The end (for real) February 5, 2012Posted by Leah in Gallimaufry.
Once upon a time (or two years ago) there was a young woman — let’s call her Leah, though this is not her name — who spent happy hours in pursuit of obscure bits of knowledge. Having acquired the notion that this would become her life’s work, Leah found it necessary to take leave of her family and her friends and the places that she knew. She traversed a wide ocean to live for some months in the bosom of a largish city on a small and perpetually wet island in a northern sea. This girl, it so happened, loved a boy, deeply and truly and madly. Though she kept faith with him in her heart, Leah wasn’t the type of girl who conceived of pleasure as an exclusive gift. She reasoned it thus. To lighten the spirit, in our daily social intercourse, do we not seek laughter wheresoever we may justly find it? What is an orgasm except an immense and multilayered explosion of laughter that arises from the depths, bubbles out and excites the nerves, extends to the extremities, and racks and convulses the whole body with a surfeit of pleasure, thereby exalting and elating and elevating the self while also compressing it within a timeless moment of utter and unalloyed ecstasy? Shouldn’t such exemplary delights be shared, for does not the joy that manifests in this manner magnify by means of finding its expression in the company of friends? Therefore, she concluded, having established we’re friends, let’s get naked and fuck, why don’t we?
As people do, she had contradictions, this girl who was not named Leah, and heterogeneous tastes, which included testing the limits of her experience. She thought it would be good to share the adventures she had in the place called London with the boy who remained at home with the key to her very being. Leah wrote these assorted sordid tales for him so that her London would become their city through common understanding despite the fact of a very great distance. While Leah was often lonely, she met special people, who made her new and temporary abode come to life for her, and she, in her turn, gave to them what she could spare of herself.
Just as she missed him terribly, the boy also missed Leah. He had adventures of his own as well. For a time, while she returned across the ocean, they were together and deliriously happy. Too soon, Leah flew away again for another sojourn of months on the faraway continent on the other side of the sea. Inevitably, it transpired that the three thousand two hundred seventy-five miles that separated them were three thousand two hundred seventy-five too many. They said a tearful farewell, and the lives of the boy and the girl diverged as the threads in a tapestry do. Despite good intentions and the best of wills, such things happen in this imperfectible world. It is no one’s fault.
Without the boy she had once loved as the principal intended audience for her writing, Leah persisted in committing to the pixelated page the exploits that she dared in London, which had become familiar to her as a place called home. In part, she did this to see the project she had started through. But she also enjoyed telling her stories and reliving her deeds in this way. Additionally, Leah felt she had things to say which were worth saying. On reflection, considering the readers she had accumulated, she could have exhibited a greater measure of boldness in her writing. Too late, for example, Leah essays the third person. There are as well things that remain unsaid, through neglect and indifference, or from indolence and a lack of application, or because of Leah’s inability to give expression to inchoate thoughts. She figured that there would always be adequate time to set things right.
Long ago and far away, on lazy summer afternoons when school was out, it seemed that time stretched far, and the hours in a day, though still finite in their number and their extent, were enough to read and gambol and play. It was then, in fact, that Leah acquired her first taste for setting her own words to a printed page and placing them to neatly fit. In the years that followed, she developed other interests, and the chief among these were boys and her scholastic passions. A decade and a half after those barefoot afternoons from a half remembered August, the time allotted to things on this earth, and more importantly, to its people seems unbearably meager.
Leah has loosed many words upon the world — one hundred thirty thousand of them, give or take, not including the various comments. Focused as they are on one thing only, these words sketch a monstrously distorted self-portrait. The proportions are askew. Yet it is an autobiography just the same.
And now it is time to stop.
The story continues, unwebbed. The middle chapters are still to be lived and savored. The final chapters remain even to be dreamed. With a sufficient quantity of good luck, the once upon a time with which this page commenced might pair with a happily ever after as its ideal bookend. It may be so. Who can tell?
These are the tales of many nights. After night comes the day.
We fade to brightness here.
Ending at the beginning January 27, 2012Posted by Leah in Bondage, Breath play, Cunnilingus, D/s, Exhibitionism, Fellatio, Fisting, Fucking, Repeated hookups, Spanking, Urine.
The e-mail I sent him
I don’t know when, after tonight, we will see each other again. Unless you visit me in the States, it could be quite some time. You know that monogamy isn’t for me. It never was. I told you this before we met. But life so often surprises. I can’t make any promises for what will happen if we do meet up, whether we will fuck. Today, however, I can state with absolute conviction that *I* *am* *yours*. I belong to you. This may never happen again. It behooves us to make circumstance our bitch.
I want your company — in bed and out of it. More than this, I crave your dominance. I desire to be a girl possessed. I require your strength. You can punish me for topping from below — please do! — but I insist upon it. I need you to be rough with me. I want to be totally fucked by you. Use my mouth. Use my cunt. Use my ass. Use them just as you please. I am three holes for your pleasure. I am a slut for one cock only. It’s yours, Amadeo. You own the penis, so you own the woman. I am a plaything, a fuck-toy, the clay that you mold. I am your willing and submissive zero pound whore. I am to be taken hard and challenged. Be harsh with me. Do this. I want you to.
Leave your mark on my body. Beat my buttocks and my breasts. Pull my hair. Place bruises on my skin, bite marks, welts, hickeys. Sign your name on me with indelible ink after each of my orgasms. I want the evidence of the night to linger for days. I want to remember you as I sit uncomfortably in the airplane. I want other lovers to see what you have done.
Slap my pussy. Be brutal to my clitoris. Hold me down by the windpipe and tighten your grip on my throat while you claim my mouth with your tongue and my vagina with your penis. Fuck me with your feet. I will lick the soles and suck your toes afterwards. I will lap the hollows of your arms. Place your fist inside my cunt, twist it within me slowly, unball your fingers under my womb, stretch them out. Make your hand big inside. I am, after all, your fuck puppet. Have me rim your asshole. I will kiss your anus, layering the opening with spit to begin, lowering my tongue beyond the sphincter, slurping at your bung in the exact manner that you devour my pussy. If it is your wish, I will do this for hours. I want to please you so very much.
