It was Thursday and Lo was late getting home. She hadn’t texted or called or anything to say that she’d be late. I had texted her around 7:00 to find out where she was and I got no response. That was unusual, so I tried calling. No answer.

Finally, around 8:00 she sauntered in the door. Her hair was done and I saw right away that her nails were done. “Where the hell were you?” I asked, not so nicely.

“I’m sorry, Daddio,” she said in her sweet little-girl voice, as she reached out to caress my chest. “I went to get a haircut and then for a mani-pedi.”

“You could have called, texted, carrier pigeon, you know.”

“I’m really sorry. It wasn’t a scheduled appointment. I just walked in. I didn’t know if they’d have time for me, so I didn’t tell you cause I didn’t know myself until I was already in the chair. My phone was in my purse on the coat rack.”

“What’s the occasion?” I asked, suspicious.

“I’ll be right back. I just want to change,” she said as she dashed off to the bedroom.

When she came back into the living room, she was just wearing her little black negligee. She stretched out on the couch across from me and put her legs up with her toes close to my side. “Do you like, Daddy?”

I looked down at them and they looked like ten pieces of shiny, pink candy. “Yes,” I said, still sounding grumpy.

“Pet them,” she said, wiggling the little toes for attention.

I pet them and she cooed saying, “That’s right.”

“So tell me, what’s all this about?” I asked again.

She bent her legs at the knees in order to spread her legs a bit for me, displaying her lack of panties. She stroked her pussy lips. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

“Were you worried?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me?” she asked, running her tongue over her teeth and her lovely, manicured fingers deep between her pussy lips.

“Lo, answer the question.”

“What’s the question?”

“Why are you getting yourself all done up?”

“Well, if you must know, I have a date tomorrow night.”

“A date? With whom?”

“Brian.”

“What? I thought you said he was off limits — except in your imagination — because he’s a business associate?”

“Well, it’s not a date date. It’s a business date, of sorts.”

“What does that mean?”

She was still stoking her pussy and spreading her legs wider now. “Don’t stop playing with my toes,” she said.

I made sure to pay attention to her toes with my hand.

“We are working on a project together and he asked if I would like to talk about it over drinks tomorrow night.”

“Is that so?”

“MmmmHmmmm,” she moaned, followed by, “Are you jealous?”

“Should I be jealous?”

“MmmmHmmmm,” she moaned again and then she came. It was a surprise orgasm. It caught us both by surprise. It just gripped her and suddenly her toes curled up, her left hand grabbed a pillow and clutched it with all her might and her right hand continued stroking her pussy. After the convulsion had loosened just a bit, she managed to whisper, “Get a. . .” and she pointed. I knew what she needed and I dashed to the linen closet, grabbed a plush terrycloth towel, and dashed back. She stuffed it between her legs and released, squirting into it, letting her breath go, her body suddenly shaking and trembling with the force of her hysterical paroxysm.

When she calmed down, she said, “Put this in the laundry and then fuck me in the bedroom.”

I followed her instructions and when I entered the bedroom she was bent over the bed, her hands pulling her butt cheeks apart, prominently displaying her still dripping pussy. “Slide right in, Daddy.”

I did so.

“How’s it feel?” she asked.

“Like fucking in a hot tub,” I said. “You’re gushing.”

“Am I tight?”

“Not at all. I can hardly feel you.”

“Do you think Brian will think I’m a slut?”

“Do you plan on fucking him?”

“You never know where drinks on a Friday night will lead.”

“Whether he thinks you’re a slut or not, I know the truth.”

“Tell me. What is the truth?”

“You’re a horny, slutty, cock-hungry, strumpet!”

“Go on,” she said. She was just warming up.

“A cheating little bitch.”

“Yeah.”

“A fucking whore who. . .” I didn’t get to finish because she was screaming louder than I was talking at this point. She collapsed into the covers and was dripping down to her knees. I could hear my cock splashing about inside her as I continued to thrust.

“Stop.” she said.

“What?”

“Stop!”

“But I’m. . .”

“I know. You’re so close. I want you to stop. Pull out. Don’t cum.” She crawled away from me on the bed, leaving me hard-up, dripping wet with her cum.

She turned around and cleaned me off with her mouth and looked up at me. “I want you to be very hard up when I get home tomorrow night.”

“I will be, even if you finish me off now,” I said as my hands reached down to weave my fingers in her thick hair and push her head back down on my dipstick.

“I want you to be desperate for me,” she said, resisting any more pleasure for me.

“Fine,” I said, angrily.

[Excerpt from the story, “Slut Lust,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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