Christmas Competition
I came home and as I walked down the hall I could hear moaning and muffled screams coming from the bedroom. I slowly opened the door to find Lo lying on the bed, her phone in her left hand and her right hand manipulating her giant red dildo between her bare legs. She was reading something from the screen of her Smartphone. She was cumming and cumming hard. Just as I cracked open the door to see this, she pulled the big dildo out of her pussy and I could see her squirt a stream of female ejaculate all over the dark brown sheets. As she lay exhausted and heaving on the bed, I walked into the room and made my presence known. “Oh hi,” she said meekly as she reached instinctively for my belt buckle to undo it, unbutton my pants, and pull out my cock from my underwear.
“You’re home early,” I remarked as she took my flexible member into her mouth, swallowing it down to the shaft, circling it with her tongue, pressing down upon it with her lips, slurping it with her saliva, and sucking hard on it up and down its entire length. She had no response. She continued working on my dick and she grabbed my hands with hers and placed them on her head indicating to me that she wanted me to force her face down on my hardening dick. I followed her instruction. She made a rapid move to jump on the bed, lying on her back, spreading her legs wide, and fingering her dripping pussy. “Fuck me,” she commanded. I dropped my pants and removed my shirt and began fucking her.
“What were you reading?” I asked.
“Something,” she said, enigmatically, as her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure.
When we (or rather I) was done (since she is never done), I asked her again, “What were you reading?”
“Your latest installment of ‘mysexlifewithlola.’”
“Did you like?” I asked.
“Mmmm hmmm,” she said with pleasure. “But. . .”
“But what?!” I am not good at hearing criticism from Lo.
“But I am not a nymphomaniac,” she insisted (for the ʼenth time).
“Yes you are,” I said.
“No I’m not,” she said in her little girl voice, stomping her right foot on the bed like a child.
“OK, you’re not,” I said in a tone that indicated that I don’t believe it, but concede it for her sake.
“I’m not, Daddy,” she insisted yet again.
I had had enough of her protestations and so I challenged her. “OK Lo, tell me how you are not a nymphomaniac.”
“Well,” she began, “first of all, I don’t have sex with just anyone.”
“Go on,” I said.
“And I don’t take any unnecessary risks. I don’t put my health or life in danger.”
“That’s true,” I said.
“And I can control it,” she said, “I mean, I’m not putting my job or my relationships at risk.”
“What time is it, Lo?”
“It’s three o’clock,” she said.
“On a weekday?” I continued.
“Yeah, so?” she said with a rebellious look in her eye.
“Why are you home instead of at work?”
“I left early.”
“Why?”
“I just did.”
“In order to come home and jill it?”
“Noooooo,” she said, drawing out the ‘o’ of the word. “I came home because. . .”
“Because you wanted to cum. Admit it.”
She pouted.
The silent stare was interrupted by the musical sound of her phone’s ring-tone. She looked at it. “It’s Heather,” she said, as she picked up the phone. As you may recall, Heather was the chick that Lo slept with a while back. They’ve remained friends, though Heather has found a more monogamous partner.
As Lo was on the phone with Heather, she grabbed her laptop and opened it up. She logged into her special e-mail and checked to see if she had any messages in her in-box from her various gentlemen callers. You see, not long ago, Lo posted an ad on Craigslist that read:
Help! I am a nymphomaniac. I am insatiable and I want to be satisfied. My constant craving for large, hard cock is more than my bf can fill alone. He and I have discussed this and we’ve decided that for Christmas I can get more of what I want — cock. In order to get just the right one, I want to have a cock competition — Last Cock Standing. This will involve a number of steps: 1) submission of bio, photos, and stats, along with a brief entry essay describing why you want to do this; 2) Correspondence over the internet (through e-mail or chat); 3) Phone conversations; 4) Meeting in a safe, neutral space like a restaurant or bar; 5) In person training by me; 6) The Christmas Present goes to the lucky winner! If you’re interested, begin with step one and respond to this post.
Within hours she had over 35 responses to the posting. She had trolled through them and selected out the best responses based upon writing skill, creativity, interest, or, with a few, the ginormous size of the guys’ cocks in their pictures. Oh how Lo loved making her selections. She leered at the pages and rubbed her clit till she came numerous times.
Now, you may be thinking, how could Lo post that she’s a nymphomaniac in the personals and then at home deny that she’s a nympho to me? Exactly. I’m sure Lo just thought that the word “nymphomaniac” was a ruse she was intentionally using to attract her would-be paramours. But the fact that she took out this ad and the fact that she had begun the selection process indicates that she really is a nympho. No?
So, there was Lo on the phone with one woman she had slept with, reading the e-mails of many potential lovers and stroking her pussy as she did this as my cum dripped down the side of her hips from her recent engagement in coitus with me. After she got off the phone, she turned to me and took up the argument again in terms that simply could not be rebutted. “I’m not a nymphomaniac. I don’t care what you say!”
[Excerpt from the story, “No, Lo, You’re Not a Nymphomaniac,” from the book: Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE!]