My vagina throbs when I think about compressing its muscles about your shaft. I am wet inside my panties. I touch myself and ramp the arousal to stratospheric heights.
Tie me down. Chain me up. Masturbate my cunt. I want to be on my knees for you. I want your penis in my mouth.
Piss on me. Come over me. I will wear your bodily fluids proudly. I will drink them down and thank you for the privilege.
I want your presence. I want to have your weight over my body. I want to be blanketed by your warmth. I feel small beside you and protected. I want to bestow on you what pleasure I can. This is my main purpose tonight, my sole concern. More so than the orgasms that render me speechless, more so than a ticket to subspace, more so than the memories that will linger for years, this shall be my joy.
I am an obedient girl. I will do what you say.
I know you will make me laugh. I expect you will make me cry. I will come so many times, with permission and without. We will say farewell, but we won’t say goodbye. And who knows what may follow?
See you in one hour, lover.
Your dutiful slut,
The last date
What I wrote happened, more or less. It was a third consecutive night of sex. But such weekends are the reason I spend an hour at the gym every day.
We met up in the early afternoon for lunch, and then Amadeo gave me a tour of his office, which I had been asking to see. Unfortunately, even though it was a Sunday, there were people around. We kissed and touched a little, but our clothes stayed on. I enjoyed learning about his current projects. As I had errands to run, I left Amadeo, did the things I needed to do, dropped stuff off at the apartment in which I was staying, sent the e-mail I quoted above, and proceeded out again after I had eaten a quick dinner.
I traveled to Amadeo’s apartment wearing sensible shoes, thigh high black nylon stockings, a winter coat, and nothing else. It was a curious feeling to be on the tube almost naked. On the escalator out of the bowels of the underground, the man behind me may have noticed what I wasn’t wearing. He followed me up the stairs at the end, being sure to remain several steps behind me. The chill outside made my nipples peak. The cold air swirled between my legs. The shivers were worth it. Amadeo approved when the coat came off.
In the bedroom, he had me read my letter aloud. Fully nude and prostrate on the floor, I kissed his feet. As in the past, he tied me to the bed and whipped my pussy with a leather belt. He fisted me also. He fucked me to release, but stopped before he came. I have related incidents of a similar character before; I won’t repeat myself.
The new ingredient was the caning. He has a rattan cane among the toys he keeps in the bedroom closet, but we haven’t played with this much in the past. Amadeo had me bend over and clutch my ankles. He stood behind me. Through my legs, I saw his erection wave at me. He tested the cane. It wooshed through the air. His hands stroked the insides of my thighs and spread the moisture from my pussy over an expanse of skin. When he felt that anticipation had assumed a sufficient pitch, he hit me. He struck the backs of my thighs. The cane landed heavily on the fleshy part of the buttocks. It thudded on my back. The pain at the point of impact was sharp and stinging. It made me yelp. Often, he repeated several times over the same spot. The skin burned after the fact. The nerve endings seared. Following a particularly fierce impact, I involuntarily straightened. The cane cut sharply across the side of my thigh. The pressure on the small of my back compelled me down. His steely voice negated dissent.
I cried. The sobs racked my body. My breathing became heavy. I thought it hurt too much to continue. But I bit my lower lip and summoned the will to keep going. He asked me to ask him to hit me harder, and I did this in sentences that broke through a cloud of tears. In the end, he went to his knees. His tongue followed the lines of welts that marred my skin.
He turned me around and looked up at me from his knees. His tongue licked along the slit. Amadeo positioned me over the bed. I was on my back. The nerves beneath me throbbed. He forced my legs open and raised my arms above my head. He didn’t tie me down, but instructed me nevertheless not to move. I knew what would follow. My hands gripped the sheets. I spread the legs wider for him. The cane slashed over my tits. He struck a dozen times, then worked the tops of my thighs. I screamed. He stuffed his boxer shorts in my mouth to muffle the sounds. Muscles in his upper arms and torso rippled. Though he tempered his strength on my breasts, no such quarter was given to my legs. It hurt immeasurably. But I wanted it. I could absorb this punishment. I wanted to be his good girl. Amadeo spoke in a soft voice that encouraged me even as the cane wounded. I concentrated on the regular, deep rhythms of his breathing. I closed my eyes and drew within my mind and entered a warm and submissive place. In the end, he dropped the wood and buried his face in my cunt and licked me gently. He sucked on the clit until I came. In the aftermath of the orgasm, which I kissed from his cheeks and chin, he fingered my bruised nipples. We chatted as he massaged my back and rubbed salve over my buttocks and thighs.
Amadeo and I started our friendship with an e-mail. He answered an ad on Craigslist. The fantasy he had proposed was too extreme for me, especially on a first date. The intelligence and humor in his message intrigued me, however. I replied, and we got to talking. His appeal grew. Amadeo’s demeanor and attitude engendered confidence when we met. Early on, I had the sense that he could become a regular dom. I am so happy that he did.
Amadeo asked me again about his initial fantasy. I am still not ready for it. So we negotiated a compromise. As he made the preparations, I spent forty-five minutes curled over the rug on the floor. He had me chained to the radiator, which heated me nicely. (He prefers a cooler temperature than I like.) At the lowest setting, a vibrator buzzed agreeably in my cunt. I wasn’t allowed to touch my pussy. I wasn’t allowed to come. I flipped through the pictures in an art book while I waited. It distracted my attention from the still singing nerve endings. Amadeo walked over, called me bitch, and ruffled my hair affectionately. The tip of a finger stroked between my cleavage and trailed on a downward trajectory to my clitoris, which he pointedly did not touch. He sucked my nipples and dangled ropes of saliva into my open mouth. He took a dram of Laphroaig and let it spill from his lips into mine and then did the same with fizzy sparkling water. I stretched. My pussy and pubis were pleasantly sore. I was more aware of the stiffness in my thighs and back.
When he had finished cleaning, he showed me water in the depression of his hand, and then he tipped the hand to his lips and swallowed it. After that, he led me by the chain, which looped my throat and was secured by a luggage lock. I padded after him into the bathroom. He unfastened the lock. The chain tinkled to ground.
