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“Can we go out for dinner tonight?” she asked as her left hand pulled my right hand up her leg to her crotch. She was wearing her sexy black leggings under her oversized sweater and black leather boots. She looked good.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know, Daddio. Anything. Surprise me.”

There was a new restaurant that had just opened in our neighborhood and it got a lot of press in just the few short weeks it had been in business. “How about that new place, the Farmstand, or the Homestead, or whatever it’s called?”

“The one we read about — with the farm-to-table menu? That sounds great!”

The decision made, she pressed my hand hard into her puss (to show her enthusiasm and appreciation) and encouraged me to rub it.

My cell phone chirped its musical ditty indicating a text message. Lo picked it up as I drove.

“Who is it?”

“Just Verizon texting to say we’ve hit seventy-five percent of our data-plan usage for the month,” said Lo.

“Oh.”

“That reminds me,” she added, “when I was in the store the other day checking out new phones, the sales guy told me that we’ve only been using about half of our data-plan per month.”

“Yeah?”

“And if we go to the next plan lower — fifty percent of what we have now — we can save ten dollars a month.”

“Hmmmm.”

“So, shouldn’t we do that?”

“But some months, like this month, we’re over half.”

“Yeah, but we can just be conscientious of our usage.”

“That would mean that you’d have to curtail your pornography watching.”

“So?” she asked, indignantly.

“So?! So, what would you do? — Look at magazines?”

“I’ve been known to.”

A smirk came to my lips as I said, “Yeah, right. When’s the last time you got off to a pornographic magazine?”

“I’ve done it!”

“Yeah? Which one? When?”

“I’ve gotten off to pictures.”

“I’m not talking pictures, I mean a real magazine.”

She sat silently, thinking.

“What pictures?” I asked, as, in the silence, the curiosity of her statement settled in.

“Oh, nothing,” she said alluringly.

“Tell me!” I demanded.

“Nothing!”

“Nothing? You got off to pictures of nothing?”

“Yes, it was very Dada.”

“Lo.”

“Oh, shush! I bet you got off to pictures in magazines,” she said, deflecting the attention.

“Of course I did! Back in my day, we didn’t have the internet.”

“What magazines?”

“You know, Playboy, Hustler, Penthouse — the usual suspects.”

“What sort of pics were they?”

“Believe it or not, back then, they were just pictures of naked women. I mean, maybe, if you got one of the cheap mags with the not-so-attractive women in it, you might see a pic of a lot of people standing around naked, as if an orgy was about to happen, but they wouldn’t show any penetration.”

“What?! Really?!” Her disbelief was simultaneously endearing and a sign of the moral degeneracy of the age.

“Really, Lo. You might not believe this, but it wasn’t until I moved to Germany that I ever saw. . . well, things that I didn’t even know were possible by the human body.”

“What sorts of things?”

“Need I go into detail?”

“Yes, yes!” she was practically panting with her hands between her legs.

“Nothing that you would find out of the ordinary.”

“Tell me!”

“Well, I had no idea a whole hand could fit up there.”

“Is that all?” asked the jaded nymph next to me.

“And I never even conceived of the practice of double penetration.”

“You have to be kidding me! What else? I find this fascinating.”

“I was totally shocked by the sight of double penetration in the same orifice.”

“Oh, Daddy. Will you have me as soon as we get home?”

“Let’s skip dinner,” I suggested, “and get right to dessert.”

“You’ll get your dessert,” said Lo, “but I have to have dinner first. . . and a drink. Do you think they’ll have good cocktails there?”

“Lo,” I said, remembering how this conversation began, “when did you ever get off to a good old-fashioned porno mag?”

“In college.”

“College?”

“Yeah, in college.”

“I just can’t picture you going to the school bookstore and buying a porno mag.”

“I wouldn’t and I didn’t,” she said, defiantly proud of her standards and good manners.

“So, how did you get your dirty little hands on a porno mag in college?”

“That’s a story I’ll tell you later, Daddio.”

“Tell me now, or I’ll beat you later.”

“Promise?”

“I’ll tie you up to the bed, face down, and smack your bare bottom with the wooden switch.”

“Really?!” She was practically on the edge of her seat, squeezing my hand tightly between her legs.

“And I’ll use my leather belt and my bare, hard hand.”

“Are you hard, Daddio?” she asked, reaching over to feel me.

“So, are you going to tell me?”

“Later.”

“It’s a mile to the restaurant. That’s a long walk,” I said as I threatened to pull the car over.

“Oh, Daddio, that’s not hot at all,” she said with a pouty little face. “Tell me again about how you’ll treat me in bed.”

“So, you’re really not going to tell me?”

“I’ll tell you tonight in bed. Promise. Right after you get it out of me.”

We got to the restaurant and Lo ordered an Organic Cucumber Infused Martini Special and I ordered a beer. When the drinks came, I said to her, “You’re so beautiful. You look wonderful in this light.”

