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Hallowe’en October 30, 2010

Posted by Leah in Fellatio, Fucking, Random hookups.

My friend Sara told me about a Hallowe’en party on Friday night at a club she knows in the southeast. Deciding to save my better costume for a second party on All Hallows Eve, I choose the old standby, going as a schoolgirl.

I confess: the Lolita look is not the refuge of art, but the solace of women a decade older than their youths who ought to know better. The white lace bra shows through the gap left by the unbuttoned upper buttons of the crisp white shirt. The breasts overflow their restraints and spill over top. Only the middle button of the shirt is secured. I knot the remainder below the breasts to exhibit the narrowing of my waist, the flare of my hips, and the tightness at my abdomen. The shirt is one size too small and close fitting against the back and shoulders. The sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. In addition to the clasps, I fasten the skirt, which wraps around, with a decorative safety pin over the flap. The hem stops an exact two inches below the buttocks and bounces behind me when I walk. The shortness of the skirt, the way it hangs loosely, and how, by design, it doesn’t quite close conspire to bare most of my left thigh. I have no right to the gray and blue tartan patterning on the cloth. White socks rise above my knees. Black Mary Janes with shiny silver buckles latch over the instep and complete the outfit. I am a cliché.

Sara dresses as a nurse in white vinyl. The upper bar of the red cross zips over her tits. We shiver in the line outside, but are admitted paying one cover for the both of us.

I dance. The skirt jumps as I move. My hair is knotted in pigtails. I wave it at the men in invitation. A few grab hold of the braids and wave them back at me as we rock together to the heavy beat. Perspiration makes the shirt go damp.

As the night advances, I am rutted against and pawed. Hands assess the swerve of my spine and the small of my back, the swells of my breasts and the slope of my belly. Fingers climb the shelf of hip and step up the ladder of ribs. One man slides his hand under the shirt and into the bra. He holds the nipples between his fingers. Multiple others squeeze the hemispheres of my buttocks, testing the flesh like fruit, some with the layer of fabric between us, some without, their grip skimming over the rump from below. The boldest slip a hand under the skirt where it splits. As long as they are fit, I make no attempt to stop them. I bend at the knees and elevate. I shake my rear and flow with the rhythm of the music.

A scrap of cream colored cloth covers my pussy. The ties to the side are thin as twine. The connecting string in back disappears into the crevice of the buttocks. The lips of my freshly waxed cunt notch the cotton. I feel the press of fingers over me. Wetness collects on the pubis.

I don’t know how many men I kiss or whose tongues I swallow.

Early in the night, I lose track of Sara in the surging crowd. I hope she has hooked up. I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t.

The man I select has me lower my weight onto his thigh. The skirt covers me while I ride. The friction is exquisite. I wear his fedora while we dance. He is dressed as a Chicago gangster and carries a water pistol in the pocket of his pinstriped suit. In the club, he squirts into my cleavage. Before the sun rises, I fellate his gun. He squirts into my cunt.

La bella Susana October 28, 2010

Posted by Leah in Blogroll.

My friend Susana started blogging recently. I look forward to reading about her adventures. I encourage you to visit Be rough with me.

Note added: Sadly, this site has disappeared. Fleshbot reposted one of Susana’s stories, “All it takes is a summer dress.”

An unfortunate fuck October 25, 2010

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fucking, Masturbation, Random hookups.

The first time he came was at the club where we met. I danced aggressively with several of the men there. He sidled up behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist. Before I ever got a good look at him, the gyrations of my ass had raised his erection. It rode against the small of my back when I spun my hips. Closing my eyes, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around the back of his head behind me. He kissed the nape of my neck where it met the shoulder and clasped his hands around my midriff. I turned when the music did and decided that I liked his look. I shimmied my body down to a crouch on the ground rubbing against his chest and legs as I descended. I bobbed my head over the space in front of his crotch and used handholds on his body to bring myself up to my full height again. He held my hips and slapped his hand possessively over my buttocks. The hands slipped under my shirt and tightened on the sides of my ribcage. We fucked through our clothes for the duration of several songs (snogs).

