Leah Lays London

A candle in my cunt October 12, 2010

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.