Her legs were spread wide. The sheets were soaked. Her right hand was rhythmically patting her clit as her left reached behind her to hold onto the headboard of the bed. “Oh. My. God!” she said and repeated in time with the powerful thrusts my hips were thumping into her like the pounding bass of house music in a dance club.
I pulled out when I knew it was time and I watched as she continued to slap her soaked inner thighs with the flat of her hand as she squirted.
“That’s my girl,” I said. I was sweating profusely. I felt like an athlete. I know that I often describe my virility (or lack thereof) in self-deprecating fashion, but I am like an aging major league pitcher — I still can throw heat now and then. This was one of those times.
After I sat back to catch my breath and watch her spout, I went right back in, easier than before because even more lubricated, like splashing about in a tub. The rhythm quickly returned and she said to me between breaths, “You’re like a machine, like one of those sex machines in all those videos I don’t watch.”
“Turn over,” I said. She complied. I continued. She came again, but this time she came so hard that her Kegel muscles clenched tight and pushed me right out of her. She remained in her position on all fours as the tremors of her climax reverberated through her flesh. When she finally fell forward and I lay beside her, caressing her shoulder, I said, “What did you mean?”
“What you said. What did you mean?”
“When I said you’re like a sex machine? I meant, you’re like one of those dildos attached to a reciprocating saw. You know, a fuck machine. A drilldo.”
“I’m familiar with the device, but you said ‘in all those videos I don’t watch.’ What’s that mean?”
“OK, Ok. So I might watch one of those videos every once in a while. So what?!”
“I don’t know why you’re so bashful about your porn practices.”
“It’s embarrassing. That’s all.”
“Would you like one of those machines?”
“I’ve got you,” she said, “and my Hitachi. And my glass dildo, double-ended dildo, Tommy-gun dildo, suction cup dildo, my silver bullet, and my various toys for my ass.”
“Don’t forget about your Remus!”
“Right, and my Remus. Why would I need the drilldo?”
“You’re not answering the question, Lo.”
She turned away.
“Lo, answer the question.”
“Fine! I admit that I’ve thought about it. It could be fun — to be tied up and have you jack-hammering me with it.”
“That’s my good girl.”
“But, there’s far too many casualties involved.”
“Casualties. Accidents. Dildo disasters. Masturbation mayhem.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Let’s just say that I’ve done more than think about it. I’ve researched it and a number of women have been sent to the hospital due to their homemade, jerry-rigged jilling devices getting, er, out of hand.”
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “Really? That sounds horrible.”
“So, I’ll just stick to you for now.”
“I’m merely a man, not a machine.”
“You’re all the man I want.”
“Now I know that’s not true.”
“You’re the kind of man I want — the kind who lets me have all the men I want.”
“That’s more like it.”
[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]