There we were, Lo and I, sitting on the couch — she on one end, I on the other — as Friday evening became Friday night. I was looking at a Tumblr page called “allbigdicks.” She was reading a book. I was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. She was wearing only her skimpy nighty, touching her bare puss unconsciously as her eyes traversed the page.
“I don’t get the bent ones — you know, the ones that curve to the side like a banana,” I said, breaking the silence.
“You used to contemplate much loftier thoughts,” she replied without even glancing up from the page. “My, how the tables have turned. Here I am, trying to read Tennessee Williams and you’re looking at a page of nameless women sucking off freakishly large cocks.”
“Yes, but I’m doing so in the name of art.”
“Art?! Art he says! — The last haven of every pornographer who ever lived!”
“Oh, shut up. Aren’t you the slut calling the letch a perv. You made me this way.”
“I just don’t understand why — in the name of art — you are looking at that when you could have this,” she said, spreading her legs wider.
“Are you trying to curtail my intellectual freedom?”
Her legs slammed closed and she sat up, a gleam of anger in her eyes.
“Do you realize what a long leash I give you? It’s so long it goes around the world three times. . . and then strangles me.”
“What? You don’t like it if I look at a few pics of naked women, but you — you can watch porn and jill it till your heart’s content?”
“A few pics?! You probably have seen over a thousand pussies in just the last five minutes!”
“Oh cool your jets, I’m just looking for a visual to go with the story I just wrote.”
“Isn’t this enough visual for you?” she asked, spreading her legs again, this time further apart and now very consciously fingering her pussy.
“Stay just like that! Let me get the camera!”
I got up and when I returned, I found Lo with my computer on her lap.
“Well, do you like her?” she said of the photo on the screen.
“Her! Vanessa Chaland. You’ve been reading her blog and looking at her Tumblr.”
“Like her? I hardly even know her.”
I stood over Lo with the camera in hand, but Lo was no longer putting on a show.
“Me!” she barked, hitting her hand to her chest, “Do you hear me? Me me me me me me me me! That’s all you need.”
“And you need me,” I responded, “and Hunter and Bill and Heather and. . .”
“Oh, shut up!” she said, getting up and stomping her way to the bedroom.
“AND LET’S NOT FORGET JOHNNY CASTLE!” I called down the hallway to her.
With anyone else, I would be irate at the thought of a snoop sneaking around my internet browsing history, but with Lo I take it as a condition of our open and honest relationship. The fact of the matter is, however, that if she can’t handle what she finds, she shouldn’t look. When I got to the bedroom, I said as much to her.
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t look! — at other women!”
“Darling,” I said gently, trying to caress her.
“Don’t ‘darling’ me,” she said, “Do me!”
She spread her legs and reached down with both hands to spread her pussy for me to fuck her. It took me a couple of seconds to get out of my clothes, but I did as she commanded. She was on her back — missionary position — and she whispered in my ear, “Tell me what I am,” as I penetrated her wet puss.
“You’re a slut, a whore, a tramp, a trollop.”
“You’re my slut; Daddy’s cumbucket,” I said.
“Will you cum on my face, Daddy?”
“Yes,” I said.
She began to cum, calling out to me to go deeper, harder, faster.
After she convulsed once like that, she said, “Flip me over, Daddy. Do me from behind.”
I pulled out, turned her doggy style, and she grabbed her phone and fidgeted with it a bit. “Go on, fuck me!” she said, turning her head over her shoulder. Then she was back to her phone. Up popped a porn video of a woman sucking on an enormously large cock. “There,” she said, “I just wanted to see what a real cock looked like.”
She was taunting me.
“Oh, I wish you had a cock like that.”
I gave it to her harder — a little punishment.
Suddenly she shut off the video (but not before the guy came all over the woman’s face) and she opened up her cache of pics — pics of men who have sent her naughty images of themselves via e-mail. She swiped through them one by one, stopping at none of them for more than a few seconds. But then she paused and said, “There we go. That’s what I wanted to see.”
She didn’t have to say anything; I knew the pic by now. It was Hunter standing naked before his bathroom mirror, grabbing his long schlong.
“Oh yeah, Daddy-O, I can’t wait till I’m fucked with that.”
“That’s what you want?”
“MMMmmmm Hmmmmmm” was all she could voice as her pussy gushed all over me. The thought of her cumming to her imaginings of infidelity was all I could take and she felt my quivering cock preparing to explode. She quickly jumped forward, turned around, and opened her mouth (just like the woman in the porno she was watching a moment ago) as I came on her face and tongue indiscriminately. She grabbed my cock at the base and squeezed it hard, milking it for all it had left; sucking it; licking it.
[Excerpt from the story, “The Happy Hypocrite,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]