The side of my face squashed up against the bottom of the toilet cover. He directed the stream of piss against my face. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of it pass over my eyelid and along the nose and cheek. The color was a pale yellow. When he had finished, I blotted the urine on the glans with my tongue and sucked the penis to hardness. He slipped a condom over the erection. I turned. My hands gripped the porcelain rim of the toilet, and I braced myself. The cock entered my pussy from behind.
I trusted Amadeo.
With my head in the bowl, which was full of urine and toilet water, he fucked me. My face touched the surface of the liquid. My hair became wet. His hand pushed hard against the back of my head to keep me in place. He flushed the toilet. The sudden suction of the water below took me by surprise. The jets of water splashed my face as the toilet filled up. His cock pounded my cunt at a furious pace. My face was in and out of the water repeatedly. I took rapid breaths through my mouth. He didn’t hold my head underwater for long periods of time; I could, in fact, take in air easily.
Under the circumstances, Amadeo didn’t last long within my cunt. He gave a massive groan and came in my pussy. It took fewer than five minutes from start to finish.
I removed the condom and inverted it and slurped the semen inside. I licked and sucked his shaft. Then, I dunked my head back into the toilet, closed my eyes, and washed my face with another flush.
My mouth filled with water, and I sputtered it back out. I dipped my hand in and collected more water, which I wiped over his chest and groin and thighs. Amadeo laughed. He kissed me. His tongue licked my cheeks. He bit the tip of my nose. The water sprayed from me as I shook my head like a dog. I lapped the drops that had splashed the rim. He moaned when he saw this. The erection resurrected itself. He reached for me.
Sex is dirty. Sex is vulgar. Sex is rough.
As I had requested, the last meeting with Amadeo was exceptionally intense. It deviated in an unexpected direction. I was a willing participant throughout. I enjoyed myself. Though the bruises remained for a week, I have no regrets.
Water bondage is a fantasy that Amadeo has nursed for years. The symbolism mattered to him greatly. With my head bent over the toilet waiting for him to place his cock inside me, I thought how terrible could this possibly be when he had spent most of an hour cleaning until the white porcelain was fit to eat from and demonstrated this to me by drinking the water first? It absolutely would not hurt the way the caning had. After it was done, I was happy that I had been able to offer him something new.
I tend not to rationalize sex and submission along the axes of humiliation and degradation. Amadeo and I can play as hard as we do because I know that he respects me. The discussions we have, despite a sixteen year gap in age and experience, are the social interactions of equals. We happen to have complementary sexual tastes. We enjoy kink and the D/s dynamic in the bedroom. Crucially, all of this is only play. I am not a second class human being for surrendering control over the patterns of sex. He does not make me feel inferior to him. How could he when he licks the water from the toilet off my face?
When Amadeo and I started seeing each other, I had a boyfriend in Boston. My great worry during our time together was the possibility that he was getting too attached. To preempt this and to maintain a modicum of distance, I chose to restrict our encounters to one day a week. I also made sure he knew there were others in my sexual life. Still, our relationship flourished, and the friendship deepened. To me, he is one of the touchstones of the city, like the National Gallery or the Southbank Centre. I can’t think of London without remembering the nights we shared. I miss him. For sexual fulfillment, for safe journeys to subspace and back, for sex as provocation and challenge and adventure, for kink as a lifeline, I am in his debt.
The next meeting
I have asked Amadeo to visit me in Boston. He said he would try to come in May. He also promised to be a better correspondent. I hope we pick up again where we left off.
In the meanwhile, I have David. We have met up twice since I have been back. He introduced me to electrostimulation. The sensations are novel. Over the weekend, he and I fucked until we could no longer remain awake, slept for a few hours, woke up renewed, and proceeded to fuck some more. My friend Ab, an irregular regular who teaches biology at a middle school, plans to take me to a swingers’ club on St. Valentine’s night. There’s always something. I keep discovering new dimensions to sex.
I’m a lucky girl.
Waking up to one last fuck January 24, 2012Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups.
Frank and I hooked up on Saturday. We wandered the Wallace Collection in the late afternoon and then shared an early dinner at a Greek restaurant, after which we happily retreated to a hotel room, where we messed around until two thirty in the morning, at which point we fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion from too much fucking.
I had spent the previous night with the cellist. The sex had been phenomenal for a one night stand, but Frank knew my body in a way that a new man could not. As we couldn’t guess when or if we would meet up again, he and I applied ourselves to sex. The night generated a monumental catalog of sexual positions.
Surprisingly, Frank awoke earlier than I did on Sunday. My first memory of morning was a pair of hands lightly scratching my shoulders. My vision unblurred. Sleepy eyes focused to see my lover’s face looming over me. The heavy lids drooped shut. I moaned contentedly and turned onto my side. His mouth fastened over mine. The lips applied soft pressure. The tip of his tongue coaxed mine out to play. My hand reached up and grabbed the back of his head. His fingers trailed over my breasts and belly.
I rolled onto my back and spread my legs open for him. He fingered my cunt. The tips of fingers feathered over the labia. The pussy lips petaled apart under the gentle pressure. The kisses were interrupted by smiles and laughter.
Frank untangled the blanket from my feet. Pillows at my shoulders, I propped myself to a sitting position. He tongued my pussy. My left hand clutched at the hair on the back of his head. Then my right hand did the same. They alternated. Hand turned up, he slipped the index and middle fingers into the cunt. He thrust them in and hooked them out and tapped at the walls inside. The tongue circled my clit. His nose rubbed my bare pubis. He worked the pussy steadily and patiently. Neither of us were in any hurry. I wanted these moments to last. The bedsheets were wadded in my hands when the orgasm finally claimed me.
To reciprocate the oral attention, I sucked his cock. As it was morning, the erection was thick. I maintained a loose grip over the bottom of the shaft. My little finger curled around the front of the scrotum. Lips made a tight seal about the glans, and I sucked wetly and slowly. He caressed my buttocks as I fellated the penis. His fingers grazed over the crease of the ass and manipulated my pussy from behind.
Frank cupped the side of my face in his hands, pulled me off his penis, and brought me up for a long and deep kiss. He had a condom at the ready. His fingers stumbled over the wrapper, so he bit it open with his teeth.