The club was only a big room with flashing lights, a DJ, a bar, and a mob of people. We procured drinks and found a dark spot by the wall where we continued kissing. My hand snaked into his fly as we exchanged saliva flavored with lager. The hard-on made the briefs bulge out. My hand rubbed along his length. He told me after a minute that if I kept this up, he would come in his trousers, so naturally, I kept it up, sucking on his collar as I did. I doubted he was twenty. I figured that his balls were full of sperm. The shaft twitched under my fingers. I pressed my palm against the pulsing head. Thick come soaked his underwear and made my hand sticky. When I licked my palm, the scent of bleach filled my nose.

My place was nearer than his, so we proceeded there. His cock had a hair trigger. He couldn’t fuck or eat pussy worth a damn. He came two more times and wanted to keep going through the night, but as I wasn’t deriving any pleasure from the sex, I said I was tired and needed to get up early in the morning.

Thankfully, he didn’t spend the night.

The content of their character October 24, 2010

Posted by Leah in Gallimaufry.

A reader asks: do you ever fuck black guys?

I deliberately avoid documenting the race and ethnicity of my sexual partners. When I allude to these points — most often, I hope, in an if you’re not reading carefully, you won’t notice sort of way — it is because the contrast between my partner and myself was momentarily striking and the mental image of the difference registered later as I set fingers to keyboard to capture the experience.

As I state in several of my CL ads, I don’t use race, ethnicity, or age as filters in selecting partners. Literacy and intelligence and attitude and imagination and good conversation and having an intriguing life and a sense of humor and a curiosity about kink are sufficiently many character traits to localize in one person without demanding more. With zero exception, however, I need to be attracted physically to proceed to bed. Conventional good looks help, but there are enough deviations in my taste that I can’t point to a physical type. While I sometimes want a huge cock and unending stamina, these are not necessary criteria either. Competence in bed and the ability to dominate a willful personality sexually exist separately from the attributes of the genitalia. Race and ethnicity neither contribute to nor subtract from the balance.

I make no claim to being free of unconscious biases in the choices I make. Who we find attractive is shaped by our social influences and also the kinds of people with whom we interact regularly and form friendships. I like to believe I run with a diverse crowd and that skin color and nationality don’t inform who I date.

To answer the question directly, yes: I have fucked black guys. I prefer to formulate this differently, however. I have fucked guys who I found interesting whose skin tone happens to be a darker shade than mine. I have assumed the submissive role with them. It has happened in London. I won’t say who. I am not going to catalog my lovers this way or indulge in stereotypes.

Amadeo October 21, 2010

Posted by Leah in Anilingus, Breath play, Cunnilingus, D/s, Masturbation, Repeated hookups, Spanking.

I met up with Amadeo, the man from Sunday, a second time last night. He has style.

• His apartment is located on the third floor and is reached via winding stairs from the level below. He followed me up. Because he had mentioned that he liked women wearing high heels, I had worn them, which I don’t normally do. The steps exaggerated the sway of my ass. Halfway up the flight, Amadeo reached his hand between my legs. Fingertips extended to the pubis, his palm cupped the curve of the perineum, while the heel and the wrist rested on the upward swerve of the buttocks. I stopped with the feet on different steps and clutched the railing while he looked up at me from below and stroked my pussy through the tight fitting black denim jeans. When he tugged the waistband of the panties up from behind, the covering over my cunt jammed into the slit. I liked the press of his fingers against the fabric, how the cloth indented and folded and bowed and disclosed to his touch the shape of my furrow. I liked the press of his lips to my ass, how he shook his head from side to side and rubbed his nose at me.

• Amadeo took me on a whisky tour of Islay. Ardbeg, Bunnahabhain, Caol Ila, Lagavulin, Laphroaig: the sounds are as exotic and dark on my tongue as the tastes. Each time, he took a sip from his glass and explained to me what he experienced on his palate. Then he had me drink. Beneath the overpowering smoke and the smell of peat, I recognized the delicate undercurrents of spices and berries and woods and fruits and the scent of flowers and the sea. A drop of water in the dram exposed still more layers of flavor beneath. In the end, Amadeo took an immense swallow of the seventeen year Ardbeg, which was distilled when I was no more than eight and playing made up games with girls whose last names I no longer remember and running from boys who tried to catch me on the playground instead of hurling myself headlong toward them as I would do in the seasons that followed. He tilted my head and kissed me, spilling the whisky from his mouth into mine — along with his tongue, of course. I reclined into the cushions of the sofa, sinking to my side and then lowering myself horizontal so that his massive frame fell atop me. The kisses continued without pause. He gripped me by the throat, the strong fingers depressing the skin and muscle, the clutch of the hand constricting my breathing while his lips muffled my voice.

