Christmas Stress Relief

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“Daddy, remember how you promised to get me that massage last Christmas?”

“Yeah, Lo, I remember,” I said. “Well, I want it now.”

“Lo, that offer was only good till the end of January.”

“NOW, Daddy!” she demanded.

“OK, ok,” I said.

“But I want it to be a man and I want him to make house-calls.”

I got on the internet and did an extensive search of Lo’s strict criteria. (Oh, yes, there were more exactitudes about what was acceptable to her.) Finally I found one: a certain Mateo. He came highly recommended. I made the arrangements, but he couldn’t book Lo till the next afternoon.

That night I fell asleep — or was well on my way to falling asleep — when I was startled by the weight of Lo’s naked body on mine as she whispered in my ear, “Do me, Daddy. Do me.”

When I realized I was no longer dreaming, I said, “No, Lo. Go to sleep. Now!”

Two or three more times that night I felt her naked body gyrating to the rhythmic pulsing of her large purple dildo pounding her pink pussy repeatedly in the night as she watched a video on her phone and called out, seemingly to no one. But I heard her and, much as I resented being woken from my slumbers, my member sprung to action with delight at the sights and sounds.

“Do me, Daddy. Do me!” Her mantra.

“No, Lo. Go to sleep!” My mantra.

The next day, Saturday, Lo didn’t get out of bed. She lay in bed laying herself all morning. Only around 11:00 — an hour before her appointment with Mateo — did she finally emerge from the sheets and blankets to walk five feet to the shower where she cleansed the cum from her thighs, fingers, and every place else she happened to hit while squirting in the bed. Of course she took full advantage of the double-showerhead to bring herself to a window rattling orgasm.

Ding-dong. Yes, just as she was cumming in the shower, the doorbell rang and there was Mateo — all six-feet-one of him in his finely pressed white knit shirt and black jeans revealing just large enough of a bulge to drive Lo mad with manlust. I let him in, shaking his hefty, meaty hand as he grinned a pearly-toothed “howdyado” at me that brought out his dark Mediterranean complexion. “Lo will be a minute. She’s just. . . er, finishing up in the shower.”

As I made clumsy excuses for my little vixen, she called out from the bathroom down the hall, “Holy fucking shit that was AMAZING!”

“Lo,” I called back as I walked briskly to the bathroom door she had left ajar, “Your masseuse is here.”

“Oh, well, send him right in,” she said as she stood naked, dripping on the bathmat, only a towel loosely draped over her hip.

“Lo, you have to put on clothes.”

“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, in a conscious and silly imitation of Scarlet.

“Madame will see you now,” I said to Mateo, in a conscious and less amusing, rather creepy imitation of Max Von Mayerling from Sunset Boulevard.

In went Mateo with his box of tricks and his folding massage board to the bedroom (that still reeked of Lo’s late night, early morning masturbatory exercises).

I sat in the living room impatiently trying to keep myself occupied. I picked up a book and then tossed it on the chair. I picked up another book and immediately shut it. I listened intently. No sounds, and then her flirtatious chuckling.

I turned on the radio, but was instantly annoyed by the fact that it made it impossible to eavesdrop on the bedroom. I paced. That didn’t help. Who knows how long went by? No, that’s a ridiculous rhetorical question. I know exactly how long went by. Twenty-five minutes. Then I heard Lo moaning. It could have been that Mateo — M-A-T-E-O (stupid name) — had just magically unlocked Lo’s trapezius and the relief was overwhelming. But, let’s be honest here, shall we? The reality probably was that he unlocked Lo’s trap alright and she was moaning in delight.

At forty-five minutes she was indubitably screaming with orgasmic pleasure. And at fifty minutes all was silent. By this point I realized I was a precious few feet away from the bedroom door. I heard a thunk of the box and I made long, ballerina like, tip-toe strides away from the bedroom and back to the living room.

Soon Mateo emerged from the bedroom and Lo followed after, holding her white towel up over her bare breasts and revealing ever so slightly the tip of her triangular temptation. Mateo walked right up to me and, for a moment, I thought to myself that he was expecting me to slap him on the back and congratulate him for a job well done, but then I came to my senses and realized that this was a business transaction and he was waiting, grinning of course, to be paid for his services. I dug into my pocket and fumbled out my fat wallet and counted out the twenties to pay him, adding an extra one on top for tip.

Off went my good boy to the next house call on his list and my little Lo stood in the hall grinning for a moment before turning tail like a little bunny and scurrying off to the bedroom where she waited for me with open legs. I gave her what she wanted — a good lay — and she gave me what I wanted — the blow-by-blow.