He knelt on the mattress. My right calf draped over his left thigh. The inside of my other leg was flush with his hip. The cock slipped into me easily. He swallowed a breast in his hand while the shaft dragged slowly in. My feet elevated from the bed. Hands on his back above the ass, I cajoled his body onto me. I wanted to kiss. He supported his weight on his forearms while he fucked me. When the cock slipped out, both of our hands went at once to the shaft to return it to my pussy, where it needed to be.
My ankles crossed over the small of his back. Hands clutched at his muscular arms. I compelled his mass on top of me so that the breasts squashed flat. The penis stabbed into me with short, powerful jabs. I came undone.
After orgasm, we switched positions. I went to hands and knees with my ass tilted in the air. Frank stood next to the bed and entered my cunt from behind. He palmed one hemisphere of the ass while he fucked me. My right hand pushed off the bed, and I twisted my head laterally to catch Frank’s eyes. I wanted it to feel tremendous for him. I made it a point to remember my kegel exercises. My vagina tightened around the shaft. The pace of the fuck was exceedingly slow. I did a grind with my hips and spun my pussy as Frank’s penis reached into me. The extension of my rump kissed his groin. Soft feminine grunts echoed the louder baritone sounds that escaped his throat.
Frank sighed, and his endurance gave way. The cock pulsed within my cunt. I clamped my muscles over the shaft at once. My fingers strummed at my clitoris. As I wasn’t expecting him to come so suddenly, I couldn’t time a coincident orgasm. This did not matter. I let my elbows buckle so that the front part of my body sunk against the mattress, raised my ass to him, and reversed to take the penis deeper within me. When the convulsions had finished, I remained motionless on the bed. I wanted to keep Frank ensconced for as long as possible.
Five miles high January 17, 2012Posted by Leah in Fantasy.
The flight from Boston to London is half empty. I am in the back of the cabin in a window seat. A man in his early twenties who wears a Patriots sweatshirt sits on the aisle. His long legs claim an extra inch of room this way. We make small talk over airplane food. He was in Vermont over the holidays to visit his dad’s side of the family. He lives in Essex. He asks me why I am traveling to London. I tell him this trip is to see my much missed lovers. After this pronouncement, the two of us flirt outrageously.
When the lights go off, the gallant man offers the unused middle seat between us to me. Seatbelt still fastened, I twist my body and try for sleep.
Slumber doesn’t come to me.
I hardly ever fall asleep on airplanes.
Raising the armrest, I decide to amuse myself.
A blanket covers the man’s legs. My hand reaches beneath. I stroke his thigh. He looks down at me, bemused. I flash him a brilliant smile. My hand shifts up and to the center. I find his cock. The pressure and grasp of fingers brings him to hardness.
The woman across the aisle from us sleeps. The crew are in the galley in front.
“Let me make you come,” I whisper.
He lifts and unfastens his seatbelt. He pulls down his fly. Unfortunately, he is wearing briefs. I cannot suck him dry.
I can only give a handjob. Fingers stroke the shaft through tight cotton, rising from the middle of the erection to the crown. Thumb opposite the other fingers, I perform a twist at the head.
To anyone who notices, we are a couple. My head rests against his thigh and uses it as a pillow. His eyes are closed. His body sinks into the chair, which leans back. The cabin is dark. That my hand vanishes into the blanket is difficult to detect in this dim light.
I add pressure. My fingers slide the underwear against the sides of the shaft as they lift up to the glans. The thumb pushes down over the frenulum. After this, I narrow my grip on the head, shift down again, and repeat.
The circumcised helmet, whose lobes I feel by touch, hops against the maw of the collapsed fingers after a twirl at the crest. Fabric checks the movement. Semen surges through the cotton and coats my hand. I look up at a man whose name I do not know. Eyes laser down at me. I meet his gaze coolly and bring my hand to my mouth, and slowly, I part my lips and scrape my fingertips along the bottom row of teeth to deposit his come onto my tongue. As a hundred people around us sit, I gulp his whiteness down. My tongue laps until I can no longer taste him on my skin.
Having had a draught of a man’s milk, now I can sleep.
This is the purest fantasy, of course. Who ever heard of the economy cabin being half empty on a trans-Atlantic flight these days? I squished into a center seat and suffered the airplane food and endured screaming babies and slept for about an hour.
I expect the flight home today will be full as well.
I owe stories of the weekend — Frank on Saturday, Amadeo on Sunday.
Sonata for flute and cello, op. 53 January 14, 2012Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fucking, Random hookups.
I went out on Friday night with friends from my old band. Sara introduced me to a cellist, who had joined the orchestra since I had left. She figured we would hit it off and vouched for his performance. She wasn’t wrong.
On my knees, on his bed, I sucked his cock. His balls were a bit too sensitive for me to mouth and handle, so I concentrated my efforts on the stem and the glans. He enjoyed a wet blowjob. He was also particularly turned on by the visual: he held my hair out of the way so that he could watch me work his penis with my lips and tongue. I gave him plenty of eye contact.
When it was time to reciprocate, he ate my cunt from behind. I thrust my ass up into the air, and he lowered his head into the space between my thighs and licked the perineum and the lips of the pussy. He surprised me by pulling out a dildo from the drawer in the nightstand. As he lapped my cunt, he penetrated me with the false cock. It had a suction cup bottom that we attached to a dinner plate that we set over the mattress. I lowered myself onto the ersatz erection and bounced myself over it. He nursed at my breasts and fingered my clitoris.
We fucked twice last night, and each time, I came with his cock inside me. The first time, I was on top, straddling his hard-on, just as I had the dildo. The pliancy of flesh makes a penis the best sex toy ever. His hands smoothed over my back, and he held me by the hips. After the initial orgasm, I let the control of the tempo shift from me to him. His cock made a sequence of long, smooth strokes, then suddenly he would stab it all the way in and hold position when it bottomed out. The deep penetration made me moan. I compressed my muscles about the shaft. He specialized in sticky, sloppy kisses.
The second time, I had my legs in the air, knees touching, the insides of thighs flush. He stood on the floor, straddling the corner of the mattress. His cock thrust into me in long, even strokes in 4/4 time. His thighs slapped against my skin. My breasts rippled under the force of the entry. The seismic jolt, when his cock shuddered to a halt and the momentum carried the balls forward against the sensitive patch of skin below the pussy, rendered the nerves insensate. They overloaded with pleasure. I shrieked. One of my arms wrapped my legs above the knees to make the fit even tighter.
