Dreams, Fiction, and Lo

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Lo saunters in the front door and finds me sitting on the couch, computer open and typing away. She sits next to me and I turn to her, kiss her hello, and ask, “How was your day, dear?”

“I’ll tell you later,” she says as she reaches between my legs.

“Not right now,” I say, trying to stay focused on the thought I had.

“Hmmph,” she gunts, rebuffed. She stands up, drops her pants, removes her top, and saunters toward the bedroom. “I’ll be waiting for that spanking you promised me.”

I follow, not too much later, well aware of the ramifications I’d face if I didn’t.

I crawl in next to her and kiss her naked body, hold her, and tell her I love her and missed her.

“Did you jack it today?” she asks, accusingly.

“Would I be caressing your arm and telling you how much I love you if I had jacked it today?”

“Good point. Let’s fuck,” she says as she spreads her legs wide. I get between them and can feel with the tip of my cock just how dripping-wet she is. I give her what she wants and refrain from allowing myself to finish.

It’s a strange irony about dating a nymphomaniac. So many men think that their dreams would come true if they could only find a woman like Lo — insatiable appetite, fabulous flirt, seductively sexy, compulsive masturbator — but the truth is, it takes a lot of work. And, in order to be up for the challenge, the lucky sparring partner of the nympho has to deny himself his own orgasms. End of lucky-guy problems commentary.

After we get up, we go to the living room to watch an episode of “Modern Family.” No sooner do we turn it on than she is all over me asking to go back into the bedroom and fuck. “Can’t we get through one twenty-minute episode?! One?”

She sits back on her side of the couch. I put my feet up on her lap and feel something moving. “Are you diddling the bean, Lo?”

“I can’t help it. Do you see what that says?”

She’s referring to the side of the minivan driven by the mom, Claire. Her husband, Phil, had a wrap-around advertisement for his real-estate job put on it. It’s supposed to say: “I can’t be satisfied until you’re satisfied. Let me make your dreams come true.” He used his wife’s photo on the driver’s side of the van and his daughter’s on the passenger side of the van. But because people only see one side of the van at a time, it looks as if Claire is saying, “I can’t be satisfied.” And it looks as if his daughter is saying, “Let me make your dreams come true.”

Guys drive up to the side of the van and give flirty looks at Claire while calling the number.

“Oh,” I say to Lo, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Come,” she says to me, pulling me off the couch, “let me make your dreams come true.”

“You already do, darling, but you truly can’t be satisfied.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t at least try.”

“But, there’s only ten minutes left of this.”

“Fine!” she says in a huff. “I’m going to finish what I started.” She walks away with a little stomp, naked, her bare feet unable to make the loud, dramatic exit she is shooting for.

Again, like a repeat episode, I follow her back to the bedroom.

Sliding under the covers next to her, I ask, “So, who do you think you’re most like on ‘Modern Family’?”

“What?” she asks, her right hand between her legs, her left reaching for my crotch.

“Which character do you think is most like you?”

“That’s easy.”

“OK, who?”

“Cam, of course.”

I laugh.

“What?” she asks defensively.

“I can totally see that — the way he’s dramatic, emotional, sensitive, and puts on a production about everything. But you remind me most of. . .”

“Don’t say it,” she interrupts.

“Don’t say what?”

“Don’t say Claire.”

“OK, I won’t, but you knew it, didn’t you?”

“I can’t stand Claire!” she proclaims.

“That’s because opposites attract and likes repel.”

“NO! It’s because she’s a total bitch.”

“She has some anger issues.”

“Fuck you!” she says. “Who do you think you’re most like?”

“Isn’t that easy?”

“For me it is. But who do you think you’re most like?”

“Jay, of course.”

Jay? Why Jay? Because he has his own company and is married to a hot trophy wife?”

“Well, there’s that too, but I was thinking. . .”

She interrupts again with, “I don’t just sit around doing my nails and shopping all day you know!”

“I didn’t say that! I know you also watch porn, get off, and repeat.”

“You’re most like Phil,” she says as a rebuff.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Sweet, dorky, funny when he’s not trying to be.”

“Darling, I am no Phil.”

“Have it your way. I am no Claire.”

“Yes you are.”

“Why can’t we just get along?” she asks, pulling out my limp cock from my pajama bottoms.

“I want to get along, but you make it so hard,” I reply.

“If only I could make it hard,” she says, looking up at me and moving forward to take me into her mouth.

“I could get along, but your tongue is always wagging.”

“Yeah, let me wag it on your cock.”

She expertly sucks and kisses, goes down and pulls back, opens her throat, and tickles my tip.

“I want you to cum in my mouth,” she says when she takes a breathing break. “It’s been ages since you did.”

“I just came in your mouth this morning,” I reply.

“Like I said, ages.” She gives it her all, but I don’t cum. In frustration, she slides her wet lips off my cock and says “I’m getting lockjaw here. Are you close?”

“I just want to have you,” I ask humbly.

“Then have me,” she says, getting on her knees and putting her bum up in the air.

I slide in deep and she quickly squirts all over her thighs and mine. I keep going, knowing that this is only a harbinger of her eventual orgasm.

“Harder, Daddy!” she calls out.

I pound her to the point that her head is beginning to tap the wall. She doesn’t care. She clenches her thighs and calls out, “Yes! Yes! There!” She collapses in exhaustion. My cock slides right out, dripping wet. Before I can even kiss and caress her, she has already departed for dreamland.

[Excerpt from the story, “Nympho Tendencies,” 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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