[Continued from “Black Friday: A Juicy Story Before Brunch”
The day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. Miami Beach. Lo was on a mission. This was our third day in Miami. Seventy-two hours of glorious sunny days, short-shorts, and sex. And, in typical Lo fashion, she wanted more of all three.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked.
“I thought we were having sex,” she said as she sat on the side of the bed wearing only her sexy tank-top T-shirt and spreading her legs.
“Sex for breakfast?”
“Yeah, we’ll call it ‘Sex-fest.’”
“But Lo, you just came twice.”
“That was all external stimulation. It just makes me more hungry.”
“Hungry for breakfast?” I asked, since I was starving.
“No, hungry for your cock in my cunt.”
“It’s not even 9 a.m. and you’re using that sort of language?!”
“It’s never too early to speak a Romance Language.”
“You forget, I was in the Romance Languages department at my college. They didn’t speak like that.”
“We could discuss the nuances of philology all morning, but. . .”
“But I want you to fuck me. Please. Just a quick in-and-out is all I need.”
“Fine,” I said and I puled my shorts down around my knees.
The hotel room bed was only a full; much smaller than we were used to. I said to her, “There better be a spot for me in that bed cause I’m getting in it.”
“Oh, I’ve got a spot for you and you definitely are going to get in it.”
She turned over and scrunched up her body into a little ball on the bed, exposing her puss and ass to me.
“Just go right in,” she said over her shoulder, as if I needed some instructions.
“Top or bottom?” I asked.
“Top or bottom?” she was confused.
“Yeah, which hole?”
“Which do you want?” she asked seductively, surprising me.
“Top!” I said without hesitation.
“Well, fill the bottom first and, if you’re good, you can have the top.”
Standing by the side of the bed, I slid in with ease and she moaned. She was drenched and dripping. “Stay. Right. There,” she commanded. I didn’t even move. I just grabbed her by her hips and lifted her a little then pushed her down a little. Up and down, up and down I slid her on my cock. My thumb moved its way to her top hole to press against it. Within seconds her cunt was gushing and clenching. I pulled her in closer by her hips to make sure I stayed in place; the tip of my cock up against her g-spot. She didn’t even scream. She just bit her lower lip and moaned. I could see her facial expressions and contortions in the mirror. In a few more seconds she pulled forward and, as I slid out of her, she squirted. I was careful to jump back and avoid getting splashed.
“Ahhhh,” she said, “that did the trick.”
She was splayed out on the bed now, breathing heavily. I stood next to the bed.
“This isn’t a coat rack,” I said of my erect phallus.
“What?” she asked, perplexed.
“You promised me the top hole, remember?”
She scrunched up into her little ball again, wiggling her ass in front of me. “Can you hit the target?” she teased.
“Stay still and my arrow will fill your quiver.”
I grabbed her hips again and pressed the full head of my cock up against her sphincter. Her flower bud opened. Slowly I filled her. I could see her hands out in front of her clutching the bed sheets as she felt the pain and pleasure of my deep dive.
Again she commanded, “Stay. Right. There.” Her ass clenched down on me and her body turned the noun, “quiver,” into a verb.
Suddenly she lunged forward, just like she did before, leaving me hard up, standing by the side of the bed a second time as she caught her breath.
Turning her head over her shoulder, she said, “Amazing, Daddio!”
Then, noticing me pulling up my shorts, she said, “Aren’t you going to cum?”
“Darling, thirty seconds of standing behind you, rigid as a statue, while you got your rocks off was exclusively for your pleasure.”
“But I want you to cum.” She turned around, on all fours, facing me, or rather, my crotch. She looked up at me and asked, “Don’t you know what Cyndi Lauper says?”
“Cyndi Lauper?! You’re dating yourself dear.”
“Oh, I wish I could date myself. I’d be such a good fuck.”
“You’re getting distracted again. What does Cyndi Lauper say?”
“Oh, right. She sings, ‘Girls just wanna have cum. That’s all they really want — some cum.’” She sang the lyrics.
“I think you might be taking some poetic license with that.”
“Whatever. Cum in my mouth,” she commanded as she took my cock into her open mouth and slobbered over it with her tongue.
“And spoil your appetite?” I asked, enjoying the sensation and the thought of what a dirty, slutty girl she is.
“It’s more of an appetizer.”
“No,” I said flatly, pulling out of her mouth.
“I’m starving,” I said. “If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to waste away.”
She rolled her eyes sarcastically — as if I was in any mortal danger of wasting away.