• When he had finished undressing me, he wadded my thong into a ball and stuffed it into my cunt. He let it remain there, leaving me full inside, while he sprawled on the floor and licked my lips and diddled my clit. I was ready to shatter after a few short minutes of the softly insistent tongue, the silky saliva, the pads of the fingers holding the pubis taut, and the pincers of his nails and his pointed teeth, but, as he refused me permission to let go, I closed my eyes and fought the orgasm back. Hands balled into fists, I beat at the carpet as I restrained the force that yearned to burst. It was a long ten minutes before he gave me his consent. He counted the ticks off one by one, all the while working me with his lips and fingers, until, at last, he acceded to the increasingly urgent pleas, the moans, and the tears. It’s what I deserve for telling him that there are times when orgasm denial causes me to fountain, and though this time it didn’t, the orgasm nevertheless shredded through my insides and ripped me apart. Afterwards, he stole his forefinger and thumb into the ruins of the cunt and ripped the cloth from my pussy with a sharp tug. The movement set me off again. The waters of orgasm had drenched the fabric, turning the vivid scarlet a dark and deep burgundy. He had me hold my mouth wide open and stick out my tongue while he wrung the drops of wetness from the cloth for me to drink.

• He sat on the sofa and stroked my breasts and face with his feet. I tasted the thick skin of the dusky soles, and sucked his toes five at a time.

• Amadeo painted my ass crimson with his bare hand while I stretched myself over his lap and squirmed and sobbed. After the spanking, he bit my buttocks. He ran his tongue over the marks of his teeth and kissed the raw flesh to soothe the anguished nerves. My red eyes and runny nose were artifacts of the past as the lips migrated from the rump to the shadowed valley between the hills. He had me hanging from the sofa, head pointed to the ground, my face reddening with the rush of blood, while his hands stretched my asshole open. Lips teased the creased halo of muscle. Cords of spit lowered into the winking anus. My sphincter gripped his tongue.

All this pleasure he gave me, and I have not once, until now, mentioned that magnificent cock!

Busy weekend October 17, 2010

Posted by Leah in Craigslust, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fucking, Random hookups.


I am at a house party on Friday night. The liquor flows in torrents: beer and wine and substantially stronger spirits. I have more than my share. I converse in giggles. The laughter is unceasing.

Many of my friends are paired up. Jeremy holds my buttocks while we dance. His fingers shuck my skirt up my thighs. He tries to cup my cunt. I displace his hand. I know that he hopes to go home with me. I disappoint him. He sees me making out with some boy I don’t know in the shadows.

Sometime after two, Sol and I sneak into the upstairs bathroom together. I press him against the wall and make an attempt to eat his face. He matches the grip on his neck with powerful fingers that claw at my ass. Loosening his belt, I bring down his pants and tug at the cock. Once I have him erect, I fall to my knees long enough to place a condom. My arms hook around his shoulders as he lifts me onto the vanity. The two of us are lip locked. The khaki skirt bunches at my waist. I push my weight off the sink as he fucks me. My heels kick at the backs of his thighs. He grips my hip and braces my back and thrusts his pelvis out. He moans desperately. His mouth hangs open when orgasm strikes. His face is painted even more deeply with surprise and pleasure when I invert the condom and lap his come.



My pickup band has its monthly concert on Saturday night. The music is Mozart’s and Haydn’s. An after-party follows the performance. Of course there is plenty to drink. Of course I get plastered.

I depart with another wind player.

To play an articulated passage on the clarinet, the tongue lifts off the reed and back onto it while the fingers remain motionless. The fingers move during the silences, which are enforced by the tongue sustaining pressure on the reed to halt its vibration.

To play legato, so that there is no space between notes, the tonguing is absent. A single breath as the fingers move, and the notes are slurred.

