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Twice more December 23, 2010

Posted by Leah in Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups.

Frank came over around eleven last night. He brought a bottle of Portuguese wine, some munchies, a DVD, and a fresh box of condoms to replace the one we had finished on Monday.

He laid on the couch in sweatshirt and jeans, while I snuggled with my back to him, wearing pajama bottoms and a ratty t-shirt with my undergraduate university’s name blazoned on the front. Inevitably, as we watched the film, his touch crept under my clothes. Draping my hair over the shoulder, he exposed the nape of my neck to his lips and pecked laterally to the clavicle. Fingers tweaked my nipples, causing them to harden. He covered his hand over my pussy like a lid. Wriggling my ass at him, I felt the rise of his erection.

I fell asleep with my head pillowed on Frank’s shoulder and his arm wrapping me. The blankets were a heap at the foot of the bed. Perspiring from the effort of sex, the skin was drenched. Hair stuck to my forehead in wet tendrils.

In the morning, when the alarm function on his iPhone woke us, my body had curled into a fetal position facing the wall. Frank rolled himself onto his side, lowered a sleep heavy arm over my flank, and hugged me from behind. Grumbling incoherently at the early hour, my right leg lifted automatically so that he could fit his knee between my thighs.

The tips of his fingers rubbed my pussy lips. A finger stretched inside. It touched the walls and spun and was joined by a second. I twisted my body so that my back lay flat on the bed and tightened the grip of my legs on his.

The fingers drove in and out. They made moist sounds inside. The cunt gave suction and squeeze. I released a moan more eloquent than the attempt at speech from before.

Frank fingered me to climax. My back arched out like a stone bridge. My jaw lowered, and my head rolled on the pillow. Frank webbed the hand that wasn’t in my pussy over my face and dipped his finger in my mouth for me to suck and lick and bite down on. The grip on my head obscured my vision. The walls of the vagina buckled. The nerves jolted inside. The muscles in my thighs wrenched. Toes curled. The orgasm sluiced between his fingers.

That woke me up. Another day had begun, and soon one more fuck.

Once more December 21, 2010

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

I lowered the curtain on the blog too early. Thanks to the snow and the ineptitude of British Airways and the airport authority, I’m stuck in London. With luck, I fly on Friday morning.

Laying London continues. Amadeo made it back to Italy before the winter madness hit. But Frank is in town. We had dinner, and he spent the night. We fucked, but mostly we cuddled.

He and I shared the shower in the morning and returned to the bedroom wrapped in our towels. As I put on my bra, I noticed Frank, still naked, bending in the mirror, drying the backs of his legs and his feet. The cock swung from side to side. I needed to have him one more time, so I went to my knees. He hardened between my lips.

He sat on the bed and spread his legs for me while I sucked him from the floor.

I pointed the penis vertical and licked the underside of the shaft with zig-zag swipes. Frank reached into my bra and rubbed his fingers across a nipple. Today, his glans was especially sensitive, so I focused my attention there. I filled my mouth with saliva and swished it around the crown. I darted my tongue at the foreskin and circled the glans. My hands tugged at his balls. Nose nudging at the sac, the lips described the shape of his testicles.

When he laid back and positioned himself lengthwise on the mattress, I joined him on the bed. He propped his back up with pillows and pushed stray locks of hair behind an ear. He watched and sighed as I continued a slow and methodical exploration of his cock and his balls and the insides of his thighs. The lips pecked softly at the pubis, which he keeps trimmed. I squinted one eye, then the other down the length of the erection. The crown and scepter filled my vision. I signed my name with the point of my tongue.

Frank unfastened the bra to touch my breasts. While I sucked him, he reached between my legs and stroked my lips, and having coaxed the waters from my cunt, brought his hand out to pinch my nipples with pussy wet fingers.

Fingernails scraped over his muscular thighs. I took him into my throat.

I don’t know how long I fellated him. Whenever the tone of his breathing changed, I slowed the tempo or shifted my attention someplace else. He had his legs swaying in the air while I rimmed his anus. I took his toes in my mouth and rubbed my pussy against the soles of his feet. I used the moistness that escaped me to lubricate the twisting movements of my fingers along the shaft. I gripped him hard, like I do the rail on the tube when I can’t find a seat. I squeezed the shaft between my breasts.