I moved to the center of the bed, and he joined me on the mattress. His hands on my knees winged my thighs apart. He rested on his shins and lowered his erection into my cunt. His pelvis did a twist, and while dug down deep inside me, the cock spun at the cunt, which flowered tightly about the root. He remained on his knees, and I arched myself. My hands, on either side of my shoulders, together with my feet pushed my weight up from the bed. The blood rushed to my upside down head. His grip supported my buttocks. The powerful arms held me upright while I flailed and came.
He sweated so much; his skin was saturated in perspiration. The cock pounded my pussy in short strokes, and I diddled my clit at the top. His paw covered one of my breasts. His breath shortened, and his movements became erratic. Words had abandoned him. He said something, but his speech was unintelligible. After orgasm, we kissed softly.
I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, and he was fast asleep by the time I returned. I liked him enough that I pulled up the corner of the duvet and slipped into the bed beside him. He was a snorer and hogged most of the sheets. We had a quickie in the morning to finish.
Edge play January 12, 2012Posted by Leah in D/s, Fellatio, Repeated hookups.
He texted me at four in the afternoon: When you see me tonight, wear clothes you don’t mind getting ruined. A few minutes later, one more text arrived: Bring a change of clothes for tomorrow. Evidently, he had a plan.
I wore sweatpants and a ratty sweatshirt from college that I sleep in sometimes. The tube brought me to Amadeo’s around 8:30. He buzzed me into the building. As I climbed the stairs to the apartment, I removed my woolen winter coat, which I did mind getting ruined.
Once he had let me in and I had set my coat and backpack down, he had me pressed up against the wall. He gripped my jaws and squeezed. The kisses were bites. He brought his hand under my sweatshirt and flattened the tits, which a sports bra held in place. His hand slapped the side of my face.
He dragged me into the kitchen and pushed my head down against the countertop. I saw the espresso machine from a sideways slant. He had my wrists pinned in back of me at a painful angle. His feet kicked apart my legs. A hand reached between my thighs and rubbed over my pussy, not at all gently. He spanked it.
Amadeo breathed heavily. He bit at my neck and shoulder.
“Do not move,” he stated in a harsh whisper.
He fumbled in the drawer and produced a knife whose serrated edge he flashed me. I froze in place as he bunched up the cloth where my legs joined and poked into it with the point of the blade. He made a rent in the sweatpants and then sawed through the panties so they flapped away from my pussy. The fabric at the pubis was held in place by the sweats.
His fingers sunk into my cunt, and he spun his wrist and fucked them in and out. They made wet noises.
“Turn around,” he said, and he released me so that I could. The blade went under my sweatshirt, and he sliced through. He knew what he was doing. He pointed the cutting edge of the knife away from me. The cloth tore audibly. When the tip of the knife peered past the collar, the sweatshirt split into halves. After that, he sliced open the sports bra.
“Down on the floor,” he said, fumbling with his trousers.
I had my hands on my knees, legs open, palms facing up, and I waited.
“Kiss it,” he said.
He meant the knife. My face reflected in the shiny stainless steel. I kissed the cold metal. His fingers threaded through my hair. He yanked the roots hard, and he pulled my head up. His fingers forced my mouth open. He aimed the blade past my lips so that the knife rested against my tongue. The blade dragged along the bottom row of teeth. Amadeo held the knife extremely still. I shut my eyes, and I closed my lips over it. I trusted this man implicitly. Very carefully, Amadeo eased the knife free of my mouth and set it on the counter.
My head leaned against the wooden cabinet. Amadeo pushed off the countertop with his hand and throat fucked me with his cock. I made glugging noises. The saliva overflowed my lips and dribbled down my chin. My fingers were in front of me. I rubbed my clit through the hole in my sweats. This was an automatic gesture. My brain concentrated on breathing.
My eyes were directed at the ceiling when he came. The curve of his hand shucked along the underside of the penis. Semen slashed my cheek like a liquid whip.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday January 10, 2012Posted by Leah in Buggery, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups.
Because neither Frank nor I have a place of our own in London, we booked a hotel room near Trafalgar Square. We were together from dinner on Friday through lunch on Sunday. We wandered the National Gallery on Saturday, went to the theater in the evening, and shared five meals. We also exhausted a box of condoms at the hotel. As there is too much sex to tell, I will relate one highlight of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday among many.
I had worn a dress that was too light for the season and left me shivering outdoors despite a thick winter coat that fell to my knees. As I sat straddling his lap in bed, Frank’s hands slid the skirt up my body until my rump showed below the hem. While I held his head by the ears and spelunked my tongue into his open mouth, his fingers secreted themselves under the red lace panties and fondled my buttocks. The hands massaged the cheeks and feathered along the cleft. Fingertips drummed a persistent beat over the muscle at the anus.
First we undressed each other, normally a simple process obstructed by progressions of kisses. It was his mouth I wanted to breathe through, his tongue I wanted to taste, his air I wanted to drink. When his cock was out in the open, the object of my lust shifted a couple of feet downward. Several swift passes lubricated the erection, and then I had him in my throat. Frank kept interrupting my blowjob to pull me up to kiss. He threw me over the mattress. We had a small tickling war that he won by virtue of superior strength. With his weight on top, Frank pinned my wrists to the bed and squeezed my legs with his. Rolling off me, he dragged me back by the legs and heaved one of my ankles over each of his shoulders and plunged his face between my thighs. I held on to the short hairs at the back of his head as he licked and fingered me. My first orgasm of the night arrived this way, through the intercession of that tongue and those incredible lips and that middle finger, which pushed against the clit through the wall of the vagina.
Frank confirmed my suspicions when he asked if he could fuck my ass. I was delighted by the prospect. When the cock slid into my pussy to lubricate itself, I moaned and contracted the muscles of my cunt about the shaft. The penetration behind happened slowly. I lowered on forearms and knees, head sideways on the pillow, and raised my buttocks to him. Initially, the glans elbowed through the sphincter, and after that, he lowered his shaft into me little by little. He rocked his pelvis backward so that only the head remained within, the ring of muscle tight about it like an elastic band, and he pushed forward to claim an extra half inch when next he thrust with his hips. Once the length of the penis stroked into me, I raised myself, grabbed on to the headboard of the bed, and gyrated my ass back at his cock. He held me by the waist and then by the breasts as he stabbed into me.