He plies his technique upon my sex.



“Get on your knees,” he tells me on Sunday afternoon. The time of caresses has passed. This is his voice of authority.

His cock hangs in front of the scrotum. Though I want to reach for it and make him hard, I keep my palms flat on my thighs. The knees wing apart to expose my cunt. I straighten my back in order that my tits protrude.

He takes his wallet from the table, extracts a five pound note, and flings it to the ground. “Are you my whore?” he asks.

The symbolism of the gesture turns me on. I pick up the scrap of paper. “I am your whore,” I concede.

He grabs both of my wrists and brings them over my head and crosses them. My hair falls across my face in a thick curtain. I keep my head pointed submissively floorward as he knots a blindfold around my eyes. The sudden blindness enhances my other senses. I hear the bare feet padding on the carpet around me. I smell his maleness when he positions me, legs together, back hunched into an arch, the spine flaring out. My forearms are on either side of my head. The wrists are still crossed.

He tilts my ass up. Fingers squeeze into my cunt. The entry is tight as my knees are touching. He spins his wrist and thrusts the fingers swiftly in and out. My cunt makes loud sucking noises. I tighten the muscles inside, offering him friction and drag.

“You’re so wet,” he informs needlessly. I know I am dripping. I have been ever since he kissed me at the tube station.

I roll my shoulders, relax and wait. Hands jostle my thighs apart at their apex. The latex of the condom rubs against the bulging labia. I fall forward, breasts flattening over the carpet, when his cock plows into me.

Two in one day October 15, 2010

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fucking, Repeated hookups.

I woke up this morning in Gavin’s bed. After my afternoon interlude with Dr. Williams, the horniness remained unabated. I masturbated myself while replaying the encounter mentally.

Lately I have been ignoring Gavin’s texts, but last night I accepted his offer to hook up a second time. We shared a bottle of wine at his place. The clothes came off. The best was when he had me stand on two chairs, legs positioned wide apart. He placed himself between them, and I lowered my pubis onto his face. His tongue stretched inside my cunt, and his jaws chomped. My pussy gushed.

Office hours October 15, 2010

Posted by Leah in D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups.

I sat on the floor across from his open door, legs upright. He was in his office with undergraduates, answering their questions about his lecture. It took him a few minutes to notice me. Behind his desk, he smiled. Positioned as I was, he saw into my bouncy black skirt. I had removed my tights in the toilet when I arrived and balled them into my backpack along with my sweater. The panties were bright white, silky, shiny, and nearly inconsequential; they showed as much of the lips as they covered. My chest pressed forward, brushing against my thighs, as I read an article and waited.

In ten minutes, he had ushered the students away and invited me inside.

“I was in the neighborhood,” I told him, as I deposited the backpack by the bookshelf. In fact, this was an impromptu visit.

He shut the door and locked it.

I went to my knees. He pulled the cock from his pants and stuffed it into my mouth. Almost at once, the thickness and the quality of the flesh transformed. Once the prick was erect, I rubbed its length across my upturned face. I kissed his balls. He didn’t want a prolonged and sensual experience, however. His penis stabbed past my lips. Hands fisted in my hair and controlled the movements of my head. The crown muscled into my throat. It caused my neck to bulge. He pounded his cock at me, smashing my nose, rendering my lips swollen and puffy. The hard floor bit into my knees and the top of my shins.

The telephone rang. Saliva spilled over my chin when he withdrew the penis from my lips.

“It’s my publisher,” he whispered, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. “I absolutely have to take this call.”

Hastily, he buttoned his trousers and fastened the zipper.

The last time I had visited his office, I sat under his desk and sucked his cock and masturbated myself with his feet while he Skyped with colleagues abroad. It is easy to vary the stimulation to keep a man on the brink of an orgasm. I had taken him to the edge repeatedly, but wouldn’t let him complete. This time I decided he would erupt while on the telephone. As before, it was his job to command his reactions during my blowjob.

He dug papers out of his briefcase and sat in the rolling chair at his desk. I placed myself between his legs, unfastened his pants, and continued.

