“Daddy, are you awake,” she half-whispered. It wasn’t quiet enough to allow me to keep on sleeping if I was asleep, but it wasn’t loud enough to startle me from my slumbers. It was just loud enough to wake me.

“Hello Lo,” I grumbled as one eye opened to see her removing her blouse and then bra by the side of the bed in the dim, indirect light emanating from the master bath.

“Hello Daddio!” she enthusiastically whispered, now sliding out of her tight jeans and her cute panties. “Did you miss me?”

“MmmmHmmmm,” I muttered in the affirmative.

She scampered over to the bathroom and hit the light switch, jumped into bed and rubbed her naked body up against me while reaching rapidly for my sleeping snake.

“Have me, Daddy!”

“Lo,” I said in the familiar refrain.

“Oh, please,” she whispered in my ear, “I’m so randy.”

I draped my arm over her chest and she moved my hand to her breast and began pinching her nipples.

“Pull them, Daddy. Pull them hard so they hurt. I’ve been so bad.”

“What did you do now?” I asked.

“I didn’t do anything, but I’ve been thinking bad things.” Without my asking, she continued, “At the party a couple showed up. She was a skinny little blond with no personality, but he — he had nice, sculpted, thick arms. He was jacked! And before too long, he noticed me — I caught him looking down my blouse at my cleavage. I was talking to him and looking at his cute face, but all I could think about was blowing him. Am I bad, Daddy?”

“You know you’re bad.”

“I just wanted her to go away so that I could bring him in the bedroom, get on my knees and have him explode in my mouth. I’ve been wet all night. I couldn’t sit still. Feel,” she said as she moved my hand from her breasts to her puss. She was wet alright. “Fuck me, Daddy. You owe me. You’ve neglected me all week.”

It was true. The past week I had been helping a good friend of mine move. He didn’t have the money to hire a moving company and so he and I were doing all the heavy lifting ourselves. Sometimes physical labor can be a great teacher and what I had learned in the past week was that I am not only not as young as I used to be, but I’m terribly out of shape! My shoulders hurt, my legs hurt, my back hurt. Every night after moving boxes of books or a couch, a bed, a bookshelf, I popped four Ibuprofen and then lay on my back praying for the pain to subside enough to allow me to move without spears of pain shooting through my shoulder blades. And every night, Lo would try to kiss me or blow me, to no effect. Each night she would jill it till she came and then would fall asleep. But on Thursday night, after three days of neglect, three nights of forced abstinence, she had more pent up sexual frustration than she could stand. She called in the big guns — pulling out from under the bed her Hitachi Magic Wand. As I slowly drifted off to sleep to the pleasant humming of the ultimate vibrating machine, Lo ramped up her sexual ecstasy until I was shaken out of my dream state by her convulsions, and silent shattering screams.

The bed stand light was turned on and Lo said, “Uh oh.”


“Look,” she said, pointing to the sheets. She had squirted about a quart of female fluid from between her legs to her toes. Her entire side of the bed was soaked. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she apologized.

Not fully realizing the ramifications of this explosive incident, I said, “It’s ok, Lo, now go to sleep.”


“Go to sleep.”

“I can’t go to sleep. My side of the bed looks like someone took a garden hose to it. We have to change the sheets.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding.”

She got up and went to the bathroom, grabbing a towel to dry off her legs and inner thighs, and then she got a new sheet for the bed. I got up and impatiently watched her as she changed the bedding.

“You know,” she said as she leaned naked over the stripped bed, “some men would find this irresistible. Some men would pay to have a woman do what I just did.”

“What? To make a bed. They’re called maids.”

“No, you ass, I’m talking about — ah forget it.”

“I know what you’re talking about and women who are paid for that are called prostitutes.”

“Well,” she said, quite annoyed, “the prospect of getting paid for sex is looking pretty good right now cause it would mean I’d be getting paid to get laid.

She was done making the bed and we got back under the covers.