In the end, we tried a new position. My head was on the floor, and I used my hands to prop my back and buttocks vertical. He stood, knees bent, straddling me, and his fingers slanted the penis downward. High above me, I saw the rise of his back, the tufts of fur between his shoulders, the valley of his spine, and the bedraggled hair at the top of his head. Light gleamed from the sheen of sweat and gave him an otherworldly gloss. He penetrated my anus as he squatted and lifted. His thighs bounced off my buttocks when the cock sunk in, and his balls slapped against my perineum and pussy half a moment later. I reached my hand up to stroke his thigh when he spurted.
Before we went out to see the play, Frank and I took a bubble bath together. The tip of his cock peered above the surface like the periscope on a submarine. My tongue lifted against one of the lobes of the head and curled to fit the curve of his glans. I sucked only the knob, where I knew the nerves were most densely concentrated. My lips nipped lightly at the apron of foreskin at the bottom. Underwater, the heels of my fingers batted at the base of the shaft and at the round projection of his scrotum. I felt the flow of liquid between my fingers and under my palm.
Frank brought his legs out of the water and extended them on either side of me so that they stretched to the other end of the bathtub. His torso lifted perpendicularly and his back reclined against the far wall. One of his hands pressed down against the back of my head to ensure that my mouth would retain its hold on his penis. I clasped the middle of the shaft and sucked hard against the head, pouting my lips to add pressure and friction. My tongue licked lightly along the ridge of foreskin. As he vocalized his pleasure, the water dashed the walls of the tub and made loud splashing noises. He asked that I don’t make him come. I acceded to this request, but I drew out the blowjob as long as possible by humming, buzzing, sucking, swishing saliva over the crown, flicking the tonguetip at the aperture, raking my top row of teeth gently over the helmet, and, in general, varying the stimulation as ever I could. Up close, I liked how the water beaded over the shaft and hung in enormous droplets in his thick pubic hair.
Later, I washed my pussy and rinsed the soap from the labial folds with the showerhead, which I held in my hand and pointed at my pubis. Frank replaced my fingers with his and rubbed from side to side over the swollen, but still yearning flesh. Before long, his tongue lined up and down the slit. He told me that I tasted clean. His nose flattened against the pubic bone as the tongue insinuated itself through the doorway. The fingers pinched the hood of the clit and eased the cowl off to show the distended nerves. I directed the water stream at the juncture of my legs. Eyes closed, he sucked deeper, and he sucked harder, and he sucked so much slower. His hands cupped my buttocks and pulled me to him as the length of his tongue crammed into my vagina. His upper lip brushed against the clitoris, and the air from his flared nostrils wheezed over it. I leaned my weight against the side wall and thrust my pelvis onto his face. The water from the shower pulsed against my bare pubis, dashed around his proboscis, and rolled down in waves over the entrance of my pussy where his jaws now worked. Unlike him, I had no compunction about coming: I could do it forever.
When he fucked me, I sunk into the water with my head propped against the shallow end of the bathtub. One of my legs hooked over the edge and the other lifted in an angle against the wall. His thighs inhabited the space between mine, and his knees settled against the bottom of the tub. The tops of his feet balanced on the taps and faucet at the far end. With my weight displacing the water and also his, the waterline rose until it hovered a mere two inches below the lip. The soap suds left a sea of foam that clung to our bodies.
His cock lodged all the way into my cunt, and he fucked me with shallow strokes. My arms held his waist and steadied his movements, the fingers clenching over the hips whenever he thrust. I groaned my approbation and kissed him. The notes of my ecstasy bounced off the walls and echoed back in counterpoint to the next expressive sounds that escaped my lips.
I challenged him to fuck me harder. The cock vacated my cunt almost totally and sliced through the water in the tub and sluiced back in to the warmth and the wetness of my pussy. The water splashed over the rim leaving puddles on the floor. I folded my arms under my head and pushed off the bottom surface of the tub. My cunt tilted up at him. My breasts floated in the opaque water like volcanic islands. Frank pushed his weight off the sides of the bathtub and fucked me faster. The fluid between us moderated the strength of his movements, but its spray up my pubis to my belly felt exquisite.
I tightened my muscles around the cock as he penetrated me. My eyes squinched shut, and my cheekbones lifted, and I breathed hard through my nose, and my body tensed up, and my arms wrapped his back, and I gripped his shoulders, and I thrust my pelvis up, hard and out, and my chest heaved, and my toes curled against the drain, and my buttocks launched into the air, and it fell again in a great splashdown just as I came.
Frank grunted through my orgasm, and then his resolve gave out. His cock convulsed inside me, which made the walls of my vagina bow inward and buckle. My orgasm intensified one more notch, and I bit his shoulder and beat my forearm against his back. When we sank into the water again, the tub was only half full. Despite the towels on the floor, water seeped between my toes as I stood in front of the mirror and completed my preparations for a thrilling evening out.
In the morning, after we had finished breakfast in the restaurant downstairs, we returned to our room to pack. We stole kisses as we could. While his hands rubbed my cunt through my black trousers, I unzipped Frank’s jeans and wormed my hand into the fly. Descending to my knees, I sucked him before the window. The curtains were drawn apart, and the light sloped in through the glass. Another, taller hotel across the street gazed down at us. I hoped that we would be observed by a guest in one of their rooms, but I doubt that anyone saw, and perhaps the glass was anyway too reflective from the outside for us to be noticed. Regardless of whether we had an audience, I added a bit of theater to the fellatio. My hands made circles under his shirt while my head bobbed over the shaft, and when my tongue caught his semen, I spit it back over the shaft and vacuumed it up again. Droplets of semen shimmered brightly in his dark pubic hair like thick raindrops.
These were memorable days. I hope to see Frank one more time before flying home.
Piss service January 6, 2012Posted by Leah in Buggery, D/s, Fellatio, Repeated hookups, Urine.