In the end, I let the come blast onto his belly, below the navel, where the scattering of hair is more dense. Tongue swiping through, I placed kisses over his abdomen and lapped the semen from his skin.

Frank curved his hand around the shaft and stroked it. Taking it from him, I deposited tiny kisses along the bottom surface. Nose following the shaft to the pubis, I breathed over the erection. I cooed to the cock and spoke to it, thanking the penis for the semen that it had given me.

There was a bit of the whiteness to the side of my mouth, on the left half of my chin. I smeared it over my cheek and my lips, used it for moisturizer and lip balm. As I write, I wash my tongue over the upper lip and taste him still, the smallest touch of salt on the skin.

Intermission December 19, 2010

Posted by Leah in Gallimaufry.

Weather permitting, I return to the US this evening. I fly back to the UK on January 14th. Over the next weeks, I’ll visit family in New York, then go home to Boston. During the Massachusetts period at least, I expect to fuck around, with the boyfriend for sure and probably with others as well. I don’t intend to relate the various exploits, whatever they may be. The title of my blog, after all, is Leah Lays London. More to the point, I need a break. I need the hours away from a computer. I need to decompress and recharge.

I hope my readers stay safe during the holidays. I hope the winter nights have their compensations: a bed bespeaking home, warm blankets, someone to share them with, and a massive wet spot in the center of the sheets. I hope 2011 is an excellent year for us all.

Take care of yourselves.

Be brave.

Make love.

See you in the New Year!

What Jean heard December 19, 2010

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

I went out Friday night wearing a little black dress. I felt like enjoying another woman, so I visited a gay bar that a friend in the orchestra had recommended. I picked up Imogen there. She was two or three years younger and looked cute in a frilly red top and tight blue jeans. She was short, 5’1″ or 5’2″ in her flats, with a tiny chest. Tresses of blonde hair fell to the middle of her back in plaits. She worked in the technical side of theater. We couldn’t go back to her place, so despite the company sleeping on my sofa, we returned to mine.

Jean noticed us when we arrived. Through the closed door of the bedroom and the flimsy walls, this is what he heard.

Kissing: I couldn’t get enough of Imogen’s lips. They were soft to touch and delicious to taste. I traced the line of her shoulders and combed my fingers through the shiny, silky hair. Her tongue flicked at mine just inside my mouth. I caught it with my teeth and gently nipped. Pushing her flat on her back, I straddled her hips. Hands slipping under my dress, she squeezed my buttocks during the infinity of kisses which followed. I splayed my fingers on the sides of her face. I cupped her head and drank deep, thirsty draughts from those red, red lips.

Mouth covering her throat, tongue licking stripes over the blood vessels etched in relief under skin and muscle, I squeezed her small tits. Imogen had unzipped the back of my dress during the evolution of our kisses. Breaking contact just long enough to lift the dress from my shoulders, I threw it to the ground and fell on top of her clad only in a black bra and thong panties.

Undressing: Imogen sat up. At once my fingers shucked the shirt up over the tits. She hadn’t worn a bra. She didn’t need to. The nipples were tiny pebbles. I kissed each of them, sucked hard against the nubs, thick and swollen with the rush of blood. With my tongue spinning around the areolae and teeth scraping over the sensitive nerve endings, she held my head to her chest. The grip demanded a stronger touch, and I complied.

She nursed at my breasts as well. Wetting the nipples through the fabric of the bra, her lips tightened and released over one breast while her hand did the same over the other. She made deft work of the clasp in back. Deceptively powerful hands compressed and kneaded the flesh. She was a woman. She knew how rough she could be with a pair of tits. I loved that she mauled them, pinching and twisting the nipples. She bit down on me while she made eye contact. I adored the depths of those brilliant blue eyes.

When I had her top off, she leaned her back against my shoulder. I pulled the scrunchie from her head and loosened the plaits so that her hair fell free, the color of the gold the miller’s daughter had spun. The scent of flowers hit me and the softness of the memory of long summer afternoons running barefoot in the dewy grass.

Pulling away from me, Imogen broke this reverie. She stood on the mattress and peeled off her jeans. Her panties were next and mine followed.

“Stay just where you are,” I said. “Don’t move.”

I sprinted the two meters to the dresser and withdrew a slender vibrator from the toy drawer.

Fucking: Kneeling on the bed between her legs, I proceeded to feast. My hands smoothed over her thighs.