“What?” I asked. “Look at me,” I said, striking a pose, flexing my biceps, “One hundred seventy-five pounds of pure muscle!”
“One hundred and seventy-five?!” Lo exclaimed in disbelief, “Aren’t you a few pounds off there?”
“No. It is a hundred and seventy-five pounds of muscle. The other thirty pounds might be fat, but under it is the pure muscle.”
“Still a little shy of the mark, I think.”
“Well, the other ten pounds is brain, of course.”
“Of course,” she said sardonically.
I stepped on the scale and cursed it saying, “You lying sack of shit!”
Lo, naked but for her T-shirt, stepped on the scale after me and said, “It better not be lying, it says I lost two pounds!”
“Does it? Or could it be that my diet and exercise and drinking plenty of liquids has caused me to lose two pounds?”
“Why would it lie to me that I lost two pounds and lie to you that you. . . well, uh, you’re. . . ?”
“Because it likes the view it has of you from down there.”
She laughed. She almost never laughs at my jokes, but I suppose this one also appealed to her vanity. I love it when she laughs.
“Do you like the view?” she asked, bending over and looking at me from between her knees.
“I don’t know why they call it mooning when it looks as bright and pink as the sunrise to me,” I said. “But as pretty as you are, morning glory, can we please go get breakfast?”
“Sure,” she said as she slipped into her bikini bottoms. “How do these look?”
It was a very skimpy pink thong bikini bottom that she purposely pulled up extra tight.
I gave her a cat-call whistle and launched into a sing-song limerick:
Do your labia hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie ’em in a knot?
Can you tie ’em in a bow?
Can you throw ’em o’er your shoulder
Like a continental soldier?
Do your labia hang low?
“What?!” she asked, looking down between her legs.
“Look in the mirror,” I gestured.
She took a look and could see what I saw: her puffy pussy lips straddling the skinny g-string. She’s very self-conscious of her large labia.
“Ah, fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissing my concern. She walked up to me and, seeing that I had pitched a tent in my shorts, she sang back:
Does your cock stand high?
Does it reach up to the sky?
Does it droop when it’s wet?
Does it stiffen when it’s dry?
Can you wave it at your neighbor
With an element of flavor?
Does your dick stand high?
“Touché,” I said.
“Tushie?” she asked, turning around and showing me her bottom again.
I smacked it hard and said, “That’s for being tardy.”
We finally got in the rental car and I let Lo drive. Lo being Lo, she blasted the radio and “I’m Real” by Ja Rule happened to be on, pounding the bass of the speakers to the chorus:
-Cause I’m real-
The way you walk
The way you move
The way you talk
-Cause I’m real-
The way you stare
The way you look
Your style your hair
-Cause I’m real-
The way you smile
The way you smell
It drives me wild
-Cause I’m real-
And I can’t go on without you
Lo was contentedly squirming in her leather bucket seat to the beat of the music.
“Can you shut that damn music off?!” I complained.
“You know, you sound like an old man when you say that.”
“You know, I am an old man.”
“Oh, I know. It’s just sad to think about.”
“Well, if you want to break up with me, go right ahead.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.”
“No. You said that it’s ‘sad’ to think about me being an old man.”
“It is! I mean, I’m not even at the great hump of my life yet.”
“I thought I was the great hump of your life.”
“I should hope not.”
“What I mean is, I’m not over the hill yet.”
“I should hope not.”
“What does that mean?”
“It simply means, that at twenty-something, you still have some great humps to look forward to.”
“And you don’t?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m looking forward to humping you in about five minutes.”
“Why so long?”
“So long? Is five minutes too much to wait for you youngins these days?”
“Five minutes is like two and a half news cycles.”
“Well, here’s some breaking news: the best is yet to come.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Cause I love cumming.” She pulled up to the curb. “Here we are. Where are you going to fuck me?”
“Well, I need nourishment first. Let’s eat,” I said as we got out of the convertible and went to the hostess stand on the sidewalk. We were seated at a quaint table outside with a view of Ocean Boulevard and the beach across the street. Pretty people were walking by and fancy cars were cruising slowly to see and be seen.
A tricked-out car drove by — shiny, sparkly, loud. Lo was clearly impressed.
She observed it closely and then commented, “The exhaust is merely cosmetic.”
“Just like yours!” I quipped.
She gave me a look of faux shock.
A musclebound fella walked by in a tiny speedo and a loose fitting tank-top.
“Lo, stop drooling. Or at least use a napkin.”
“What?! He’s a very beefy boy. . . and I’m a beefeater,” she said, taking a slow, seductive bite of her sausage.
