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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.”


“I just did.”

“In order to come home and jill it?”

“Noooooo,” she said, drawing out the ‘o’ of the word.

[Excerpt from the story, “No Lo, You’re Not a Nymphomaniac,” from the book Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE!]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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