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I get in bed. I think Lo’s asleep, but she isn’t. She unbuttons my pj bottoms and pulls out my cock and grips it tightly with one hand. Her other hand is between her legs. She begins stroking my rod up and down. She spreads her legs and moans. I begin to maneuver myself over her body in order to penetrate her, but she says, “No, Daddy.”


“No. Just lie on your back.”

“But, don’t you want me?”

“I want dick. I want to hold it. Just stay just like that,” she says. I give in to her request to lie on my back as she grasps my member with her left hand while stroking herself with her right. Her eyes remain closed. Her breathing accelerates. Her breasts heave. After ten minutes or so, she begins convulsing. She lets go of my phallus and grabs the sheets beneath her with her left hand as her right hand is plunging in-and-out of her gushing pussy. She moans, screams, and cums in waves.

After she has a moment to catch her breath, I ask her, “What were you imagining?”

“It’s bad, Daddy.”

“I like bad.”

“I was envisioning us,” she says enigmatically.

“Us how?”

“I imagined that we were going to the Erotica convention and that we were headlining for a reading of Match, Cinder & Spark. It was at a dingy theater in a foreign town. Up on the marquee it read, in big red letters, ‘LOLA DOWN READS XXX.’ We were backstage. I had you peek out from the wings at the audience. It was slowly growing in number — men and women. Finally, about five minutes after the show was supposed to start, the host or MC for the evening took the stage and announced the rules, ‘No photography! No recording! Yes, masturbating, as long as you don’t make a mess of the seats. Please turn off your cell phones and give a warm, wet welcome for Lola Down and H.H.!’ The place erupted with applause. You and I walked out onto the stage. There was only a rectangular table and two chairs. On the rectangular table was a microphone and a tall glass of water and a pitcher of water. We bowed and sat in the chairs. I opened Match to one of my favorite passages and began reading. I was wearing only a sexy red dress with strappy heels. No panties. No bra. I began with my legs crossed. I continued reading and I uncrossed my legs. I gave the audience a quick flash of my puss. I continued reading. I spread my legs again. I dropped one hand down to my crotch and began masturbating. With the other hand, I held yours. I paused for a moment. I took a sip of water and looked out into the audience and said in a breathy voice, ‘It’s getting hot in here.’ You lovingly pulled the shoulder straps of my dress off of my shoulders and I pulled my arms through them. I continued reading. You slowly pulled down my red dress to reveal my breasts. I continued touching my puss as I wiggled and wriggled out of the dress until it lay on the floor at my feet. Finally I was naked and I continued reading the passage but, at a certain part I stopped. I was beginning to climax. You took over. At the sound of your voice I came and I came hard — screaming and squirting. You finally finished the passage. You invited people up to the stage to have their copies of Match signed by the two of us. As each person came up, they stopped before me with the book open to the page they wanted signed. Usually it’s opened to a full color picture of me doing something naughty. Some of the men asked if they can masturbate to me. ‘Now?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ they said, politely. I agreed. They pulled out their cocks and they began jackin’ it over me as I sat naked in the chair. You sat and watched. They came. They came on my body, on my face, in my mouth, in my hair, everywhere until I was cum-covered. After everyone got what they wanted, you took me backstage. There, some women who were part of the convention were waiting and they got clothes and a bucket of warm water and they cleaned me off. ‘Was I good, Daddy?’ I asked you as they were tending to me. ‘You were wonderful,’ you said.”

[From the blog:]

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

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