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A farewell to Frank September 25, 2010

Posted by Leah in Anilingus, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups.
13 comments

Another of the things I haven’t written about is my friendship with Frank. I believe in the buddy part of fuck buddy. I wouldn’t have bedded with him throughout the summer if our personalities had clashed. We usually have dinner on the days we play. We watch a movie on the laptop. We kiss and cuddle on the sofa, drinking beer, telling stories. He stops by my office sometimes, and we disappear for a coffee. We can talk for hours, before sex and after.

Frank leaves for Oxford this weekend. We said our goodbyes on Thursday. The university is two hours and eleven pounds away, so it’s not as though I won’t ever see him again — but I won’t see him as often, and I will miss him.

We went to bed after midnight. My body rested on top of his, pinioning him to the mattress. Eyes closed, tongues touching, lips nipping, our faces rotated endlessly. He reached up my shirt, slipped a hand under the bra, and held my breast. Legs scissored against his, I pressed my pussy at the swelling at his groin. Later, I sat straddling him, running my hands over his bare torso, fingers tracing the lines of the muscles in his arms and chest. I kissed and licked, memorizing with my lips the patterns of the plates, the way he tasted and smelled.

When I pulled off his jeans and underwear, the cock stood before me like an obelisk. I pressed it flat against the pubis and belly and kissed his balls. My tongue rasped over the light scattering of hair that covered the scrotum. The testicles were well defined in the sac. I saw them in the dim light and sucked each one. I masturbated his shaft while I swished saliva around the bulbous head.

Frank sat up. Once he had pulled my shirt off, I fed him my breasts. He unbuckled my belt and dragged my jeans down to my knees. The panties followed. He rolled a condom on his penis and fucked me from behind. His hands toyed with my nipples and my clit. I moaned in pleasure, at the tightness of my movements, constrained as I was by the denim. We didn’t cycle through a panoply of positions as we usually do to prolong the sex. He thrust into my cunt the ten or so minutes it took for my pussy to cream, rode the orgasm out, and detonated soon after. I removed the condom, finished undressing, and sucked him to hardness again, fingering my clit as I did. Another condom dressed over the erection, and I was a sky walker as he brought his weight on top of my chest.

In the end, I had him lie on his stomach. I sat on his buttocks and rubbed my hands over the muscles of his back. The kisses started at his ear and dropped to the neck. The tongue followed the line of the shoulder. I lifted his arms and sniffed his armpits and kissed along the flank, down on the left side, crossing over at the bottom, and reversing direction on the right. My nose drew zig-zag sketches on his broad shoulders as my lips pressed wetly over the soft skin. The tongue followed the ridges of the shoulder blades that stood in prominent relief on either side and swept down the valley of the spine to his buttocks. I bit his ass cheeks and soothed the teeth marks with kisses and tongue.

Positioning him on elbows and knees, legs apart, I nosed into the divide of his rump. The hair tickled my chin. The cheeks spread on either side of me and warmed my face as I made love to his anus. The tongue washed around the winking pucker, relaxing the muscle so that I could push the tip past the sphincter. My hands reached under his balls and stroked the cock while I kissed his ass. Though he wriggled beneath me, I took my time in licking and sucking him. I made sure that the climax was slow in arriving because this was something I had introduced him to and also his new favorite.

A window is not a door September 25, 2010

Posted by Leah in Autobiography, D/s.
6 comments

A reader asks: would it be fair to say that your life revolves around sex?

No.

It would be fair to say that my blog revolves around sex. This is what I choose to write about. You are viewing me through a misshaped lens. To use a dubious analogy, think of a Picasso painting where the genitals are magnified and distorted. Can you call this a representational portrait?

I don’t tell about my studies, my research, or my work. This is why I am in London, however. It occupies most of my time. It is an intellectual challenge and a thrill. I am lucky to have this pleasure in my life. I don’t tell about the oddities of academia. I don’t tell about playing the non-skin flute in a pickup orchestra. I don’t tell about hanging out with friends, exploring the bookshops, going to the museums, seeing plays, or experiencing the vibrant music scene I have discovered in this city. I don’t tell about wandering the streets on weekends or trying new cuisine. I don’t tell about evenings in pubs drinking in the company of friends and colleagues. I don’t tell about shopping with my girlfriends. I don’t tell about home, or how I miss it.

I tell about fucking. This is undeniably a significant part of who and what I am. But there’s more to a person than the sex that is had. Even in what I write, I don’t enter the emotional or confessional mode often. A prism bends the light and separates the colors. You’re seeing but one hue.

Sex is anyway not essential the way food is, so my life doesn’t require it. I have had celibate stretches in my past. But I enjoy fucking and don’t see the need to deprive myself anymore than I see a need to live my life without music.

Is triple penetrated oral, anal, vaginal?

Yes. It has been asked several times now, so I might as well say a few words.

When I was an undergraduate discovering my sexual persona, I tried out the local D/s scene — i.e., sex clubs and sex parties. I met a couple of decent, trustworthy, playful doms who guided me through a sequence of sexual discoveries. The scene was an exuberance for someone still new to sex and kink. I prefer one on one now. My last time in a club was three years ago — it was a dungeon theme. I left after half an hour. The excitement had vanished.

At twenty, I participated in gang bangs. I have had double digit cocks in me in a single night. I had seen double and triple penetration in porn and wanted to try it out.

Being multiply penetrated is an exercise in geometry. It is not easy to get three or four people moving in tempo. Sucking a cock while being fucked from below or behind is the easiest. Having a cock in the pussy and anus at the same time is more tricky. Invariably a penis slips out, and we need to pause to reposition ourselves. The fullness both ways is amazing. It hurts somewhat to begin. But usually, there is so much going on that the adrenaline overwhelms the discomfort. I feel replete when plugged front and back. The third cock in my mouth to make me watertight completes the tableau.

I envision doing this again. But it is not a priority. For threesomes, I prefer female-female-male to female-male-male.

I’m interested where the pleasure comes from.

I am an alpha personality. I am fastidious and in control over most facets of my life. Sex is where I let go. Pleasure derives from offering my body and allowing it to become a projection of my partner’s will. The decision to be submissive is a conscious choice. But here, as on the blog, I reserve the last word. I retain a veto. This isn’t theoretical: I have used it. I also have ideas of my own. Sometimes I am guilty of topping from the bottom. A dominant needs a formidable personality to tame me. Physical submission is not the same as mental submission. The latter yields the better high.

The pleasure comes from novelty. The pleasure comes from doing things differently. The pleasure comes from challenging my body. The pleasure comes from pain. The pleasure comes from giving my partner pleasure. The pleasure comes, very rarely, from the vastness of a subspace. (I was there most recently on days six and eight of my boyfriend’s visit.)

There isn’t one answer. I have more to say about all this here.