Sitting parallel to the desk, he mostly listened on the telephone, answering the woman on the opposite end of the connection only in monosyllables. Because his hands were tapping away on the keyboard, I was bereft of his guidance. He was distracted by the conversation anyway. The hardness of the erection diminished perceptibly. I did not wish to lose his tumescence. I abandoned the gentle tease of the tongue around the head and along the underside and forced the glans back inside my throat. Swallowing around the gag reflex, my lips made a tight seal about the shaft, and I bobbed up and down as hard and as fast as I could. His pelvis magnified and receded as my head descended and retreated. The shift in the field of vision made me dizzy. I shut my eyes while I worked him. Fingertips batted at the sac.

Whatever else he may have been thinking about, the stiffness returned to his cock. His grip tightened on my shoulder to steady himself. Eyes closed in extreme concentration, he wheeled the chair forward and backward minutely as the head pressed at the back of my throat.

I allowed the cock to slip out momentarily. It made a satisfying pop as I pulled it free of my lips. I looked him directly in the eyes. “I want you to come for me,” I whispered. “Come in my mouth. Come for Leah.”

At hearing these words, he jerked the phone away from his face and gave an expressive groan.

Once more, I face fucked the shaft rapidly. The glans burst into my throat within half a minute.

Semen leaked from the corners of my lips. It dripped onto the floor and splattered the side of his shoe. I swished the come in my mouth and spread my jaws to show him the briny whiteness that had coated my tongue. I gargled and blew bubbles with the come before swallowing. Bending low to the ground, I vacuumed the seed from the floor. The side of a finger swept the leather sole of the shoe. My tongue ran along the edge. I didn’t want his spendings to go to waste.

Harsh breathing had resonated above me during my oral ministrations, but he had remained otherwise silent, successfully schooling his responses and concealing the fact of fellatio from his publisher. After cleaning his penis with kisses and long, catlike swipes of my tongue, I stroked the shaft back to nearly maximal hardness and placed a condom at the edge of his desk.

“I will wait here,” I said, assuming the seat opposite the table. I brought a foot onto the cushion of the chair and hitched my skirt up. Drawing the panties to one side, I fingered my pussy. His stare bored into me while the index finger spun tight circles around the clitoris. The blowjob had me galvanized already. The state of being on display for this man, exposing myself to him, showing him how I liked to masturbate myself multiplied my arousal ten thousand fold. My fingers swam in my cunt. I could have creamed at any instant, but deliberately chose not to let go. The wet, squelching sounds, which were perfectly audible over the voices on the telephone, and my soft and desperate moans filled the office. He stroked his penis while he talked to his publisher.

Once he hung up, he was instantly over me. He dragged me from the seat and threw me over the desk. Piles of papers crashed to the floor and scattered. Pausing only long enough to roll the rubber on, he filled my pussy. An ecstatic groan escaped my lips on entry. It felt so good to have his cock inside me at last.

“You be quiet,” he insisted, and cuffed my cheek with flattened fingers.

I placed his hand on top of my throat. “Fuck me,” I demanded. The penholder on the desk clattered to the floor.

He placed one leg against his shoulder. The other hooked around his back. My buttocks was at the edge of the desk. I gripped the side of the table while my lover rammed into me. As he pummeled me with his cock, his hand constricted my neck.

Because I had not allowed myself to orgasm while I masturbated, a swift climax seized me straightaway. The muscles in my pussy collapsed around the shaft, wringing it. Since he had spermed only half an hour before, while his thighs tensed, he managed to forestall the incipient explosion. His movements became frenzied though. The desk shook. I liked its solidity, how the wood was rigid and unforgiving beneath my back. He clutched the ankle of my black leather boot and pulled the right leg down against him as he penetrated my pussy. Heedless of the admonition from before, I squeezed my tits through my shirt and moaned loudly. The scent of sex was heavy in the air. It blanketed our exertions.

“Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me,” I chanted. I compressed my vagina about the shaft.

The cock was relentless within me. When I came a second time, the muscles kept on twitching. The nerves in my pussy were alive with vibration. The discrete instant of climax stretched out into seconds. My cunt flooded. The orgasm went on and on, the walls squeezing the cock beyond any conscious volition. The aftershocks were also endless. Their ripples continued for minutes afterwards.