“Why are you rejecting me?” she asked.

“Lo, I’m not rejecting you. It hurts to just lie flat on my back. The pain would be excruciating if I had to exert myself. It’s not about you. It’s not personal.”

Well, that was Thursday night.

Friday night, Lo went to a party without me. I was just too tired to accompany her. When she got home that night, waking me from my peaceful repose, she confessed, “Without your cock, I’m just cock-crazy. I was aching to be filled tonight. I was eager to get on my knees for anyone. Can I suck you, Daddio? Can I, please?”
Without even waiting for an answer, she went right for my cock with her mouth and greedily wrapped her lips about it, her fingers between her legs, occasionally saying, “Cum. Cum for me. Let me make you cum. Cum in my mouth. Cum on my face. Show me that I can still do it for you. Please, cum.” Try as she may, and believe me, she tried, I didn’t cum. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant massage on the one part of my body that wasn’t sore. After she made herself cum — no doubt envisioning the partygoers she wanted to satisfy — she let up and allowed me to fall asleep.

Little did I realize the fury I had inadvertently called down upon myself by not giving Lo the midnight snack she so craved. The next morning, to say that she awoke on the wrong side of the bed would be like saying WWII was a minor skirmish. All Saturday nothing was right — the coffee was too bitter, the shower was too cold, the sun wasn’t sunny enough — and all of it was my fault. Appealing to reason was futile and I knew it. No matter how unrelated to the offending incident, somehow, according to Lo, it was my fault. The fact of the matter was that I was the source of all her irritation, not because I made the coffee too strong or happened to run the laundry while she took her shower, or because I caused the clouds to obscure the sun, but because I didn’t give her the fucking that she wanted all week. Now it was time to reap what I had not sown.

I accepted my fate. I was the butt of every fit of anger. Around five that evening, Lo was looking at her phone and sprung on me, “I’m going to a little get-together tonight. Can I borrow the car?”
“What?” I said, surprised.

“Can I borrow the car to go to my friend’s house?”

“I’m not invited?” I asked.

“It’s just the ladies, darlin’, sorry.”

“Sure,” I said, not actually upset that I wasn’t invited — at this rate, any more time together that day was sure to end in disaster.

“Thanks, Daddio,” she said and then she sprung to action, dolling herself up for the evening.

“If it’s just the ladies,” I eventually asked, “then why are you. . . ?” I gestured to her look in the mirror.

“A lady looks good, always,” she quipped.

Off she went to her gal pals and I got some much needed alone time.

It was that night that she appeared in the bedroom like a cat on the prowl and told me about the skinny blonde’s boyfriend.

After a week of neglect due to my incapacity, I finally managed to give her what she wanted — or at least a little of what she craved. She took my cock in mouth and frantically sucked, licked, popped it in and out of her mouth as she kneeled next to me feeling her puss with her right hand. She pulled back, sat up and jerked me off with her left hand as she continued masturbating with her right. Then she lowered herself down on me and as she bounced up and down on my hard shaft she said, “Daddy, I was bad.”

“You told me.”

“No, I have to tell you more. I couldn’t help myself. I flirted with the girl’s boyfriend right in front of her. Right there, at my friend’s apartment. It was her roommate’s boyfriend and I flirted unabashed. I was horrible. The girlfriend gave me dirty looks. I tried to catch his eye by leaning over and letting him see down my blouse. I said naughty things. I was out of control.”

I grew harder with the details of her confession.

“Please, Daddy,” she begged, “don’t neglect me. It’s not good for me. Who knows what my friends think of me now. I was horrible.”

“Lo,” I said, “I don’t care what they think. I love you just the way you are: needy, horny, sexy, flirtatious, smart, witty, charming, beautiful. . .” I had more nice things to say, but she came and the calls of her screams drowned out my words.

When she was done, she collapsed on my chest and said, “Hold me, Daddy.” She fell asleep in my arms.

[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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

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