Just One Kiss
Carrying a mug of coffee, I walk in on her just as she is squirting, pulling the Hitachi away from her clit. Her hands scrunch up the sheets under her and her legs are spread. Her head lifts and her breasts heave as she breathes quick breaths, screaming, “Oh Fuck! Oh FUCK! OH Fuuuuck!!!” She looks over at me and says, “Don’t just stand there, get me a towel!” I do so.
“I just came to tell you breakfast is ready.”
“Thanks for the coffee, Daddio!”
“When you’re ready, I’ll see you at the breakfast table.”
“But you didn’t kiss me good morning.”
“Yes I did.”
“No you didn’t.”
“I did — all night long.”
“Yeah. I had to punch you to get you to stop and let me sleep.”
“Well, those were your good morning kisses.”
“I want one now.”
I lean over to kiss her good morning. She lets me kiss her on the lips before pushing my head down between her legs. “I meant there,” she says.
“Lo, I’m not going to eat you out before I eat breakfast. It’s on the table getting cold!”
“Just one kiss, Daddio. Please.”
I indulge her. One kiss turns to a full-on tongue-fuck-fest of every area between her legs from the small of her back to her bellybutton. Luckily she cums quickly. I pull back and go into the bathroom to splash water on my face. Her juices have a way of soaking my beard and mustache. I look up into the vanity mirror over the sink and see her preparing to pound herself with a dildo.
“OK, that does it!” I call to her. “I’m just going to throw out the breakfast I made.”
“No, Daddio, I’ll be there in. . .” Her words trail off as she becomes preoccupied with the instrumental manipulation of her puss.
I walk out of the bedroom, my hard-on leading the way. I sit down at the breakfast table alone and eat the lukewarm eggs and toast while I hear her sing-song voice of oohs and ahs crescendo from the bedroom.
When we’re both done, I stand up, put my plate and glass in the sink and I bring her her breakfast on a tray.
“Oh, breakfast in bed!” she squeals, leaning over to put her toys away safely stashed under the bed.
“If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Mohammed.”
“Daddy, I’ll cum to anything.”
“Don’t I know it! What did you cum to today?”
“I’m sorry Daddy,” she says, looking guilty.
“Why? Because you let your eggs and toast get cold?”
She shakes her head, no.
“What is it then? That you used my mouth, but kept all the orgasms to yourself?”
Again she shakes her head in the negative. Keeping orgasms to herself gives her no guilt.
“Then what?”
She passes her phone to me. I look at it. It’s a photo of a giant black cock.
“A friend of yours?”
“Not yet, but I hope someday.”
“Who is it?”
“Just a fan.”
“A fan of your pics, not my writing I assume.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him about it.”
“What’s he have to say for himself?”
“I don’t know. He just sent me this pic and. . .”
“And it’s got you all preoccupied.”
She shook her head yes with a guilty look on her face. “I want it, Daddy!” she said like a girl asking for a big lollipop at the circus.
I turn to leave the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“To do the dishes.”
“I’ll do it!”
“No, I’ll do it. I don’t like the way you do it. Besides, you have to eat your cold breakfast.”
“Why do you wish to maintain control all the time?”
“It’s not a matter of retaining control. It’s a matter of maintaining standards.”
“You have so many standards. Double standards.”
“I only have one standard. . . the best.”
“That’s my line,” she says, followed by, “but, if you’re speaking about me, then go on.”
I finally walk out the bedroom into the kitchen. As I’m in the midst of putting dishes into the dishwasher, Lo saunters up to the entrance of the kitchen naked as the day she was born, she turns to me and says, “Are you jealous?” She’s always trying to get me jealous, to no avail.
“Lo, you’re standing right where the neighbors can see you through the window, you know.”
“Does that make you jealous?”
“No. But it may make the neighbor’s wife jealous!”
“Phhh,” she sounds dismissively, bending over to give the neighbor a more explicit view. As she’s bent over, she says, “I’m just a hotwife with an exhibitionist’s streak and a loving man who can use his fingers to type out stories that make people come back for more.”
“I don’t think your big friend was coming back for my writing.”
“Well, I can’t help it if behind every good nympho is a line of men waiting to fuck her and behind every bad nympho is a longer line.”
“Which one are you?”
“Fuck me, Daddy, and you’ll see.”
“No, Lo, I already know. I was just testing to see if you would admit to it.”
“The line behind me is very long, very hard,” she says as she reaches over and grabs my cock.
“That doesn’t make sense. How is the line hard?”
“Fuck me and I’ll show you.”
She bends over, this time with her rear towards me rather than toward the window.
“Are you still doing the same old thing?” I ask.
“You mean you?” she asks, looking at me from between her legs.
“Very funny. This ‘old thing’ is going to work.”
“Work on me!”
“Didn’t I make you cum this morning? — and you squirted all over me and the bed!”
“That was a drop in the bucket.”
She wiggles her ass, like she’s playing charades. So I guess, “You’re horny.”
She sees the bulge in my khakis. “And you want me.”
“Yes, Lo. I always want you. But sometimes I actually have to go to work.” I walk over to her and give her wiggling bum a good smack.
“Mmmmm,” she moans, “again!”
I repeat.
“I love spankings,” she says, “they’re like applause, but on my ass! Let me hear how much you like my ass.”
I ‘applaud’ her five or six times. But I do no more than applaud. I then walk out of the kitchen.
“But Daddy,” I hear her call down the hallway, “what about my encore!”
[Excerpt from the story, “Bigger, Harder, Longer,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]