His eyes glinted at me. His underarms were dark with sweat. I noticed the muscles in relief under his shirt. I saw the animal lust in his face. He bared his teeth. His jaws had clenched. The lips sprayed spittle. “Oh, you slut!” he named me.

“I am your slut,” I agreed. “Use me. Take me. I want your big and powerful cock to own my cunt.”

He grunted.

I clenched the front of his shirt and compelled his body down. “Harder. Fuck me harder,” I begged.

He responded by speeding up his movements. Then he deliberately slowed down. “I am going to come, Leah.”

“Yes, please: give me your come. Come in my tight little pussy. Come inside your dirty slut. Come. Come for me. Just come. Please.”

He ceased holding back. He hammered me with the cock. The surface of the table rocked below me.

He shuddered when he bottomed out. His balls slapped against my buttocks as they emptied. The explosion electrified the lines of my body. I felt it in my cunt and in my spine. I shivered under the force of paroxysm in a near orgasm of my own. My legs lowered so that they dangled from the table, and I pushed off the top of the desk with my hands. My arms wrapped his back. With my chest pressing against his, I held him through the last of his spurts.

Once we disentangled, I unwrapped the penis and cleaned the package up. I sucked the semen from the sides of the shaft and rubbed the soft glans over my cheeks and forehead. My hair was disheveled. I was a complete mess. I straightened up as well as I could and made my exit. The next time, whenever that might be, I promised to let him spank me again.

A candle in my cunt October 12, 2010

Posted by Leah in Boyfriend, Masturbation.

I prop myself on my elbow in bed. My hands squeeze my breasts while the boyfriend relates the adventures of the last week. She was on her knees and bent. Her back arched like an extended bow. He had the arrow poised. Her jeans were still fastened, but they were halfway down her thighs along with her panties. She hunched over the backrest of the passenger seat while he fingered her tight little hole. His middle finger insinuated itself to the knuckle, and he slapped her ass. They pushed the chair flat. The car shook in the parking garage while they fucked.

Another day. Another pussy. He led her around the apartment on a leash, made her fetch and sit up and roll over. He had her rehydrate herself after sex with a bowl of water set on the floor. Arms made fast behind her back, her tits were whipped. His bitch gave him a blowjob without hands while he pinched her sore nipples. My boyfriend took his lover to our bed. He teased her for an hour with a vibrator buzzing against the clit and his tongue and fingers toying with her pussy. He brought her to the brink of orgasm many times before finally giving her permission to come. She thanked him with her body. This girl is my friend: I introduced her to the boyfriend nearly two years ago. I know how she tastes. My finger runs along my slit. I smear the wetness over the sentinel standing watch above the valley beneath.

The dildo is to my side. The boyfriend asks me to plug my pussy with it. The knob is the thickest part. I press it against my lips and add a twist. The toy is ten inches long perhaps, ridged on the sides, with a red patterned swirl frozen into glass. The shaft sinks in, an inch, half an inch, a bit more each time, until I swallow two-thirds of its length. The knob doesn’t vacate the petaling of the pussy as I raise my hips from the bed. The glass is cool against the muscles to start, but the temperature equalizes with its surroundings. The wetness in my cunt, the pleasure of being penetrated, the words spoken in Boston encourage my arousal. My knees are peaked on either side and well separated. My fingers diddle the clitoris as I fuck myself harder and faster. The muscles clench and release about the transparent dildo. I wish it was a cock — one cock in particular.

The webcam points to my face. The boyfriend sees my head rolling from side to side. He hears my moans, the imprecations: Oh, shit! Oh, yes! Oh, fuck!

“Your cunt belongs to me,” he intones, and I believe him deep in my synapses.

After I have creamed, I take a good look at myself. My thighs are sticky. The pubis is slick. There is a wet spot on the quilt below my cunt. He instructs me to clean the dildo with my mouth. I look into the webcam and suck the false penis like it’s his cock. My tongue swirls around the knob. I lick my juices from the sides of the shaft. The surface of the glass is thick with my spendings. I hold the dildo vertical, lift my head, and accept it into my throat. My cunt tastes salty and sweet.