I sucked on the plastic vibrator to lubricate it and set it to purring against the pussy lips, which were also tiny. From her standing position, Imogen bent her right leg at the knee and kicked her foot off the wall. I squeezed the vibrator inside and fucked it in and out. Imogen was an uninhibited screamer. She made noises of ecstasy. I pounded her pussy with the toy and attacked the clitoris with my lips.

Her cunt had flavor. It tasted like sushi, like sangria, like fruit one day past the point of maximal ripeness. It had the salt scent of the ocean, sand castles on the beach, a sunset over water.

Squatting on my knees, I faced the far wall just as she did, and I tilted my head up. We clasped hands. Holding the rounded base of the vibrator in my mouth, I fucked her this way, using my face to stab the false cock into her cunt. Then I abandoned the toy altogether and pressed my mouth directly to her pussy.

She lifted her leg by the ankle to wing herself open for me and sloped her body against the wall. I stretched my arms up to cup and caress her tits.

My tongue slipped between the folds and became wedged there. I brought it up hard against her clit and repeated the movement. She moaned, grunted, and shrieked and pushed her weight down, smothering my face with her wet pussy. I kept licking, becoming frustrated when she wouldn’t come.

“How do you orgasm?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had one,” Imogen stated.

I pulled her down to the bed and kissed her to forget my sorrow.

Foreplay (continued): Imogen laid on top of me. She mouthed my breasts. Her lips pecked at the curves. She kissed my belly. The way her tongue licked at my navel presaged what followed. The tip spiraled around the edge and stretched gingerly into the depression. Taking me by surprise, she sucked hard as she grasped the tits above. I gathered her hair in my hands while her lips covered my nipples. She looked at me while she sucked. I took her into my embrace to kiss her some more. My tongue followed the patterns of her tattoos.

Rolling on the bed, we felt each other’s pussies out. I liked the sensation of being inside a new cunt. I enjoyed the warmth within, how fluid her membranes were. I delighted in how the muscles gripped me, and the squishy wet noises I made as I drove the fingers in and out.

Whereas I explored her interior, Imogen played with my cunt without penetrating. First, she used her pointy fingernails to separate the pussy lips. The heel of her hand then rubbed against my pubis. She tugged and pulled and torqued the lips beneath. The pad of a finger brushed repeatedly over the slit. The sticky wetness poured from me in a thick syrup. It covered her hand, and she brought it to her lips to smell and taste. I slipped my tongue past the bars of the fingers and had the flavor of myself from the side of her mouth.

Eventually, my legs separated. The press of hands sent her down.

Being eaten: She tongued over my newly waxed pubis. Positioning my legs vertically in the air, she stooped to conquer. Her tongue flicked at the folds. She spit over the meaty and thick labia. Using her fingers for paintbrushes, she smeared her saliva over me, mixing new colors with the wetness that had seeped from the pores and spilled from my cunt.

Imogen blew over my clit and used her nails to tease the hood down. The tip of the digit slathered the wetness over the rigid bundle of nerves. Her index finger blurred as she licked. It was exquisite, how she lapped and touched. I panted expressively. Moaning, groaning, whispering obscenities to the girl, beseeching her for more, I pushed myself in the direction of orgasm.

My hand twisted through her long hair. I wound it around my palm and seized the reins to pull her to me. She licked diligently. Five minutes passed, or possibly ten. The nerves she activated rejoiced in the contact of lips and fingers. I constricted about the two digits that probed me and squirmed at how she took the clitoris between her teeth and tapped on its roof with a dexterous tongue. I clutched the purple sheets on my bed. She forced the orgasm from my folds.

Fingering: Once I had come, I felt a profound sense of debt. I buried the sensation of pity at her inability to orgasm with the impetus to pay her back with what pleasure I could. This was the only currency I possessed, the only exchange of any value.

I positioned her on all fours and rubbed my hand over labia, perineum, and asshole. The heels of my fingers dragged over the folds. I used the wetness from my own cunt to layer moisture over her pussy. My touch rolled over her in circles. The middle finger cleaved past her lips. I dipped it inside, curling up against the G-spot, pressing at the nerves there. I spun the tip as though I wanted to leave my prints over her walls. My mouth lapped at the sensitive expanse of skin between her two openings. I nosed at the anus, biting the flesh of the buttocks to either side. I needed to excite her in every way I knew.

