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When I left, Lo and I were in a big fight. It’s never good to leave for a week-long business trip halfway across the country on bad terms. Especially with Lo. There wasn’t one thing that was the catalyst of this rift, but rather lots of little things. Both she and I had been dealing with pressures at work, I had been recovering from the flu, she had an unexpected major expense that had to be paid. We both were stressed, exhausted, and short-tempered. Each of us had been prickly with the other, like two porcupines in close quarters.

Come here, Daddio,” she said the night before I left as I was getting ready for bed. It was her way of trying to rekindle the relationship. “I’m so cold. Come and warm me up.” Though she really was cold, she also was naked on the bed, spreading her legs for me, rubbing her puss.

“Cold? Looks to me like you have a very warm fleece,” I said of her au naturel triangle, “and all that friction you’re making might light that bush on fire.” The words came out more sarcastic and biting than I intended. My loving little banter was not warmly received.

“If you don’t like it, you can’t have it,” she shot back, covering herself with the blankets.

“I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Well, too late. This bush is only for someone who truly appreciates me.”

“And who might that be?”

“ME!” she said, pulling out her Hitachi, her dildo, and her phone.

No sooner had she gotten the giant white ice cream cone revved up and the dildo delved in deep and the phone queued to one of her favorite porn videos than, to her great surprise, the phone rang! She nearly jumped out of the bed. She dropped the Hitachi and it was still buzzing. Her dildo was left dangling, and she had to fumble with her phone as she said hello because all the moaning and groaning sounds of the porno film were still playing.

“Hi Lo,” the person on the other end said, “Is this an ok time?”

“Yeah. Yes. Sure. Just one sec.,” said Lo as she tried to compose herself and shut off all her stimulation devices. Finally she was focused on the call and I climbed into bed next to her, stroking my cock. Seeing her pleasure herself still gets me off after all this time. But seeing her interrupted and frustrated is a rare delight.

It was Robert. He needed someone to talk to. He was feeling despondent. And he had been scrolling through the blog.

I curled up next to Lo and whispered, “Don’t tell him I’m here,” as I guided my cock into her cupped hand. She mindlessly gave me a hand-job as she talked to Robert. Or rather, I should say, I eased my way in-and-out of her palm. She was unaware of or unconcerned with my movements.

She talked to him in a consoling and kind tone, listening to his lament of loneliness. He hadn’t been with someone in so long. The night at the museum was such a powerful moment for him. Since then he had done more study of Koons and his Made in Heaven installation.

When I heard that, I was both amused and angered. I’m the one who turned Lo onto Koons! I deserve the credit for that. Whatever.

I continued to slide my cock in-and-out of her cupped hand. I kept quiet.

“What did you like about it?” asked Lo to Robert in her seductive tone of voice.

“I, um, I liked, I like that you suggested it to me.”

“Really?” asked Lo, intrigued. “Why?”

“Lo, I, uh, I never met a woman like you.”

“Go on,” she said, captivated by the story of herself.

“You’re so brazen. Is that the right word? So, daring. So. . .”

“Slutty?”

“That’s not the word I was going to use.”

“Use it,” she commanded.

“What?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her properly.

“Call me a slut. I like it. Say it. I’m touching myself now.”

She wasn’t. She was holding the phone with one hand and my member with the other.

“OK,” said Robert. “You’re a slut.”

“Yesss,” said Lo.

That was too much for me. I pulled back and grabbed my cock and came all over myself as Lo looked on, desirously.

Now she was touching herself.

“Are you jackin’ it?” she asked Robert.

“Am I. . . ?”

“Are you jacking off? Stroking yourself?”

“No,” he said, as if offended.

“Why not?”

“Lo, I didn’t call you like someone would call a phone sex service.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I. . .”

“But you can. What do you want to hear?”

There was a long silence on the other end interrupted only by Lo’s occasional moans of pleasure. Self-pleasure.

“Do you want to hear that I loved sucking you off?” she asked.

“You did?”

“Yessss,” she said.

“Why?”

“I love sucking cock. Any cock. Lots of cock. I love helping guys out. I love giving relief. Let me help you. Are you by your computer?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Pull up a pic of me if you haven’t already.”

“I, I, I,” Robert stammered.

“You already had it up, didn’t you?” accused Lo.

“I did,” he admitted.

“Good. Which pic is it?”

“It’s of you in your neon blue panties stroking your pussy lips.”

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Well that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. I’m stroking my wet, pink, pussy lips with my beautifully manicured fingers, slowly sliding them up and down and in and out. Does that turn you on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you stroking your cock?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I want you to hang up the phone and take pics of you stroking it to my pics. Make sure my photo is in the frame so I know that I’m the one who is making you hard and makes you cum. You will cum, won’t you?”

“If you want me to.”

“I do.”

“OK.”

“Do it and send me the pics.”

“OK.”

“And Robert.”

“Yes?”

“What am I?”

“A dirty, filthy slut.”

“That’s right. Don’t forget it,” she said and she hung up on him.

I was cleaning myself off when she got the notification that a text was sent to her. She opened it. There were three photos. One of Robert jackin’ it to her pics. One of him cumming. And one of the mess he made. Lo looked at them again and again and she eventually came herself.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?” she said.

“For making me cum,” I said.

“Oh, did I do that?” she asked, sincerely unaware of her passive powers.

The next morning, before Lo woke up, I was off to the airport, sad that we hadn’t properly reconciled.

[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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