor dear sleep while I snuck out of the room in the darkness. I went to write by candlelight in the living room — a silent morning meditative practice of mine — but when the sun was up high in the morning sky and Lo was nowhere to be seen or heard, I became curious. How long would the little nymph sleep? I approached the bedroom and when I opened the door a smidge and peeked in, I was surprised by what I saw. She was already dressed and ready to go.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Oh, since seven or so.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Nothing, just got dressed.”

“Do you recall what you did last night?”


“How many times did you cum?”

“Enough to fall asleep.”

“And to keep me up.”

“You deserved it. Next time you’ll let a lady cum first the way you should!”

“You did cum first, remember?!”

“I mean, you’ll let a lady cum first the second time.”

“Uhhhhhggggg!” I said, throwing my hands in the air at the impossibility of arguing with her.

“Are you mad, Daddio?” she asked in a much more conciliatory tone.



“Because you kept me up all night with your masturbating.”

“Were you up up?” she asked, moving her hand to my crotch.

“Yes, Lo, I was up up at four in the fucking morning.”

“Well, why didn’t you have me?!”

“You were asleep.”

“Peshaw! That’s no reason not to have me. You know I’ve given you preemptive permission to fuck me whenever the mood strikes you.”

“Well, I’m still hard up. Slip out of those jeans and spread your legs.”

“Oh no, Daddio! It’s way too late for that!”


“I have to be at work in a half hour.”

“Do it!” I commanded in a harsh tone.

“Oooohhh,” she said, twitterpated, “I like it when you demand it.” She pulled down her pants and bent over the bed. “There you go, Daddio. Have your way with me, but be quick about it.”

I entered her and I asked, “What were you looking at last night?”

“I was bad again.”

“What was it Lo?”

“I was looking at those men who wrote back to me.”

“What did you like?”

“I liked them all. They all have really hard bodies and big cocks.”

“What do you want?”

“I want a cock I can’t handle. I want a cock that’s too big for my mouth. I want a cock that’s too big for my puss.” She came.

I kept going.

“Show me.”

She fumbled for her phone, bent over the bed as she was, and she opened it up to a photo of a large black man holding something that resembled a baseball bat. It was his cock and it was enormous. “That’s what I want. I’m actually overwhelmed just by the look of it!”

You wouldn’t know she was overwhelmed by the feel of her puss. She gushed all down her inner thighs as she came to the sight of this fire hose.

I persisted with my pounding and questioning. “Did you write to him?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Did he write back?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Did you send him naughty pictures of yourself?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“What did he say?”

“He liked what he saw. He wants me to call him this weekend.”

She came a third time.

“Have you contacted anyone else?”

“Yes, Daddy.”


“A bartender.”

“Show me.”

She fumbled a little with her phone and then up popped the picture of the guy who resembled Bruce Springsteen and his ripped jeans showing just a peek of his long cock.

“Did you write to him?”

“Yes, Daddy.”


“And he wants to meet this Thursday at the bar where he works.”

“You want to meet him?”


“Did you send him pics of yourself too?”

“Yes, Daddy.”


“And he thinks I’m very sexy.”

“You are,” was all I could say — I was on the verge of going over the edge. I didn’t want to. I desperately didn’t want to. She was on the verge of going over her fourth edge of the morning and she wanted to. She desperately wanted to. It was a dilemma. Ultimately, I pulled out, dropping her body on the bed without my pole to hold it up.

“Why’d you do that?!” she screamed, looking back at me.

All I could do was stand still and take deep breaths to try to slowly retreat from the edge without falling over due to the vertigo. She saw what I was doing and she teased me.

“Do you like what a dirty, horny little slut I am, Daddy? Do you like that I want my puss filled by these great big cocks? Do you like that I want to be DP’d?”

Her voice was having its effect on me. She got on the floor and sat under my cock ready to catch whatever may spill out.

“Do you like that I want to get on my knees like this for those guys and make them cum on my face and in my mouth and the back of my throat? Do you?”

I looked down at her — it was almost too much, but I managed to regain the reigns of control and I told her, “Yes, I do, but you’re not going to succeed this morning.”

“Boo!” she complained bitterly. “Just cum. You know you want to. You’ll feel so much better. You can’t go to work with a loaded gun like that!”

“Get dressed, Lo, you’re almost late to work,” I said dismissively.

As we were in the car I said to her, “You know what I love about you?”

“What’s that, Daddy?” she asked with a big grin on her face.

“I love that you’re all Charlotte on the outside and all Samantha on the inside.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know, Charlotte, from Sex and the City. She’s the good little innocent girl and that’s how people see you. But the real you is Samantha and today you reminded me of the episode where Samantha meets the guy whose cock is too big for her to take. She tries and tries, but she just can’t handle it. That’s what you’re looking for. That’s your white whale.”

You might say that’s my Moby Dick.

[From the blog:]

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

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