After breakfast, we walked down the strip and Lo was window shopping, until she was actually shopping. I sat outside sipping my frozen drink. When she came back out, she gave me a t-shirt like the one worn by Mr. Muscles.
“I didn’t know whether to get you a large or an extra large,” she said.
“You should always get me grandiose.”
“To match your ego?”
We walked down to the beach and Lo pulled out of her oversized bag a sheet she stole from the hotel. She spread it out on the sand and then spread herself on top of it. I sat down next to her and began rubbing in the sunscreen on her shoulders. When I was done I said, “I’ll draw on your back with my finger and you tell me what I’m spelling.”
“OK. But where’s the top?”
“Here,” I said, as I scribbled up by her shoulder blades.
“Hey! What are you doing?” she asked as my finger went down between her butt cheeks.
“I’m just seeing where the bottom is. Oh! Look at that. I think I found the ink well.”
“Yeah?! You’re gonna have a broken nub if you keep it up!”
After a bit, she pulled out the deck of cards from her bag and began shuffling them.
“What are you playing?”
“Are you winning or losing?”
“I’ll take off my top and you tell me.”
I scanned the beach to see if any other women were going topless.
“Hey!” she said, “I’m over here!!!”
She thought she saw me looking at some of the other sexy women on the strand.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, teasing her. “So I like looking at them. They’re like boats: I like how they look, but I don’t want to have one.”
“Oh yeah? Like boats? You better watch out that I don’t wash them away with my tsunami.”
“Are you squirting again? I didn’t even see you touch your puss.”
“I don’t need to with all this eye-candy.”
“Oh, so it’s ok for you to look, but not me?”
“Exactly. Next pair of sunglasses I buy you will be blinders.”
With that comment, she left her card game and sauntered into the water. Just at the water’s edge, she turned back to me and called, “Daddio! Aren’t you coming?”
“Not yet,” I called back, “but I will be.”
“What?!” she called.
“I’m not coming!”
She yelled back, “I’ll fix that!” She then turned tail and bent over, revealing her shoelace thin thong. She feigned finding a seashell, but she was just showing off. She eventually walked in the water, sticking out her tongue at me over her shoulder as the waves crested and fell over her hips. Then she dove in.
When she returned from the cool dip, she asked, “What do you think of my hair?” as it dripped from its curls down her breasts.
“You look just like Medusa.”
“That’s not a compliment. Wasn’t she so ugly that she turned anyone who looked at her to stone?”
“No no no, that’s not it. What the Greeks meant was any man who saw her got hard as a rock and that’s how I feel about you and your wild, curly hair.”
“Nice save,” she said with a smile as she laid down next to me, getting me all wet.
I had just got comfortable and was engrossed in the book I was reading, The Postmodern Condition, you know, your typical beach read, when she said, “Let’s go for a walk Daddy.”
“Yes, Daddio. I want to go find something nice.”
“I’m still available, you know.”
“Available? No you’re not. You’re taken.”
“I’d never know it.”
“You had me this morning.”
“For thirty seconds to help you get your rocks off.”
“So, what the hell are you complaining about?”
“I’d like to get my rocks off.”
“Oh, are your rocks aching?”
“Yes. Yes they are.”
“Follow me. Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
We went for a walk through the dunes to a little wooded park, verdant with scrub pines, palms, and colorful flowers. When we found a little bench, she said to me, “OK, you go over there and just watch.”
“What am I watching for?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
I sat diagonally from her, about thirty feet away. I watched as she sat there looking pretty. Guys walked by, mostly couples. But then one muscular black man in a skimpy bathing suit, bulging out of the itty-bitty stretchy material, stopped and asked her a question. She looked up, batting her eyelashes at him, smiling, licking her teeth with her tongue as she looked down, furtively, at his crotch. They began chatting. And then, within not so very long they got up and walked out of sight.
About a half-hour later Lo returned to the spot where I waited for her.
She approached me slowly, with a look of wily satisfaction and mystery about her.
“You can have me now, Daddy. He’s all done.” I noticed jizz covering her clavicle. She grabbed my hand and walked me to the secluded spot where she had just been with the tall, dark stranger.
“Lo,” I said, “What do you mean he’s all done?”
“Well,” she said, “do you want me to act out exactly what we did?”
She laid down on the bench and began stroking her pussy over her short shorts while I stood over her and looked at her.
“Aren’t you going to take out your cock and stroke it? That’s what he did.”
“And what did you do?”