Two fingers squeezed into the cunt. I fucked them in and out, twisting at the wrist. With my free hand, I rubbed the outside of my pussy, just as she had done before. With a finger on either side of my clitoris, I used the friction and pressure to excite myself. Both of us were moaning, she more so than me.

Imogen peered at me from between her legs and blew me a kiss. Bringing herself upright, she rocked on her hands and knees and pushed back at me while I fucked her. She groaned and hissed. Her pussy made wet suction noises.

My hand moved harder. I kept a constant tempo but penetrated deeper inside her cunt. I spanked her buttocks and kissed the red imprint my palm had left on her skin. Teeth sunk into the flesh of the ass. I caught the foot Imogen curled at me and bent to swipe my tongue over the sole. Working my way up the back of her leg, I determined to eat her again.

Eating: I started from behind, insinuating my face into the gap of her thighs. Lips covered the slit and kissed. I also lapped Imogen’s asshole — over, around, and through the taut ring of muscle — while my thumb worked the gate of the vagina.

Imogen fell over on her side and lifted one leg up in the air. A trimmed thatch of dark hair covered the pubis. The patch provided a soft cushion for my nose. It had as well absorbed her smells. I took deep sniffs of her musky scent.

She held the sides of my head while I tongued and smooched at the opening. With lips clamped upon her labia, I twisted my face. My tongue fluttered against the entrance. I rolled it into a cylinder and poked it within. I fastened my mouth to Imogen’s pussy and jawed at her with the lower mandible. My head turned to keep the points of contact in movement as I sucked the juices from her cunt. Lifting a hand to reach for a tit, I flattened her chest.

The sounds of her gasps filled the room. Her hand brushed through my hair. She gripped the scalp to keep my face permanently affixed to her cunt. She needn’t have bothered. I was not going anywhere. It simply wasn’t an option. I loved her taste. I loved having my face buried at the joining of her legs. The fifteen minutes I spent devouring her this way, even if the cunt stubbornly refused to come, was the climax of my evening.

69: Imogen had me sit on her face. Her arms wrapped my thighs. The hands held the buttocks. I rubbed my pussy over the bony chin and shifted it backward to her mouth. I smothered her in my heat.

Tipping myself over, I lowered between her legs. My head hung down. I used my fingers to pull at the two sides of her cunt and make the skin taut. My tongue licked at the folds. Little globules of spit trailed down the sides of her slit. It was a mental struggle to concentrate on licking pussy because the pleasure she provided to me was so overwhelming. The tension in my loins left me without speech. The musculature corded up in my back and in my thighs. I shook my feet to keep them from cramping and drifted forward and backward on elbows and knees like a rocking horse. I fucked her face.

The vise-like grip she had on my thighs tightened. Somehow, Imogen managed not to suffocate under the weight on top of her head. Her tonguetip dashed against my clit. Lifting my chest up from her belly, I spun my hips over her head. I used three fingers to fuck her pussy while her tongue threaded the lips of my cunt. I liked how sticky she was inside. The thickness of the waters that layered the walls of the vagina lubricated the rapid movements.

Both of us gasped incoherently. Imogen’s moans were muffled by pussy.

Whisky: After my multiple orgasms, which I felt guilty about because she had none of her own, we sat on the bed and kissed. Our fingers worked each other’s pussies, and we brought them to our lover’s lips to taste. Departing the bed just long enough to grab the nearly empty bottle of Dalwhinnie from the shelf, I took a swig and passed it over to her. The touch of whisky contrasted on the palate with the richer flavors of cunt.

I tipped the bottle to the side and poured whisky on her breasts. The alcohol was cool on the skin; it made her giggle. The flow of liquid left a path along her sternum and down the abdomen. I splashed drops over her nipples and also her pussy. My tongue followed the stream from source to delta. The admixture of whisky and sweat and pussy juice tasted like the ambrosial nectar of the gods.

Imogen tilted the dregs of the bottle over my mouth. She licked the Dalwhinnie where it had fallen, around my lips and down my throat. I had it from her tongue, the breath of a dragon.

We rubbed each other’s cunts and kissed endlessly.

