The Perfect Coffee Table

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Friday and finally all my meetings were over. I flew home that night. I hadn’t heard from Lo since the previous night when she enigmatically told me that she had dinner with Robert. I was eager to see her. I was hard-up and aching for release. On top of that, there was the tantalizing mystery of what happened on her “date” with Robert. Just to make matters worse, fate so ordained it that on my flight home I was seated next to a young, attractive college girl wearing a tight fitting miniskirt and a low cut blouse. Her breasts were full and, when placing her carryon in the storage compartment above, she stretched and revealed a delectable midriff and even some under-boob. When we sat down, she saw that I was reading Fast Girl, the book by Suzy Favor Hamilton about her life as a high-end Vegas escort and her sex addiction.

“What is that?” she asked, naively, but with a hint of being in-the-know.

“It’s a memoir,” I said tersely. Her interest made me nervous. Her looks made me more nervous. Her age made me simply petrified — in every sense of the term.

“I think I’ve heard of it. It’s about. . .” her brow wrinkled with the struggle of recall.

“A woman who leads a double-life as a devoted wife and mom and as a prostitute.”

“Oh,” she said, shocked at my candor. She quickly followed it up with a smile and, “Do you like it?”

There was a mischievousness to her question that indicated to me that she wanted to know what turns me on.

“It’s my homework,” I said, as if that negated any pleasure I may derive from it.

“Homework?” she asked. “What class are you in?” She wanted to enroll.

“My girlfriend assigned it to me. She said it would help me understand her better. The last assignment was Getting Off, about a woman addicted to self-pleasure through humiliation porn.”

“Girlfriend?” she asked. “Aren’t you married?” she inquired while indicating my wedding band. Clearly she was interested in more than my reading material.

“Oh that,” I said, “I wear it to keep the ladies away.” My standard line.

“Yeah right,” she said. “Every guy knows that nothing attracts single women like a man who’s spoken for.”

“You got me there,” I said. She was attracted. This would be a l-o-n-g flight.

“I wish,” she said under her breath. “So, your girlfriend — or whatever — is addicted to porn?”

“I don’t know that she’s addicted to porn. She likes porn. But she definitely is addicted to pleasure.”

“I know the feeling,” she said.

“Is that so?”

“Would you like to know the feeling?”

“Look,” I said, “what’s your name?”

“Kayla,” she said. Of course her name was Kayla.

“Look Kayla, I’m already involved with a nymphomaniac. It takes every ounce of my energy, focus, concentration, devotion, love, and chi to satisfy her. . . and still I come up short. I appreciate your interest. I really do, but I’m on my way back home to see her, and, well, to be honest, the beautiful batting of your eyelashes is very well and good, but I’ve got a perfect slut waiting for me at home.”

If this attractive, flirty, young woman had been sitting next to me on the departure flight, when I was more mad at Lo than missing her, things may have been different. Even then, the fact is, no matter how angry I am with her, I still love Lo. And I know, no matter how attractive other women may be, the witty repartee that Lo and I have is inimitable.

I tried to make my position clear. She accepted the boundaries I had set. But she switched gears and now asked me all about Lo. I gladly told her. It was probably my best in-flight conversation. By the time we landed, despite our fight or because of it, I wanted Lo more than ever. (I gave Kayla the blog address, just so she could see for herself how it’s done.)

I got home and as soon as I walked in the door I knew I was in for trouble. Lo wasn’t talking to me except monosyllabic words. “Hi.”

“How are you?” I asked.


You get the gist. But she was dressed in a pink sleeveless t-shirt and her black lace panties. That’s it. She pranced around with her hard nipples poking through the front of her shirt, her side-boobs bouncing and peeking out from the open underarms. She. Looked. Good.

I was hard.

I wanted her.

I needed her.

I had no idea how to approach her.

So I took the direct approach: “You wanna fuck?”

“Your seduction technique is so subtle, yet captivating,” she said.

I knew I was making good progress because captivating is four syllables.

“Yeah,” I said, nonchalantly.

“Then why are you still wearing your clothes?”

I stripped and she pulled down her panties.

Her pussy was smooth, shaven, pink and beautiful.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked.

“This?” she asked, stroking her lovely mons pubis.

“Yeah,” I said, “that.” For a moment I was under the impression that she was anticipating my return and that she had shaved for me. She disabused me of that notion right away.

“I told you,” she said, “I was seeing Robert last night.”

We were in the bed now. I was looking down at her lovely body. “You did that for Robert?”

“Semper fi,” she said.

“Semper fi?” I asked, perplexed.

“Yeah,” she said, “Always prepared; the motto of the marines.”

“Semper fi means ‘always faithful.’”

“Oh,” she said. “Whoops!”

“You can say that again. So, were you faithful?”

“Fuck me and I’ll tell you.”

I was arched over her and I enjoyed looking at her beautiful body as her hand guided my protruding member up and down her wet labia. “Come on, Daddy,” she said, “fuck me. You know you need it. Take it.”

I penetrated her. From the feel of things, she needed me as much as I needed her.

Once I had fully engorged her, I asked, “So, what happened last night?”

She was too busy enjoying my rod. She came within seconds.

I waited for her to catch her breath. “Tell me,” I commanded.

“I met him at his house,” she said in her breathy voice.

