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“We met over at the restaurant. He was a perfect gentleman, even though it must have been obvious that I was a slut in lust.”

“Really? And how do you define lust?”

“Oh, Daddio, I’m disappointed. A writer like yourself should know that lust and slut are the same word, just slightly rearranged.”

“That’s true,” I said, pondering the similarities.

“Lusting is the desire to have someone’s body and to give them yours in return. Sluts don’t limit themselves to just one.”

“And love?”

“Oh, aren’t you the romantic? Love is wanting not just the other person’s body for one night; it’s wanting them totally and completely forever.”

“And you’re a slut in lust?”

“Yes. And it turns out Brian lusts for a slut. . . just like me.”


“Was there ever any doubt?”

“Go on.”

She tugged on my hard shaft and reached down below, cupping my balls. “Daddy, your junk is huge!”

“It’s been a while, Lo,” I said flatly.

“Don’t worry, ole man, you’ll get yours.”

“Can you continue your story?” I said, rather frustrated by the interruption.

“He was a perfect gentleman at dinner and we talked mostly about work stuff, but he did ask me some questions about my personal life.”

“Such as?”

“If I was dating anyone, who, how long — things like that.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth, of course.”

“There are many versions of ‘the truth.’ Which one did you tell him?”

“I told him that I’ve been dating you and that we have an understanding. I let him know that I’m free to play.”


“And he invited me back to see his place.”


“Are you jealous now?”

“Did you go to his house?”

“Of course! Don’t be silly.”


“He has a beautiful place overlooking the skyline of the city. He offered me a drink and I accepted. We sat on the couch and talked for a while, but then. . .”

“Then what?”

“Oh, it’s too embarrassing.”


“Well, a good slut should never wear a thong when she has a heavy flow. At least not without a spare!”

“Uh oh!”

“Yeah. I had to get up and throw out my panties in his bathroom garbage.”

“So, you left your calling card!”

She hit my chest playfully. “Don’t be so rude! I’m a lady.”

“A slutty lady.”

“Nevertheless. So, I went back out, drank the last of my drink and thanked him for a wonderful evening.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“And now?”

“Now I want you, Daddy.”

“Good, cause I want you too! Spread your legs.”

“Uh-uh,” she said.


“It’s too heavy for that.”

I was already between her legs and her hand had a firm grip on my member. She was pushing it up and down, causing the tip to rub against her clit as she moaned. I could feel how erect she was.

“But. . .” I protested.

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed, “I like this. Can I just give you a hand-job?”

“Sure,” I said, excited. I was ready and willing to take anything.

She reached over to the nightstand, put some moisturizing lotion in her palm and grabbed me again, slathering up my hard rod.

“You just want me to get your rocks off like some animal.”

“Yeah,” I said. “What kind of animal?”

“Like a big, horny dog.”

“Tell me about it.”

She was rubbing my slippery cock up and down her pussy and it felt at least as good for me as it did for her. She didn’t go on talking, so I took the lead.

“What if you lived alone. What if, after a hot and steamy date with a big, built, handsome guy like Brian, you came home all horny. You came into an empty apartment. Empty, except your faithful companion. . . .

[Excerpt from the story, “Slut Lust.” Read the whole story at:]

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

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