“Go on,” she said, feeling much refreshed now that she was in a cozy, romantic restaurant with drink in hand — the minx’s natural habitat.

“Let me take a picture of you,” I implored. I pulled out my phone and snapped a couple of quick shots before she grew impatient.

“Stop!” she demanded. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Embarrassing you?”

“Yes. You always do this.”

“Well, I’m sorry I find you so attractive.”

“Let me see,” she said as she grabbed the phone out of my hand. She went through the pictures and said, “I do look good.”

“I told you,” I said.

She took the liberty to post the best of the bunch to my Instagram account, adding her own caption: “I’m out to dinner at Farmfair with the most lovely woman in the world.” She smiled broadly as she handed back my phone to me and pulled out hers. I thought she was going to take a picture of me. Silly me. She crouched down and got the angle she was looking for and snapped the pic. She looked at it admiringly and then showed it to me.

“I take a picture of you and you take a picture of your cocktail. I guess we each take pictures of that which we love,” I said.

“Oh, shut up,” she replied as she uploaded the pic to her web page.

Our food was brought out and after Lo had had a few bites she said, “Daddy, I’ve been so very randy today,” and her right leg lifted up to rub against my left calf under the table.

“Why’s that?” I asked, thinking that the morning’s charged energy had lingered through her day as it had mine. But I was mistaken.

“You know that girl at work I told you I have a crush on?”

“There are so many, Lo.”

“You know,” she said, not even realizing that I was half joking, “the one with the big chest.”

“I believe you mentioned her to me before.”

“Anyhow,” she continued, disregarding my recollection or lack thereof, “I’ve been secretly admiring her for weeks now and today she came up to me and told me that there is a dyke night Halloween dance at club Tattoo tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and she invited me to go!”

“That’s great,” I said, though confused. “But aren’t we supposed to go to Pam’s Halloween party tomorrow night?”

“I know,” she said, pouting. “I don’t think we’ll be able to go to dyke night, unless Pam’s turns out to be a total dud and we slip out early.”

“You seem really excited about this.”

“I am! I mean, all these weeks that I’ve been lusting after her I’ve been under the impression that she thought that I was totally white-bread, vanilla hetero. I don’t know how she got the idea that I’m queer and available, but I’m really glad she did.”

“Could it be that you make that face every time you see her?”

Lo suddenly sat bold upright. “Face?! What face?”

“Lo, you know. You’re ‘I want to lick your entire body’ face you make.”

“I do not make that face!”

“Lo, please,” I said, “Your tongue, your eyes, your entire body sends that message, consciously or not.”

“Well, I can’t help it!”

“I know you can’t, darling. What did you tell her?”

“I told her I’d try to make it.”

“Is she single?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Lo with a look of disappointment.

“But that doesn’t mean she’s not willing to play. I’m sure she’s quite attracted to you.”

“You think so?” she asked, brightening up again.

“I’d put money on it,” I reassured her.

We had finished our meal and the waiter came around with the dessert menu.

“Do you want dessert?” I asked Lo.

“Whatever you want to do,” she said.

“Maybe we should go have sex,” I shot back.

“Sex is always the right answer,” she said with a seductive smile.

When we got home, we got out of our clothes as quickly as possible. I bent her over the side of the bed and told her to be prepared for her punishment.

“Punishment?”

“Yes, punishment.”

“For what?”

“For not telling me about the naughty magazines in college.”

I gave her a good smack.

“Owwww!” she cried out, followed by, “Again!”

I gave her another.

“Owww!” she repeated.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Not until you’ve punished me some more.”

I pulled out the belt.

“Daddy, not the belt!”

I held it in my hands and cracked it — SNAP! I could tell she was getting wet from just the sound of it. I gave her half a dozen smacks on the bottom — each one harder than the last — until she finally broke and said, “OK, Daddio, I’m ready to tell you!”

We climbed under the covers together and she reminisced as I slowly rubbed lotion on her sore bum. “When I was in college, I was writing an essay for my English class on Joseph Heller. He had a story published in Playboy and I needed it for my paper. I went to the special collections desk of the library and had to request it — it was published in the eighties! When it finally came in, I found myself very distracted by the pictures. I was very, very bad with that magazine!!! Am I a bad girl, Daddy?”

“Lo, you’re horrid! That wasn’t even your magazine.”

“I know. I’m so ashamed. Punish me again with your penis,” she said as she slapped her puss.

I got between her wet inner thighs and before too long she said, “I’m going to cum. Turn me over.”

She fumbled for her phone and as I worked on her from behind, she had pulled up the Playboy Tumblr page. She looked at it longingly as she met my thrusts with her ass. Before she got even partway down the page, she dropped the phone and screamed in pleasure: “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FFFFFFFFFFUUUUCCCCCCCKKKK!”

I pulled out and shot all I had directly between her shoulder blades.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said before falling right to sleep.

[Excerpt from the story, “Special Collections,” 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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