How Many Orgasms Do You Want?

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“Please, Daddy, give me my favorite toy. I need it. I have to have it. Denial is another form of abuse, you know. You don’t even have to enjoy it. You don’t have to be awake. You can shut your eyes and sleep. You can read a book. You can watch TV. You can listen to the Magic Flute. I don’t care. Just give me that cock!”

Well, after day five of this “abuse,” as she dubbed it, Lo had had enough. She was angry, frustrated, furious. She had masturbated so much and was in such a foul mood that she neglected to put away her toys after her masturbation sessions. She just left them out there, strewn across the bed and even on the floor next to it, like a child who has grown bored of her dolls. . . .

This particular weekend I happened to be having a friend and colleague of mine staying with us from out of town. He was flying in on Friday morning for a conference that weekend. Because I was so busy at work, I told him I would just leave the key under the mat and when he got to the apartment, he should just let himself in. When I left for work in the morning, Lo was already working hard in the bed, bringing herself to her fifth orgasm of the day. I kissed her on the forehead as she frantically slid her dildo in and out of her snatch. She just looked up at me and gave me a very bitter look.

Later that Friday I got a text from my friend James saying he’d arrived on time and had no problem getting to and in the apartment. Lo had dinner plans for that night; she didn’t even ask if I wanted to join her. I can’t say that I blame her. Around six or seven I got home to an empty apartment. I walked in and saw James’ suitcase in the spare bedroom. Across from that door, I saw our bedroom door wide open with Lo’s silver-bullet vibrator on the floor and her giant dildo lying on the bedspread for all to see. I figured there was no way James didn’t see that as he walked down the hall to put his suitcase in the bedroom he’d be using. In fact, he may have even entered our bedroom, not knowing which doorway led to the master bedroom and which to the spare. Oh Lo, you little trollop.

I collected Lo’s various self-pleasuring devices and piled them in her panties drawer. I then sat down for a quiet dinner alone of left-over Chinese food before stretching out on the couch to watch “Weeds.”

Before too long, Lo came home and, well, let me tell you, my timing couldn’t have been worse. You see, Lo despises the show “Weeds.” Not because of the content or subject-matter, the acting, or any objectively sound reason. No, she despises it because once, a long time ago, I made the fatal error of telling her that I thought Mary-Louise Parker (Nancy) was cute or attractive or sexy. (I don’t really remember what I said, but I’m sure Lo does.) Lo’s jealousy went into overdrive. I didn’t help my case at all by then trying to explain that Lo and Mary-Louise Parker look sort of alike. Suffice it to say that since that most unfortunate moment, the topic of “Weeds” has been an open wound; so much so that the only time I ever get to catch up on the episodes I’ve missed is when Lo’s not home.

Lo walked into the living room, saw what I was watching, and stomped out and down the hall to the bedroom. So, there you have it. That’s why Lo was furious and boiling with anger.

“Fuck it!” I thought. “I can watch whatever the hell I please in my own home.” I continued watching, but only got through fifteen or twenty minutes more before James rang the bell. I let him in and greeted him with a warm hello. It had been about a year since I last saw him in New York. I offered him a beer and he gladly accepted. As I walked down the hall to the kitchen, I could see that the bedroom light was on and the door wide open. Lo was in there and I could easily guess what she was up to.

I returned to the living room with a beer for James and one for myself and we sat and talked and caught up for about a half hour or forty five minutes. But James was tired from his flight and the first day of his conference. He said we’d all go out together for dinner tomorrow night, but he was going to try to get a good night’s sleep. He turned to retire and I heard his footsteps as he walked down the hall. I remained seated in the dim light, surrounded by the silence. I heard his door close and then open again sometime later. I heard him go into the guest bathroom, shut the door, and then I heard him walk in the hall. To the kitchen? I heard him walk again back to the bedroom. I was about to get up and go to bed when I heard a door creak open once more and some footsteps. And then a door closed.

At this point I got up and walked down the hall. When I was about five feet from my bedroom, I could see Lo’s naked toes moving on the bed. At four feet I could see up to her knees. At three feet I could see her pussy spread wide with her dildo splashing in and out of it. At two I could see her navel. At one I could see her breasts with her left hand pinching and pulling on her nipples. I then walked in. She ignored me. I shut the door behind me, tight. She ignored me. She was on the cusp of cumming. . . again.

I gave her the extra minute or two she needed to finish herself off before I said sternly, “Lo!” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Yes, Daddy?”

“Lo, have you been at this since you went to bed?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You know James is here.”

“Oh, I know. I said hello.”

“You what?”

“I said hello to James.”

Pause. Long, silent pause.

“You said hello to James?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Like that?” I asked, nodding at her spread legs and the large black dildo still partially inserted in her pussy.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I let out a long sigh and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I climbed into bed and said, “Lo, you’re a little whore.”

“I’m bad, Daddy. I know. But you made me this way.”

“Lo, you just jacked it in front of my friend.”

“Punish me, Daddy. Punish me!”


She got on all fours, stuck her ass in the air, and begged me to use my “rod” on her pink, wet pussy.

I stood over her and said, “Tell me what happened; how you said ‘hi’ to James.”

She looked over at me and, as she inserted two fingers into herself, she began saying, “It’s very simple, really. He was walking down the hall and I was jillin’ it and, I could see his long shadow on the floor of the bedroom. He paused outside my open door. I kept going and eventually I heard him go into his room. I then sat on the edge of the bed and was diddling my puss with Present Number Five.” (That’s our code word for her 18” dildo.) “To my surprise he came back out of his bedroom and when he was walking back from the kitchen, he looked right at me and I at him and I smiled. He smiled back and then went to bed. That’s all.”

This brief account, though it infuriated me, it also aroused my hibernating Id. I found myself growing hard with the imagery of her devilish ways. Instead of rebuking her, I said, mechanically, “How many orgasms do you want?”

“Really!?! Really Daddy?!”

“Yes. How many?”

“Two, please, Daddy.”

I inserted my cock into her wide and wet hole and began pounding her. Within seconds she came once. I kept on thrusting. She pulled her hair up off her neck and said, “Bite down, Daddy, like a doggy.”

I bit down on the scruff of her neck and continued thrusting. Her fingers were flipping her clit back and forth. She came again within thirty seconds.

“That’s two,” I said, “But I’ll give you one bonus round.”

I slid my tongue down her neck, between her shoulder blades, down the small of her back, between her buttocks, to that special spot that she likes me to lick at the end of her tailbone. I licked and kissed her to her third, dripping orgasm. And then she reached back and fingered her ass as I gave her one last pounding with my cock to double her original request. To my surprise, I managed to keep myself in check and continue my weeklong celibacy.

She cozied up to me and held me around my chest and said, “Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

[Excerpt from the story, “The Magic Flute,” from the blog:]

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

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