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“What are the three words no woman wants to hear when she’s making love? — ‘Honey, I’m home!’”

We were out with some new acquaintances and, sometime into the evening one of our group told this joke. Lo looked at me and I gave her a quick wink that only she saw. She knew what I was thinking and, seeing her in those sexy leather pants that she wore to the party, I could tell other fellas there were thinking the same thing — that’s one hot hotwife!

Lo and I were having a good time. She and I haven’t had too many nights out with friends this winter. Most of our social time had been hosting parties and so, on this rare occasion, she was taking full advantage of the lack of stress and pressure on her to provide the hospitality. She got a bit tipsy and after the party, when we were in the car, I told her that one of the women had asked me if Lo was my wife.

“What did you say?”

“I said no.”

“That’s right, cause you are my wife.”


“Would you be my wife?” asked Lo with the sincerity that a few cocktails engenders.

“Are you proposing to me?”

“Would you?”

“Only if you got down on one knee and asked me to.”

“I can’t do that. I only get down on two knees,” she said.

“I should have known,” I said.

“The nice thing about being in the car is that I don’t have to get on my knees,” she said as she leaned over the shifter and unzipped my pants.

“Now tell me what you told that bitch,” she said as she looked up from my lap.

“Why are you calling her a bitch? You don’t even know who asked me that.”

“Oh, I know. Don’t think I didn’t see her hanging on you all night.”

She unzipped my pants and reached in.

“I told her that we’re not married.”

She took it out and held it firmly.


“And she asked why I wear a wedding band.”

She lowered her warm mouth on my hard shaft.

“What did you say?” she asked as she pulled up.

“I said that I’m a kept man.”

She pulled off to ask, “What did she have to say to that?”

“She didn’t know what I meant, so I told her about our special relationship.”

Lo worked extra hard on me. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them, I had to swerve to avoid the car in front of me.

“What the hell?!” Lo called out as she lifted her head up to look out the window.

“Don’t you worry. Keep at it,” I said, pushing her head back down.

“Well, how did she respond?”

“The way they always respond — she was even more interested.”

Instead of going down, Lo popped back up and said, “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said. Whenever I tell women about our special arrangement, they’re more intrigued, not less.”

“Grrrrrr,” she growled.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I told her I am a happily kept man.”

“You’d better be!” she commanded and she resumed her task with double the intensity. I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm any longer and, while signaling to take a right turn onto our street, I exploded in her mouth. I could feel my lap becoming wet and warm as there was too much for her to handle, but she delighted in it.

When she was done, she sat up and said, “You couldn’t hold it, just for a few more seconds?”

We pulled into the driveway.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, meekly.

“Don’t be. I find that so hot. I’m damn good at what I do.”

“Yes, you are Lo.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

[From the blog:]

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

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