Erotic Household Items

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I got to work. The client was waiting for me already. Damn, why do they have to be prompt?

I was sitting in my office, listening to his story when my phone lit up with a text from Lo. “Jilled it.”

I ignored the text.

Five minutes later another text came in: “TCB’d again.” (That is, “took care of business” — her term for masturbating.)

Five minutes after that another text: “I couldn’t help it. Once more.”

And then, just before the client got up to shake my hand, she sent me a text saying, “4X!” with a smiley face.

I was distracted, to say the least. This is what life is like with a nymphomaniac.

After my client left, but while my secretary was in the next room, I called Lo.


“Yes Daddy?”

“You were a bad girl.”

“Yes Daddy.”

“What is going on?”

“I don’t know. Being on winter break, I suddenly have so much time on my hands. I just am so randy! It’s like I have a constant itch between my legs that I can’t get at, no matter how much I try. I feel like I’m rubbing it so much, I’m going to set it on fire!”

“Well, tell me all about it when I come home. Your texts are distracting.”

“Oh yeah?”

Admitting to her that they were distracting was a mistake.

“Did they get you hard?” she asked.

I could tell she was petting herself again as she asked the question — trying to engage in erotic talk with me over the phone.


“Were they, Daddy?”

“Yes, they were.”

“Did you get hard?”



“I had a client here.”

“Not even a little? You were so delightfully hard in the morning.”

“Lo, I can’t talk now.”

“Oh, Daddy.”


I hung up the phone, feeling bad about it, but knowing that there was nothing more that I could do.

“Come home for lunch,” she texted me immediately.

Lunch? I had just arrived at work.

And then the follow up text: “And eat me!”

Oh boy.

And yet another text: “I’ll be waiting for you. I’m taking a shower now and I’m going to make myself all nice and smooth. You will eat me and then fuck me and then I won’t bother you anymore. I swear.”

Hadn’t she sworn earlier?

I did as she wished — it’s good to be the boss — leaving my secretary to take any calls while I was out to lunch.

I got home and Lo was on the bed with an array of toys splayed out next to her. Had she used them already or was she intending to use them? Did it matter? I laughed to myself about how her little puss could dictate the course of our lives.

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“You look happy as a clam,” she said.

“Not as happy as your clam, I bet,” I replied.

“Oh, Daddy, my clam is not happy. It wants you.” She began to slap her puss, physically enacting the euphemism “spanking the clam.” This made me chuckle again.

She got on the edge of the bed and crouched down like a dog getting ready to fetch and she unzipped my slacks, pulling out my cock and taking it into her mouth. She then turned around and raised her ass up into the air.

“Give me a special kiss. You know you want to.”

This was true. I can’t resist Lo after she’s taken a shower and made herself clean and smooth as a whistle for me. I got on my knees and buried my face in her ass until she came and came again — so much so that she begged me to stop, saying, “I can’t take it! I can’t!”

I stood up and she eased her ass onto my hard rod.

“Lo, let me take off my pants!”

“No, Daddy-O, you look so hot in them. I want you like this. I want to feel the cold teeth of your zipper up against my puss.”

I gave her what she wanted and she came multiple times, dousing my nice slacks in her juices so that I had to change.

I then went into the bathroom to wash up my face because her juices had drenched my beard and mustache. At the sink, I saw that both hand-held shower heads were dangling, off their hooks.

“Did you have a good time in the shower?” I asked. You see, usually Lo uses just one of the showerheads that are on the flexible hoses, but I specially rigged it so that she could have two if she wanted them.

“Oh, yes Daddy. I brought my toys in there.”

I pulled the shower curtain back and there were her two largest dildos — one stuck to the wall and the other on the floor of the tub.

“Lo,” I said, but she cut me off, completing the sentence she had begun.

“And the plunger — the blue one.”

I pulled back the shower curtain a little more and there was the blue, erotically shaped plunger I had gotten her as part of a pair (pink for pussy, blue for bum), sitting on the corner of the tub.

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“You, my dear, are. . .”

She looked up at me from the floor with her big brown eyes.

“Are a dream come true.”

“A wet dream?”

“Yes, Lo, a very wet dream.”

[Excerpt from the story, “Off the Hook,” as published at:]

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

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