“What do you think? What should a good girl do when she goes to the park and begins masturbating over her shorts and a tall, dark, hung stranger appears pantless ready to fuck?”
“Did you get his digits?”
“All of them.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah, all of them, inside me.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, confused.
“To a bar. I need a drink.”
Truth was, it was hot. I was thirsty. I was tense. I was irritated. I was horny. And I wasn’t about to start fucking Lola right there in the barely concealed patch of public privacy.
“Wait!” she said. “I have to change first.” She spread her legs and showed me the dark spot covering the crotch of her denim shorts where she apparently squirted.
She popped into the public restroom and a moment later, she popped out wearing just her bikini top and a short skirt.
“Wow!” I said. “You’re like a superhero!”
“Super Squirt!” she pronounced, swinging her shorts around her finger, grabbing me by my arm.
We went to a fancy hotel with a rooftop deck, pool, and bar. This was a new hotel and the rooftop was pretty high up there and it even had a balcony with a glass floor.
Lo walked out and leaned over the railing and said, “Wow! Don’t look down!”
“I’m not,” I said, “I’m lookin’ up — lookin’ up your skirt, that is.” No panties. No bikini thong. Nothing. Just her perfectly shapely and shaved mons pubis.
We then went and sat at the bar where I ordered a Tom Collins. Lo apologized to the bartender for my unfashionable taste in drinks, saying, “I’m sorry, he’s old.”
The bartender chuckled.
For the middle of the day, on a beautiful beach day, the bar was pretty busy. But, I guess for the people who live down there, going to the beach every day loses its allure pretty quickly.
Lo asked me, “You want to see what I saw on the bench?”
“Sure,” I said, not knowing where she was going with this.
She pulled out her phone and pulled up a photo of her with her legs spread and a guy with an elephant trunk hanging down from his crotch standing over her.
The old pervert seated next to Lo at the bar — not me, the guy on the other side of her — looked over Lo’s shoulder out of curiosity.
“Nice shot,” he said.
“Not nearly as nice as when he came on me,” retorted Lo without missing a beat.
“Is that so?” asked Mr. Intrusive.
“Yes, that’s so,” said Lo, followed by, “Oh, how rude of me. HH, this is,” she said, as if introducing an old friend.
“Kip,” he said.
“Kip,” said Lo. “Kip, HH,” she said, introducing us.
I shook his hand over Lo’s lap and said, “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure,” he said.
He clearly had had a few already. He wore a festive Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, sandals. I’d say he was about 46 and beginning to bald. A bit overweight. Genial smile and friendly — midwestern friendly. Too friendly, you might say.
Lo was in a festive, flirty mood and so she teased and toyed with this guy, telling both him and me what happened with her mystery man down by the beach.
“How very slutty of you,” he said.
“I thought so,” replied Lo proudly.
The guy asked, “Will you be my slut?”
“I’m everyone’s slut. That’s what being a slut is.”
“I don’t know if you could handle me,” said the guy.
“Why not?” asked Lo, defiantly.
“My cock — it’s pretty big and has a lot of girth,” he said.
Lola pulled out her phone and found a photo of her horse cock dildo. “This is one of my toys,” she said. “I can handle any cock. Any human cock, that is.”
The guy was trying to play it cool, but I could see he was intrigued by Lo’s unabashed candor.
What about Lo? She was flirting and teasing, but was she actually into him? I couldn’t tell.
We had a few more drinks and continued chatting. The fella next to us was married, had adult children, older than Lo, and claimed to be in Miami on business. But it was Thanksgiving weekend. Who is in Miami on business?
Lola was waxing rhapsodic about how much she loved Miami — the ocean, the beaches, the restaurants.
The guy interjected, “The orgasms on the boardwalk.”
Lo squirmed in her barstool and pressed her knees together.
She looked at me, embarrassed. I knew what happened.
I said, “You could say, she cums with the territory,” as I feigned spilling my water.
“That’s the worst pun you ever made,” said Lo as she watched me clean up the mess she made under her stool from her perch.
“Really? I’m sure I’ve made worse,” I said, looking up at her, hoping she wouldn’t have another accidental squirting orgasm.
“I’m sorry,” Lo apologized to our new friend, “Dad jokes.”
“I’m a dad,” he said, “no need to apologize.”
Along one side of the pool there were semi-private alcoves with recliners made for two. Lo ordered another drink and suggested we take the one that was recently vacated before someone else got it. She picked up her bag and casually sauntered to her destination.
Mr. Middleage followed her, leaving me to grab (and pay for) our last round.