I take a deep breath. Finally, I sit up. Legs crossed, thighs resting atop the balls of my feet, with a sad sigh, I tell the boyfriend I should go, that I will take a shower and then do some reading. He asks for another half hour of my time. He wants me to fill up the tub and bathe instead. He will join me, he informs.

I position the laptop on the lid of the toilet and incline the screen at the tub. The curtain to the bath is open. I bring a waterproof vibrator and a red candle with me. I have the faucet running, so he can’t hear me from across the ocean. But he can see. I squat over the edge of the tub. With my legs planted far apart, I push the candle into my pussy until only the top two inches stick out. When I stand upright, it looks as though I have a small, erect penis.

I leave the lamp above the sink on, turn the ceiling light off, and slip into the tub. He can’t see what I am doing, so I tell him. I fuck my pussy with the candle. The circumference is thick as a cock. It reaches about six inches inside me.

I light the wick.

My feet are perched on either side of the taps. The pussy tilts up, supporting the candle. I rotate it inside a little further. The water splashes my body. Movement extinguishes the flame, so I relight it. The fire hovers an inch above my pubis. I feel its soaring heat in my nerve endings. The wax spills over the edge and dribbles down the sides. It catches the sensitive labia. The wax is hot, but not painful on the flesh. I press the vibrator against my clit and watch the fire dance.

The boyfriend tells me he is masturbating, too. The room is dark. The gradient of the screen is such that he looks ghostly. I lean across the railing and blow him a kiss.

My fingers have a careful hold on the tip of the candle. I jostle it horizontally. The shadows on my thighs and belly are fantastic.

He asks me to drip the wax onto my breasts, and I oblige. I attempt to paint a cock over my chest. Eventually, I abandon the candle and spin the knob on the vibrator to its maximum setting. I piston it in and out while I direct the hot water stream from the showerhead at my clit. The orgasm is glorious when it arrives. My boyfriend’s voice completes the experience.

A sudden redness October 9, 2010

Posted by Leah in Craigslust, D/s, Fucking, Spanking.

The fourth story window opens to the street. My head is outside. The chill hits my face and breasts. It vivifies me.

I am aware of the details of my surroundings, conscious of my situation and my nakedness. Cars line the curb. Wind rustles the leaves on the tall trees in the small garden across the court. The crescent shaped cut of road itself lacks human activity. But I hear voices and the growl of automobiles on the nearby thoroughfare. The sound of laughter carries through the air. I glance up at my wrist, at the watch my parents gave me. It reads 4:30, more or less. The paint on the lintel is worn.

He views me from behind, surveying my body from every angle. His touch smooths over my back and shoulders. A finger trails along the run of the spine. He palms my ass, one cheek gripped by each hand. A shoe kicks lightly at my foot. It coaxes the legs apart. He squats and stares up at my cunt from below. His fingers graze the moist lips.

Coltrane plays on the stereo. I sway to the rhythm until a police siren breaks my reverie. I catch his eye over my shoulder and smile shyly.

He lifts to his feet. The worn leather scrapes against the denim of his jeans as he slashes the belt free. The buckle makes a jingling noise.

I stand with knees locked and legs spread. My ass juts out where I bend.

He positions himself to the side. The belt is folded in half. He brings it over his hand, catches and releases. The leather makes a soft slap. The gesture repeats.

“Ask me for it,” he says conversationally.

“Whip me,” I tell him, after a moment’s hesitation. I feel the heat in my cheeks, a sudden redness. My palms sweat. Sometimes it embarrasses me to have to ask.

I screw my eyes shut and wait to feel the movement of the air in back and hear the woosh of the belt an instant before I experience the blow in my skin and muscles and nerves. My grip tightens on the wood at the side of the window. I wonder if anyone is watching.

The anticipation and nervousness are the first pleasures of the afternoon. Though I scream through the window, the pain and the endorphins and the tears are the next, followed closely by the orgasm that his fingers draw from my eager cunt when he has finished. The cock entering my pussy while he grasps the sore and stinging buttocks and I clasp the window frame for support is the fourth. This time I scream for a different reason entirely. The last and greatest thrill is the emptying of his balls.

I like that I have given this man pleasure with my body. From my knees, I kiss the inside of his wrist. I place other kisses on the heel of his hand, on his open palm and the fingers to thank him.