Because it doesn’t fit in the last post, I separately relate one further episode regarding my Thursday morning. I haven’t performed a piss service since I left London. Urine isn’t one of David’s kinks. My other erstwhile regulars are now so irregular that there hasn’t been an opportunity for me to play this way.
This is how it went.
We were awakened at six by the alarm. After two snooze cycles, Amadeo and I got out of bed. We had made certain to schedule time for morning sex, but as Amadeo needed to go to the office, it was past time to ready ourselves for the day.
I used the toilet first. I had my legs separated as I sat on the throne. Amadeo knelt in front of me. His palm cupped my pussy. I released in short bursts that covered his hand. He wiped the fingers over my tits and replaced them to collect more of my pee. He slapped my cheek with urine wet fingers when I had finished and made me lick the skin clean.
Then, while I knelt in the bathtub, he stood on the sides and waved his penis at me. I looked up at Amadeo with mouth open wide, expectant, a baby chick waiting to be fed.
He hosed me down. The urine landed on my forehead. I closed my eyes and let the piss cascade down my cheeks. The heat fell along the sides of my nose as Amadeo pointed the flow at my mouth. I gargled his pee. I took a swallow, but let most of the urine overflow my lips. It ran down my throat and landed on my breasts.
Amadeo kicked my shoulder with his left foot. I leaned my body backward against the side of the tub and spread my legs for him. The stream of piss landed on my pubis. I peeled the pussy lips open so that my cunt gaped up at him. He urinated into it. After that, he shook the last drops free. They landed on my thigh.
When he had finished, I held the piss inside as long as I could. My body tilted forward as I sat. While the urine sloshed out of my cunt, I ran my fingers over the labia. I licked my hand to taste him again. Then I fellated the cock. Amadeo left the bathroom briefly to retrieve condoms and lube, which he poured onto my ass and smeared on the sphincter. The tip of a finger penetrated me and coated the ring of muscle with lubricant. Suppressing a heaving reaction to the horrid taste of latex, I sucked him again.
He sodomized me. At some point, he turned on the shower. Like the sex, the water was scalding hot.
For auld lang syne January 6, 2012Posted by Leah in Breath play, Buggery, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups, Spanking.
Amadeo cooked. It was a five course meal: antipasto, primo, secondo, contorno, dolce, with a bottle of Chianti Riserva. We caught up over the meal. I had missed talking to him. I asked whether he has a new girl. He laughed and said no, but he is back on Craigslist looking to see if he can get lucky a second time. I offered to write him a reference. He hasn’t been entirely celibate since I left London, but then neither have I. With me, David focuses on bondage and, to a lesser extent, pain. I have missed the other faces of dominance.
After the meal, we went to the bedroom. Amadeo sat on the edge of the mattress and rolled up his sleeves. I stripped out of my top and my jeans in as sexy a manner as I could. I sat on his lap and used my ass to coax his penis to hardness. Amadeo shifted the hair to the side to expose my neck. His tongue licked the nape and descended to the shoulders. His hands cupped my breasts through the white bra. He undid the clasp and slipped his palms under the cups. His teeth nipped the side of my throat. The back of the thong covered hardly anything at all. The string bisected my ass. He pulled me backward by the elastic ringing my hips and kissed me possessively. The tongue in my mouth was confident and knowledgeable.
When he stripped, he wanted to whip me with his belt, but I asked him for a barehand spanking instead. I wanted the touch of skin against skin. I had missed sixteen Wednesdays with him. Moreover, I had missed his birthday, which was at the end of September. He made up for the lost time. I was over his lap for an hour. I squirmed. I shrieked out in hurt. I cried. His hand made the skin burn. The blows were sudden. He put the strength of his upper body into them. The solidity of cock under me aroused my pussy even as the powerful slaps to the buttocks caused pain. To moderate the stimulation a little, he rubbed his fingers over the lips of my dripping cunt. A wet hand seems to hurt me more than a dry one: there may have been an ulterior motive. I called him a motherfucker after one particularly hard strike. The next ones were harder. He kept hitting the same places repeatedly, to augment the intensity of the experience. Every so often, he raised my ass and stooped to lick and kiss over the spaces where his hand had landed. On occasion, these kisses morphed into bites. The skin was already tender. I felt the points of the canines and incisors. The endorphin rush was immense whenever Amadeo would recommence after a pause. He stopped only because his hand hurt too much to continue. I kissed his palm and the tips of his fingers. I sucked the digits one by one, slowly, as though each were his cock. I thanked him. I liked that his vigor had marked my skin.
In the morning, in the shower, with bruises still evident, Amadeo would fuck my ass. His foot would press my face against the tub while hot water beat upon my back from above and spiraled down the drain under my head. For the moment, he sent me to my knees.
My buttocks, which continued to blaze — in some places with a diffuse ache, in others with a throbbing hurt — hovered above my heels. Before I started sucking him, he filled the cup of my hands with his expectorate to lubricate their touch on his cock. I supplemented this by smearing the wetness leaking from my cunt onto his balls. Foreplay was brief. I hadn’t tasted his cock in so long. I was greedy for it. The flat tongue trailed along the sides of the shaft. I licked the underside from the pedestal to the crown. The pinch of fingers eased the foreskin down, and I softly kissed the glans. The salt of his precome instilled in me a condition of absolute longing. I wrapped my lips about the bulbous knob and lowered. My face rotated as it sunk. It wasn’t long until I had the penis installed deep in my throat. Pushing off from his thighs, I swallowed him repeatedly from the tip to the root. My spit waterfalled down his balls. Amadeo’s hands tweaked my nipples. He reached down between my legs for my cunt, which was sopping.
Amadeo found a use for the belt. He folded it in half and extended the leather against the back of my head and pulled with his arms to keep his erection ensconced in my throat. I fellated the cock until he came, and I showed the semen in my mouth before I swallowed.
