We were separated for a week. She went out of town. When we are reunited, I slip into bed next to her naked body. She wakes enough to ask, “Did you masturbate while I was gone?”
“Did you hook up with anyone?”
I chuckle a little bit.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because, darling, I didn’t even leave the house.”
“Did any one come to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean, someone could have cum to me.”
“I don’t know. There are whole hosts of people who could have cum to me.”
“What does that mean?”
“I simply mean that I, er, rather, you and I, get emails quite frequently from people who tell me, I mean, er, us, that they have cum to me. That is, to my stories about you. Any number of people could have cum to me anywhere around the world while you were gone. And many times at that!”
“Oh,” she says. “Well, that’s not what I mean. You just forget about all of them, because you have got the real thing, naked, right here in bed with you right now.”
“Well, what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you masturbate while you were gone?”
“Did you hook up with anyone?”
“Fuck me and you’ll find out.”
“I haven’t seen you for a week. Can’t we get reacquainted first?”
“Sure. That sounds like fun.”
I lean in to kiss her. Our lips meet. Her tongue finds mine. She begins to maneuver so that I slide to her neck and her breasts.
“So much for our reacquaintance,” I say.
“I want to get to know you, like really know you, in the biblical sense.”
“My legs are spread, now get in there.”
“Ah,” I say as I slide down her torso, “sweeter words have never been spoken.”
I give soft, gentle kisses to her labia. She moans. Within moments she is pressing my head hard down onto her clit. She climaxes without warning.
“Now fuck me, Daddy,” she whispers.
“But I just ate you out. Don’t you want. . .”
Before I could finish, she says, “Pussy isn’t like cake.”
“You can’t have your cake and eat it too. But you can eat me and have me too. Now, have me.”
I slide in, penetrating her dripping pussy. She moans. She cums.
“I thought you were going to tell me about your time away,” I say, eager to hear her voice and the stories she has to tell.
“Just stay in me and I’ll tell you everything you want to hear.”
I hold her body tightly in my arms and she begins to tell me about how at the hotel bar a guy approached her. She describes his attractive features and stylish suit. She adds, “But I knew he wasn’t actually interested in sleeping with me.”
“As we were talking, he told me what I already suspected. He was gay. I said to him, ‘What’s a nice gay boy like you doing following a slut like me?’ and he said, he just wanted someone to talk to and I looked approachable. We talked for a while and then we politely said goodnight. I went to the elevator to go to my hotel room, horny, but glad to have met someone new. Just as I got to the elevator at the hotel lobby, a whole team of college hockey players had just arrived on their bus from who-knows-where. I got to talking to them and a bunch of us went up to my room. Basically, there were a lot of guys packed into a tight space.”
“Wait,” I said, as I fucked her with more intensity, eager to hear where her story was leading, “are you talking about your hotel room?”
“I was talking about my pussy.”
Before she could go on, I pull out. (It had been a long time. The idea of Lo knowing that she looked like a slut in the hotel bar, being approached by a guy, and acknowledging her sluttiness was almost too much for me. But then, to hear those words from her lips — well, that was beyond my mortal powers.) I cum and I cum quickly and a lot. I project a “shooting star” up and over her head, landing on the pillow.
Lola complains that she was just warming up.
“Let me remind you that you came twice to my nill.”
“As it should be,” she says, precociously, adding, “But aren’t you good for at least one more? I mean, it’s been a fucking week! A week of no fucking. You gotta be hard-up enough for one more shag. All I want to do is bone, but you won’t give me your bone to do it with.”
“I can’t. I don’t have a bone. It’s the missing link.”
She takes out her Hitachi to do herself in bed as I go take a shower. When I’m done, I open the bathroom door to look at her. “You may go. I’m busy here,” she says dismissively.
“You may cum,” I reply. “You certainly seem to love yourself,” I say.
Looking up from her horizontal position on the bed, she says to me, “I feel most confident when making myself climax. Or maybe I climax just when I feel most confident. Either way, I’m good at it.”
“Well, all your admirers enjoy it,” I reply, snapping a photo of her.
She looks down between her legs and sees me with my camera out. She pulls away the Hitachi, spreading her legs wide. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille,” she says as I get her puss in focus.
Instead, she lets out a long moan while ejaculating. I just barely avoid a disaster with my non-waterproof camera.
“I hope you got the money shot,” she says, catching her breath.
“You know, as much as I love you and love to fuck you, it’s difficult to compete with how much you love and fuck yourself.”
“It’s not about quantity, it’s about how deep the love is.”
“How deep is your love?”
She giggles, humming the melody to the song, “How Deep is Your Love,” before telling me, “Masturbation is what self-love looks like in public.”
I turn to leave the room and leave Lo to her own devices, but just as I step into the hall, I hear her screaming at the top of her lungs. I open the door and see her spouting from between her legs as if a pipe had burst. She tries to close her legs to shut off the waterworks, but it’s futile. Might as well let it all out. When she’s done she turns to me and says, “I came, I saw, I came,” victoriously.
“What did you see?” I ask.
“I think I saw God.”
[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]