“What were you wearing?”

“A short skirt. My leather boots. A tight top.”

“Go on.”

“I met him there. He kissed me hello.”

“On the lips?”


“Mighty forward of him.”

“I made sure it was on the lips.”


“We talked a little and then he drove us to the restaurant. I think he liked being seen in there with me. It looked like a first or second date, I’m sure.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Him, mostly. His needs. His wants. His desires.”

“Oh, so you talked about you.”

“You could say that.”

She came again. Nothing excites her as much as she.

“And then?”

“We went back to his place. He invited me in. He offered me a drink. We sat on the couch. Before I finished my first drink, we were making out. His hands were under my top, feeling my breasts, pulling my nipples.”

Too much! I came.

As I pulled out of her and rolled on my back, she said, “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait to hear how the night ended.”

“Uh-uh,” I said, “You’re going to finish this slut-saga tonight.

“Only if you’ll fuck me again.”

“Start talking. You know what your words do to me.”

She moved closer to me and her index finger twirled around my flaccid cock as she spoke:

His fingers were running up and down my clit over my panties. Within a couple of strokes, my panties were soaked. He could feel it.

‘Why have you held out on me all this time?’ I asked Robert as he was feverishly trying to slide my panties over my boots.

He got them off and he was trying to remove my skirt, but it has a zipper in the back. I kissed him and slowly stood up, turned around, and let him unzip it. The skirt fell to the floor and he felt my bare ass with his hands and then he began kissing it.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Even more beautiful than in your photos.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, turning around to face him. He saw my silky smooth pussy. He kissed it. I came. I came hard just from the light touch of his lips on my soft triangle. I had to grab his shoulders to steady myself. I pulled his head in to my tum and he kissed me as he slowly removed my shirt. He sucked on my tits as I stood totally naked before him.

‘Here I am, bare as the day I was born,’ I said, ‘and you have all your clothes on.’

I began unbuttoning his dress shirt. I got him out of it and out of his t-shirt. I then got him to stand as I got on my knees and I undid his belt, his pants button, his fly, and slowly pulled down his trousers. I could see his enormously long cock in his boxers. I wanted it. I pulled down his boxers and there it was, just as I remembered it. It was beautiful, but it was as soft as you are right now.

I was soft, but getting harder. “He did tell us that he has a performance problem,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I sucked on it and gave it my best blowjob, but damn it all, I couldn’t get it hard.”

“Really?!” That was a first.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Please demonstrate,” I asked. “Perhaps there is a problem with your technique.”

That really pissed her off. Never insult Lo’s skills in the bedroom, or any other room.

She put her mouth on my cock and said, “I have impeccable technique.” That she did. She worked on my slack slinky and it slowly regained some rigidity.

As she lifted her soft lips off my stuff, she said, “He didn’t respond to my loving labia, so I got under him and opened wide, taking his huge balls in my mouth. That he liked. It got an immediate reaction.”

“You are fond of instantaneous reviews.”

“He then guided me to the bedroom where. . .”

“No, wait,” I interrupted, “let me get in you now.” I was hard-up and wanted to hear the end of her story from a position that would allow me to gage her level of excitement. I slid my arousal-meter inside her and she continued.

“We got into bed and, well, he was still having difficulty performing. I asked him, ‘Do you want to look at some porn together?’”

“You wanted it bad, didn’t you?” I asked.

“I’m always up for porn,” she said, nonchalantly. “And he was too. He pulled up the blog.”

Our blog?!”

“Yes. What other blog?”


“And we scrolled through some pics together. He settled on one of you.”


“Yeah, you. And he got hard.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No I’m not. I asked him, ‘You like his cock?’ and he said, ‘Yes.’”

“You wouldn’t put me on like that, would you?”

“I swear,” she said, sincerely. “I asked him more about it and he told me that he thinks his problem might be that he’s gay. He said he likes being with women, but he gets turned on by looking at guys.”

“So what did you do?”

“We looked at some more porn together, mostly gay porn, cuck porn, and swinger porn. He eventually turned me over, doggy-style, put his laptop on my back, and fucked me from behind.”

“He used you like a coffee table?!”

“Well, if someone invented a cross between a coffee table and a fuck doll, then, yes.”

“Good idea.”

“And then he asked me if he could go in my ass.”

“The audacity of that man!”

“And I said yes.”

“You little slut.”

“Yes, Daddy. Say it again. You’re turning me on.”

“You skank. You trollop.”

“He went in my ass and then he asked, very politely, if he could cum in me.”

“You anal whore. I bet you wanted him to.”

“Well, I had cum so many times by that point, it only seemed fair.”

After she said that, I came, not in her ass, but deep in her, for the second time.

“I’m glad you were able to be so charitable while I was away,” I said. I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealously and, for a moment, I regretted not taking advantage of my opportunity on the plane.

“Why didn’t you sleep over?” I asked her.

“It had been a long time since I had anal sex,” she began to say.

“Don’t I know it,” I added.

“And so I wanted to go home to clean up. I’m sorry, but I may have made a bit of a mess on your car seat.”

“You mean, Robert’s mess.”

“Yes, Daddy. Are you mad?”

“Lo, I can never stay mad at you.”

“But are you mad now?”

“No, Lo. I’m actually perfectly content.”

[From the blog:]

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

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