If it had been nearly four months since I had tasted him, it was also almost four months since he had tasted me. Amadeo feasted between my legs, but he told me I wasn’t allowed to orgasm until his cock occupied my cunt. I gripped the sheets and held on. His tongue squeezed between the labial folds. He tugged them with his lips. He scratched the evening shadow on his cheeks over my sensitive, waxed pubis. I loved how his fingers pressed against the G-spot to bring the clit into prominence. He lapped at the distended nerves. The hood peeled off. His lips sucked hard over the nub. It was the points of his teeth that did it. When he bit, I shrieked. My ass bucked up from the mattress. The pleasure of cunnilingus had made me forget about how sore my buttocks were, but the friction reminded me as my ass slid laterally over the bed. My body tensed. I groaned and came despite my will.
Amadeo found a second use for his belt. He brought it over my pussy ten times in succession to punish me for coming too quickly and without his consent. Each time, once I had finished flailing, I caught my breath, thanked him, and in my best Oliver Twist voice asked for more. This made him chuckle.
Afterwards, Amadeo was beyond hard. He rolled a condom onto his shaft and entered me from above. A much missed cock attached to a much missed man plugged my pussy. I wrapped my arms about his back, and I hugged him to me. The sense of completion, the sense of fullness, the sense of belonging overwhelmed me. I wept. More so than the spanking or the blowjob or the cunt licking or the pussy whipping, this brought me to a submissive place. Through the veil of my tears, I beseeched him to fuck me. I spread a little more and enfolded my legs about his thighs.
Amadeo admonished me in his strict voice to ask him for permission to come this time.
He knew what he was doing with his cock. He had come once already, so on the second pass he could hold out on his orgasm. When I asked him for permission, he denied me. The first time he slowed a little to help ease me away from the edge. The second time, he showed no such mercy. “Not till I say yes,” he said, and he fucked me harder and faster. His hand covered my throat and squeezed.
Under his weight, I groaned and wailed. I balled my hands into fists and beat them against his back. I gritted my teeth and absorbed the force of his thrusts. The tears did not stop. After one minute or two, I asked him again and was rebuffed a third time. His tongue entered my mouth. My back arched up. My nails dug into his shoulders. I restrained myself from climaxing.
“You can come,” he said soon after, though I didn’t make a fourth request. Another couple strokes of the piston inside me was all it took. I squirted with his cock inside. The ferocity of the orgasm, a convulsing of the vaginal muscles and the release from deep inside expelled his penis from my pussy. The jet of ejaculate launched out of me like an arc of fireworks. After the initial spume, the waters escaped me like a river spilling its banks. The flood left his bedsheets drenched.
Amadeo laughed, and then so did I. He replaced his erection in my cunt and proceeded to fuck me again. My orgasms came continually after that. The little ones were frequent. These were small tremors in the vaginal walls and near the lip of the pussy. The middle ones were the G-spot orgasms produced by the friction of his cock in its slippery, sliding movement inside. The large ones came as sprays. The liquid coursed around the obstruction of his penis and squeezed through the circumference at the opening. Though less explosive than the first gush, these overloaded my nerves. It was an excess of pure physical sensation, but it was also an emotional release. I let go.
Time lost meaning. Amadeo may have fucked me for another half hour or it may have only been a few more minutes. His body tensed. His arms extended and locked and kept the weight of his upper body above my chest. I saw the rugged sinews in relief. He closed his eyes tightly, and his forehead scrunched in concentration. His thighs drove the pelvis down. His pelvis kissed mine as the cock imposed itself to the root. The shuddering of the penis set the walls of my vagina to quaking. I tensed and had one more orgasm of my own. He kissed me gently in its aftermath. The hair on his groin tickled my pussy.
About David January 3, 2012Posted by Leah in Bondage, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups, Spanking.
A reader asked about David. This is how we met.
David contacted me on OkCupid, where both of us list casual sex among our interests. We traded a couple of messages on the site, then moved to e-mail. In the course of the conversation, I explained that I was a bedroom submissive in search of kink. I was seeking a relationship in the best case scenario, but would be happy to have a regular play partner. He preferred the latter arrangement. Like me, he had learned the ropes of bdsm on the scene, but indulged exclusive in private play these days.
On our first date — drinks and dinner — David and I hardly spoke of sex at all. As such meetings often are, it was a tad awkward to start, but we warmed to each other in time and lingered over dessert. I appreciated his intelligence and lightning wit. We took a walk along the river, and he saw me to the T and gave me a kiss on the cheek at our parting.
He called me on a Sunday night that weekend, and we had a two hour conversation about D/s. His views are compatible with mine. It’s a fun way to play but isn’t a lifestyle. It arouses me beyond measure to submit to a strong man. I’m a pain slut, who enjoys the powerlessness of bondage. The psychology of submission appeals far more than the paraphernalia. Safeword and condoms are mandatory impedimenta. He and I ended up having phone sex.
When we met up a second time, David and I negotiated boundaries over coffee and cake and proceeded to his bedroom. He undressed me and tied me up. My forearms were bound to my lower legs just above the ankles. My head dangled off the edge of the mattress. He had me arch my back off the bed and separate my knees as far as I could manage. David slapped my breasts and spanked my pubis. He beat me with a wooden spoon and with a riding crop. He stood on the mattress straddling me and dripped candle wax down from a height. With his weight on top of my body, he tit fucked me. With a vibrator inserted in my cunt, he ate my pussy to orgasm. I screamed pleasure through the panties that were stuffed in my mouth and the bondage tape over my lips.
David ripped the tape from my mouth, extracted the panties, and replaced them with his cock. As he throat fucked me, his hands mauled my tits. I was upside down, and the blood rushed to my head. I took his come shot over my face. He spanked my pussy again with the riding crop and made amends for the pain by fucking me to a state of euphoric senselessness. I came repeatedly and begged David to deliver his orgasm to me.
We have been quasi-dating ever since. When I am tied to his bed, he kisses me softly and whispers a promise to hurt me, and I whimper at the thought, but by the end of the session, inevitably, I am the one asking him for more pain because the accompanying pleasure is so much greater that way. Our friendship is not exclusively based upon bdsm. We go to old movies together. He is a professor — different subject, different university — and was helpful and encouraging during the job application process.
I met his other lover once. She’s a social worker, in her thirties. They were at a cocktail lounge. David saw me at the bar and waved me to their table to join them for a drink. She and I didn’t compare notes about our common dom, but I saw the rope burns on her wrists.