I was lying on top of her as she was in the missionary position and she whispered into my ear as I gently plunged my throbbing knob deep inside her. She said:

He started by massaging my feet. He began with my toes — each one individually with his special lubricating oils. He had the most firm, yet delicate fingers and he knew just where to place them on my toes. He then circled round and round my heel and worked his way into my sore ankles. Slowly he worked his way up my calf (each leg individually, of course) and to my thighs. He took his time with my thighs, rubbing them with both hands, kneading them like dough. More than once I could feel the tips of his fingers treading dangerously close to my ass and just grazing the glistening lips of my pussy. I had the towel draped over my back as I lay on my tum, but I’m sure it was high enough that he could see exactly where he was going to go next. Even though I had jilled it all morning, I was aching for more. I wanted those strong, tender hands to fondle me, finger me, fist me. . . if I could stand it.

But he was very professional. He continued massaging my thighs for a long time, teasing me as he made a bit of small-talk. Asking me if I jog, telling me that my legs are beautiful but tense. Oh, I was tense alright. I was aching for him. But he then moved to my back, abruptly skipping the part of my body that most needed a massage. He stood in front of my head and leaned over deeply to get the small of my back. As he did so, I could see the bulge in his jeans and, not wanting to embarrass him, I put my head down into the towel. He leaned so far over that the bulge gently bumped my head and I could feel how strong and solid he was. His hands went way down into the small of my back and under my towel to the top of my ass. Back and forth he went with long, deep strokes gliding over the warm massage oils. Back and forth and, as I felt his cock pressing on the top of my head, I almost came right there. But he slowly began working his way up my back to my shoulders and neck. He went to the side of the table and his pulsating hands cascaded their relaxing movements from my neck all the way down, first one arm and then the other. I felt as if I was turning to jelly, but all the while I was dripping on my towel thinking about the package he had in his jeans.

He then asked if I wanted to roll over. I complied immediately, allowing the towel only to cover my hips. This time he began with my shoulders and worked his way down my arms again. But soon he asked if I would like to have my entire torso rubbed down. I nodded in agreement with this suggestion. He put a puddle of oil in the palm of his hand and slowly worked his way down my shoulders to my breasts and ever so gently caressed them and squeezed them. When he heard me moan and saw my response, he gently tugged at my nipples and pulled at my breasts, asking, ‘Does that feel good?’

I could hardly speak. He knew it felt good and he continued down my tum. When his hands got to the towel, he politely asked if he could remove it. I nodded, ‘Yes.’ He took it off and saw my cleanly, sweetly shaved pussy. My pussy lips must have been pink and glistening from the shower and all the self-manipulation I had done that morning. He was so professional! He didn’t say a word. He was again standing by my head — this time I was facing up right at his crotch — and he leaned forward and gave me a good deep rubdown from my tits to my pussy, and as he did so his package went right into my face.

‘You can do that again,’ I said and he leaned over again.

‘Again,’ I said.

He repeated the gesture.

‘Do you want to get out of those jeans?’ I asked.

Without a word he unbuttoned his jeans and let them down. I reached up above my head and pulled down his tight undershorts and out sprang his giant cock into my face.

‘Try it one more time,’ I asked.

This time when he leaned over me I took his cock in my mouth and he continued leaning as his big fingers found their way to my wet and waiting cunt. He fingered me as I sucked him off for a good long time. But then I pulled off his rod and I said, ‘You know, I have some talents of my own.’ I flipped over and my face was exactly the height of his amazing member. I took it, deep into the back of my throat. It was a good nine inches, I’d say. I just opened up and let him stick the entire thing as deep as he could go.

He pulled out and said, ‘I’m supposed to be giving you the massage.’

He moved to the middle of the bed, used a lot of oil all over my clit, pussy lips and ass and began massaging everything all at once. I came and came hard within seconds. I squirted, Daddy, I squirted all over that poor young man’s hand. He didn’t seem to mind. I asked him if I could return the favor by sucking on his cock and he ever so politely told me that unfortunately our hour is over and he must be on his way to his next appointment. ‘Perhaps next time,’ he said.

After all those days of denying my little trollop my pleasure, I was excited and tense and hard beyond belief. As I listened to her story, I had to keep backing away from the edge and slow things down in order to get through the entire account. But when she was done I told her to put on her glasses.

“Why Daddy?”

“Just do it, damn it!” There was no time for explanations.

She did as she was told as I continued doing her and then, once she had them on, I pulled out of her and moved in one jerky motion to her face and ejaculated all over her glasses, face, and hair. She was a happy whore — my little Lo.

[Excerpt from the story, “The House-call,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail: downloladown@gmail.com

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