When I got to the little cabana, Lo was lying down with her Mr. Marriedman next to her. I handed Lo her drink and said I was going for a swim. Her antics were beginning to upset me, if I’m honest.
I got in the warm water and rested up against the side of the pool with my drink in hand, watching Lo and her beau.
She lay with her legs crossed under her skirt. She removed her bikini top. The guy ogled her. They were making small talk. I could practically read Lo’s lovely lips when she said, “That’s ok, you can touch.”
The guy put his hand on Lo’s hip and slowly caressed her. Lo turned over and he put his hand down under her skirt and I could see him touch her bum as she took a sip from her straw.
She rolled on her side, showing him her tits and letting her skirt open in front. She said, “You like what you see?”
He said something I couldn’t make out.
“Are you hard?”
Again, I couldn’t make out the words.
“Jack it,” she commanded.
He pulled a towel over his cargo shorts and reached down. Lo watched him intently.
She loves being the stimulant for sexually starving strangers, the sweet release for men and women who need a focus for their swirling smut-dreams like a mantra for meditation.
She was speaking softly to him, encouraging him, telling him dirty things about her, probably telling him about how she sucked my cock after letting me have her ass that morning.
His head dropped back and he became rigid for a few seconds before crumpling like a suit having all its starch sucked out in one magic moment.
Lo got up and came into the pool. Her skirt billowed behind her in the water. She swam to me and said, “Let’s go, Daddio.”
“No. My mission is to make you cum like that,” she said as she grabbed my cock under the water.
We got out and Lo put her top on, and we walked out, both dripping wet, but she in more ways than one.
She blew a good-bye kiss to the man with the mess in his cargo.
Back at the hotel, Lo could hardly wait.
“Did you like everything today, Daddy?” she asked as she lay naked on the bed.
“Most of it,” I said, thinking it over.
“Let’s take a shower,” she said, just as I got out of my clothes and was very ready and eager to have her.
“Yeah,” she said. “I got sand in my hoo-ha.”
“What did you say?”
“You know, I’m not interested in any pearls in the ole clam.”
“Only you, darling, only you,” I said, amused at her pornographic poetry.
The shower had a small seat built into the back wall of it. She sat on it, spread her legs, looked up at me, and said, “Was I a very bad girl today, Daddy?”
“Yes, yes you were.”
“Was I a dirty little slut?”
“Very much so.”
“Are you mad that I let a man cum on me in public?”
“Are you mad that I walked around with his cum on my body all day?”
“Proud of your accomplishment?”
“Oh yeah,” she said.
“Am I terribly disgusting?” she asked.
“Not to me,” I said. I can’t lie.
“Show me, Daddy, that I’m yours,” she said.
I wasn’t sure what she was after.
She reached out and grabbed my cock and held it in her hand.
“You drank a lot at the bar,” she said.
“Not too much. A few drinks.”
“Have you peed even once today, Daddy?”
Now I knew where she was going.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” she said, a certain neediness in her voice.
I closed my eyes, relaxed, and let go.
She shook her tits and spread her legs wide as I drenched her in the warm stream from her chin down to her twat.
“That’s right, Daddy,” she said, “I’m such a slutty, cum-hungry, whore.”
I looked down at her, dripping wet, and said, “Ah, the Fountain of Youth!”
When I was done, we turned on the warm water and took turns washing and worshipping each other.
When we finally got in bed she said, “Use me, Daddy. Use me however you want. Treat me like your little fuck-doll.”
I had her on the bed just like I did in the morning. I slid in her puss only briefly and then went back to her other hole, filling her from tip to balls.
“Mmmmm, yes. Hold me down. I like that. Slap my ass. Slap my puss. Slap me. Hold me down. Hurt me. Make it hurt! Make me yours again, Daddy. I’ve been so bad today. I just want to be yours. Yours. Make me stop whoring around town. Make me good again. Make me so sore I can’t even walk. Make me stop searching for cock. Make me good again.” She went on like that the entire time I fucked her until I was nearly ready to cum — finally after a full day of teasing and edging, watching her degrade herself for me and for others, in private and in public. Finally, I was ready to explode with all that pent-up jealousy, desire, rage, ravage, revenge, lust, love, and “Lo!” I called out as I was about to erupt.
She quickly hopped off my rod and spun around, opening her mouth wide and accepting the offering I emitted like a parched nomad in the desert desirous of every last drop of life-giving liquid. She wrapped her mouth around my cock and sucked, encouraging me to continue cumming until I could stand no more.
I fell down on the bed next to her and immediately lost consciousness, falling into a deep and peaceful sleep.