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Sitting up in bed, propped up on the three pillows between my back and the headboard, I read a draft of a story for the blog to Lo during which she was simultaneously jillin’ it and laughing her head off. When she caught her breath, she said to me, “You know, I’m really funny.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean I have great timing.”

“You do know that I write this stuff, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I give you all your material.”

“That may be so, but the ‘timing’ is created by me.”

“You just transcribe.”

“What?! What?! That’s like saying that Plato just recorded Socrates in writing!”

“Well we both know who had the brains in that outfit.”

“Yeah, Plato.”

“Um, there would be no Plato without Socrates.”

“You do realize you are comparing the comic antics a nymphomaniac and her wildly devoted lover with the founders of western philosophy?”

You were the megalomaniac who originally made the comparison, but I don’t care what anyone says, those two are worthy of being mentioned in the same breath as you and I any day.”

“Good grief! — Who’s the megalomaniac in this outfit?”

“Nymphomaniac,” she says pointing to herself, “Megalomaniac,” she says, pointing to me.

“One can be both a nymphomaniac and a megalomaniac,” I counter.

“A ‘megalonympho’?” she asks.

“Yeah, that about sums you up.”

“I hate when you reduce me to such a simple caricature. I’m very multidimensional, you know.”

“Oh boy do I know — like Bugs Bunny meets Jessica Rabbit with a little Mae West sprinkled in for good measure.”

“That’s more like it,” she says, “Write that.”

I take a note and then I beg her if I can read one more story to her.

“I’m very wet and very horny already. Can we leave it for tomorrow and fuck tonight?” she asks, turning on her back, spreading her legs and slapping her velvety soft puss.

“Just one?” I plead, sounding like she, but asking for something different.

“I wish I could live in your fiction,” she responds, getting up, sitting in the chair across from me, naked, legs spread, as I was typing.

“You do live in my fiction,” I say, ignoring her gestures between her legs.

“Yeah,” she says sardonically, “but only in your fiction.”

Without her consent, I begin reading the next story. By the end of it she seems bored.

“Thougts?” I ask.

“Meh,” she says dismissively.

“Yeah, it’s not my best work.”

“Well, it is a bit redundant. You’re regurgitating your material.”

“I feel like I’m just not. . .”

“Not inspired by me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, 600 pages is a lot of mileage.”

“So, I should trade in? The lease is up. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah, trade in and good luck trading up. You ain’t gonna find anything better than this hotrod,” she says, stroking her pussy again.

I put down the computer on the night stand and go over to her, getting on my knees, kissing her knees and up her thighs. I nibble lightly on her soft skin and then I ever-so-gently alight my lips on hers. She shivers and shudders before easing into it. I gradually increase the pressure and the use of my tongue until she has both hands wrapped around my head pulling and pressing me into her crotch.

“In! Further! More tongue!” she commands. I obey. She cums and drips down my beard.

We tumble into the bed and she gets on all fours, pumping her round rump in the air saying, “Mount me, Daddy!” I do as she says. Within moments she’s calling out, “Cum in me. Cum. Fill me. Inject me!”

When she feels me swell inside her at the first harbinger of my climax, she immediately tightens, clenches, and closes like a vice-grip involuntarily as if her body jealously guarded every precious drop. She calls out and collapses into the pillows before releasing and allowing me to disengage. I collapse next to her.

A few moments later I feel her as she begins kissing me, but unfortunately, I’m falling asleep.

“Lo, what you’re doing is foreplay, not after play. There’s no word for after play because after, you just go to sleep.”

“No, it’s called ‘post-play,’ and for some people it’s called ‘re-play’ because they didn’t get enough the first time.”

“That was your second time,” I remind her.

“It was my first time.”

“You came twice. Don’t you remember?”

“The first didn’t count because it wasn’t penetration.”

“Oh, now we’re reverting to the Clintonian definition of sex?”

She thinks about it.

“And besides,” I add, “there was a lot of penetration — with my tongue.”

She begins rubbing my cock and whispering dirty things in my ear saying, “Do you think I can get it hard again, Daddy?” After a lot of whispering and a lot of rubbing, it gets hard and she points it out triumphantly.

“Lo,” I say dismissively, “it’s a reflex, like a chicken when you cut off its head.”

“You better be careful I don’t cut off your head!”

“Lo, why are you so angry?”

“Because, I thought we just had a very moving sexual experience.”

“We did. And now it’s moving right to sleep.”

“You’re spoiled! A sexy woman like me in your bed naked, horny, wet and ready, and you just want to go to sleep.”

“Spoiled?! Are you kidding me? You’re a princess.”

“I am not a princess.”

“Yes you are, and I’m your happily ever after.”

“Ha!” she forces a sarcastic laugh as she rolls over and grabbed her phone.

“‘Ha’ what?” I ask her.

“If you won’t do me, I will. You don’t mind if I quickly rub one out?” As if I have any say in the matter. She turns on a porno of two women and begins stroking herself. I could hear the sounds — of them and her — from under the pillow covering my head. I peek out to watch.

“I wish I had breasts like this to suck on every night,” she says desirously, not taking her eyes from the screen of her phone.

“We should call Erin,” I suggest.

“Yeah, hers were nice. So soft and so big.”

“Big? Really?”

“Bigger than mine.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“They didn’t look bigger than yours.”

“I’m only a B. She was at least a C”

“You’re an A”

“A is smaller than C.”

“You’re an A+.”

Lo puts down her phone and lays back in the pillows, her right hand pulsating between her legs, her eyes closed.

When she is done I ask her, “You weren’t thinking of me during that solo session, were you?”

She bites her lip and looks meekly at me. “Sorry. I’ve been bad. I’ve been having so many bad thoughts.”

“About what?”

“About glory holes.”

I get on top of her and I grab my hard cock and begin jerking off, using Lo as my pornographic material.

“Oh Daddy, all I’ve thought about all day was you,” she says, looking up at me.

“Yeah, me and glory holes.”

“Daddy! You know that you’re the only one in my heart.”

“I may be the only one in your heart, but not in your fantasies.”

“And not in my puss either. But when I’m fucking those other guys and when I’m sucking other women’s tits and licking their clits, I’m thinking of you.”

“Really?”

“Well, I always think of you right after, at least.”

[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail: downloladown@gmail.com

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