“Cum on my face, on my tits, on my ass,” she yelled, “anywhere but on the sheets!”

As I was going at her from behind and she was on all fours, her hands up against the headboard of the bed, I pulled out at the crucial moment, flipped her over, straddled her torso, and came as she opened her mouth and put out her tongue to receive my tribute.

When I was fully spent, I tilted over and fell into the deep, plush mattress and pillows — so many pillows. Thinking I was in heaven, floating on a cloud, I slowly recuperated.

“That was awesome,” she said, lying next to me, catching her breath.

“Yes,” was all I could articulate in response.

“Let’s do it again!” she said, getting on all fours and hovering over me, her breasts in my face, her eyes eager to play.

“Lo,” I said in the tone that indicated to her that playtime was over for the day.

“Come on. One more romp.”

“I did come on, and now you’re on your own.”

“Daddio,” she pleaded, as if a change in tone would undo what had already been done.

“I’m out,” I said simply. “You came three times to my one, and you still want more?!”

“So? I was just getting started.”

“Darling,” I said, “we’re on vacation. There’s more to do than each other.”

“But nothing better to do,” she quipped.

“You’re going to have to do yourself then, because I’m out of ammo.”

“Grrrrrr!” she growled, “I need a fucking harem of men!”

“Shall I ring for room service?” I asked, picking up the phone next to the bed in jest.

“I wish,” she said.

“By the way, why didn’t you want me to cum on the sheets? It’s not like at home. We could just have them changed.”

“Because,” she began in a tone of total annoyance, “I knew that I wasn’t done. I want to cum at least two or three more times and I wouldn’t be able to do it if the sheets were spattered with your cum like the canvass of a Jackson Pollock painting.”

“I see,” I said, reaching for my reading glasses and book.

“What are you doing?!” she demanded.

“I’m going to read. That’s what I do on vacations.”

“Oh, you’re so boring!”

“You keep telling me that, yet you stay with me. There must be something you like about me.”

“Yeah, your cock,” she said, grabbing the limp and dramatically diminished object of her affection and standing it up with her hand.

She held onto it as she turned on her back and began stroking her wet and parted labia above the white covers. I, for my part, opened my book and began to read.

The bull-fight on the second day was much better than on the first. Brett sat between Mike and me at the barrera, and Bill and Cohn went up above. Romero was the whole show.

“What?” I asked, looking up from my book.

Impatiently, she said, “Pass me the Hitachi.”

“Where is it?”

“Next to you.” Pause. Eyes closed. Moan. “In the suitcase.” Moan. “Hurry.”

I leaned next to the bed, pulled the suitcase close to the side of the bed, tossed out a bunch of clothes only to find an arsenal of sex-toys lining the bottom of it. I grabbed the large, white Magic Wand and passed it to Lo.

“Plug it in!” she demanded.

“I did plug it in. Then I came, now I’m reading.”

“This is no time for jokes,” she said, unamused with my pun.

I plugged the wire of the Hitachi into the outlet at the base of the bedside lamp. The white chord crossed over my lap as I continued reading. The hum of the vibrating machine on Lo’s puss was soothing.

I sat beside Brett and explained to Brett what it was all about. I told her about watching the bull, not the horse, when the bulls charged the picadors, and got her to watching the picador place the point of his pic so that she saw what it was all about, so that it became more something that was going on with a definite end, and less of a spectacle with unexplained horrors.

I got up, carefully placing my book down so as to not lose my page, and ran to the well-stocked bathroom and grabbed a thick, white, large terrycloth towel. I returned to the bedside.

Lo lifted up her ass — Hitachi still on her clit — and she said, “Under me. Slide it under me.” She was sounding frustrated. “Spread it out, down there!” I unfurled the folded towel to cover most of the bottom half of the bed and I then climbed in bed next to her and resumed my reading. She went on vibrating for a while until she kicked it up a notch, turning the Hitachi onto ‘HI’ with a moan. The machine buzzed at a furious pitch. Her hips began to pulsate up and down. I glanced over at her and her closed eyes and wondered what she was fantasizing about — or whom.

“You might introduce your friends,” Brett said. She had not stopped looking at Pedro Romero. I asked them if they would like to have coffee with us. They both stood up. Romero’s face was very brown. He had very nice manners.

I looked in the suitcase. There were three dildos. The black ‘Tommy-gun,’ ‘Present #5’, and The Remus all lined up from smallest to largest.

“Which one?”

“Number 5,” she said, slightly out of breath, sounding like a doctor demanding sutures, stat!

I passed the large, red, double-ended phallus to her. She immediately inserted it with one hand, the other hand still holding the Hitachi. This went on for quite a while. I continued reading.

“Tell him Brett is dying to know how he can get into those pants.”

“Pipe down.”

During this Romero was fingering his glass and talking with Brett. . . .

“My God! He’s a lovely boy,” Brett said. “And how I would love to see him get into those clothes. He must use a shoe-horn.”

“I’m a goner. I’m mad about the Romero boy. I’m in love with him, I think.”

“I wouldn’t be if I were you.”

“I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to do something I really want to do. I’ve lost my self-respect.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said.

“About what?”

“The bathroom.”

“What happened?”

“I finished.”

“What the? I thought you were peeing,” I said.

“No,” she said, embarrassed. “I told you I had to finish. I didn’t want to ruin the bed — I knew I would soak this towel through and through.”

“All that was from you squirting?!”

She nodded her head, yes and said, “Sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry. Just invite me to watch next time.”

“Watch? You looked like you couldn’t be more disinterested.”

“Oh, I’m always interested — from an artist’s perspective, you know.”

I hopped in the bed and picked up my book again. She crawled up next to me. She took my package in her mouth, to no avail.

“Is your Hemingway really more interesting to you from an artist’s perspective,” she mocked “than I?”

I looked over the brim of my glasses at her naked body and her full mouth. “Darling,” I began in my conciliatory tone, “you know that, from an artist’s perspective, you are a most interesting specimen.”

“Go on, your wooing is melting my heart,” she said sarcastically.

“However, by my calculation, you have cum at least four times in the past hour and I have read hardly four pages.”

I continued to read as she did her best at performing CPR on my cock to bring life and lust back to its flagging form.

“Oh, forget you,” she said, lying down next to me.

I resumed the story of Brett and Jake, Romero and the bull.

“Pass me the wonderful Remus,” she asked.

I leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled the hefty dildo from the suitcase and transferred it to her. She attached it to the dark wooden headboard of the bed and turned round so that her head was by my feet and her ass sliding up on the large, protruding appendage next to me. She was so very lubricated that it slid right in. She pounded herself against it a few times, but the weight of the thing caused it to drop off the high-gloss backboard.

“Daddio?”

“Yes.”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Help me out.”

I grabbed the wide base of the dildo and held it for her, providing some much needed resistance. Despite my best effort, continuing reading was not a possibility. She was backing into the huge cock with such power and force that I had to use both hands. It took all my effort to keep the massive member in place, deep in her. The toy, which was as long as my forearm, was half-way lodged inside her.

“Hold it! Hold it!” she called out. And in an instant her entire body tensed up, toes curling, face jutting into the pillows, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs — “FUCK!!!”

That was it. She finally reached the peak of that mountain she had been scaling all morning. Finally she was stretched, worn, pounded, and exhausted. She flailed about for a moment before extending all four limbs as if making an X of her body.

“Are you ok?” I finally asked.

She slowly rolled over, slid the monster cock out from between her legs and holding it before her, said, “I think I’m in love.”

[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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

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