Tribbing: The kisses ended with Imogen flat on the bed, except for her legs, which peaked as mountains. I sat between them, as though on a saddle, and scissored one of my legs to either side of one of hers. Lips kissing, the pussies pressed together. I rolled my hips and danced my cunt above while my fingers seized her nipples and pulled. Imogen raised her lower body from the mattress to drive her pubis against mine. We continued like this until I came. The juices flooded from my vagina into hers.

Afterwards, we laid on the bed, one of our heads at either end. I had a foot on top of her left breast and hugged her right calf to my cleavage. Each of us extended the free leg fully, stretching along the flank of the other’s body. With this geometry, we rubbed pussies, rutting at each other through the moans, desperate to touch everywhere, to improve the contact, the drag, the thrust, the movement, and the pressure, to feel it just a bit differently, from a slightly better angle.

After one more orgasm, I laid kisses on her shin while I recovered.

We sat up and kissed and toppled over again and kissed some more. The last I remember of the night is huddling my body next to hers under the quilt. Her arms reached around me and grasped my breasts.

I was woken in the morning by languorous kisses. She nursed at my nipples and reached a hand between my legs. We rutted, one on top of the other for a final time.

I have Imogen’s number. I gave her mine. I hope to look her up when I return to London in January.

Slut wear December 18, 2010

Posted by Leah in Masturbation.

My roommate’s little brother is visiting from France. He slept on the fold-out bed in my living room. I came home last night with a girl I picked up at a bar. We had sex and weren’t remotely quiet about it. This morning, the roommate asked with a smirk whether I’d had a good night. I stuck my tongue out at her. Though he is twenty, the boy blushes like an adolescent.

At the moment, the two of them are off exploring London in the snow. They invited me along, but I had to say no. I have a long checklist of things to take care of before I depart for the US and a flute to practice before the evening’s concert.

As I sat down to work around noon, I noticed Jean’s boxer shorts balled up underneath the sofa. There is an enormous come stain over the crotch.

I am wearing the boxers now. I have pressed Jean’s dried up semen over the lips of my cunt. I have slid the flannel past my opening. I have touched my clit with it. The caked up come is abrasive against my skin. I fucked my pussy with my fingertips pressing through the cloth. My flood has soaked the fabric.

I intend to masturbate again, fucking my dildo — the one with a suction cup base — through the gap in front. I will wear Jean’s boxers awhile, then dry them on the radiator, and replace the underwear as I found it.

Asking for it December 16, 2010

Posted by Leah in Bondage, Cunnilingus, D/s, Repeated hookups, Spanking.

My arms were made fast behind my back with a white woolen scarf tightened about the elbows.

The leather cat-o’-nine-tails sat on the mattress beside me. He had asked me to grip his left hand while the right lowered the whip over my shoulders and back. I winced and whimpered at the blows, but I neither cried out nor cried. As the leather kissed me, a vibrator buzzed inside my cunt.

Turning me around, he whipped my breasts. I screwed my eyes tightly closed as the skin sang an anthem of agony.

Amadeo secured my ankles to the bedposts and offered me respite by fingering my pussy and licking the lips. Then he stood on the floor, surveying me on the bed, spread out before him like a continent to be plundered.

Eyeing the brown leather riding crop, I indicated speech through the ball gag. He loosened the tie and first of all tilted a water bottle at my lips. Having slaked thirst I hadn’t realized I had, I said my piece and then waited.

I want you to hurt me.

The plea bounced around my skull and reverberated until, at last, the tip of the riding crop struck my clitoris.

Striking out December 14, 2010

Posted by Leah in Masturbation.

I wasn’t desperate to get laid, but I wouldn’t have said no to an appealing proposition.

I spent the afternoon at a café near the university, laptop and books on the table, reading and working. I was by myself, busy, but amenable to company. No one thought to bother me.

I spent the evening at my local. I went alone. After a few minutes of conversation, I judged every man who hit on me supremely uninteresting. Every man I considered cute enough to hit on myself, I also thought tedious to talk to.

The dildo will have to do me at bedtime. I plan on cock tomorrow. I will wear a buttplug to ensure I spend the hours before squirming in anticipation.

The Xmas party December 13, 2010

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

Sara and I met at my place for dinner and pre-drinks drinks before heading out for the clubs on Friday night. On the way to the tube station, we passed by a hotel two blocks from my apartment building. Inside, unusually, the lobby was swarming with people. I had worn a dressy casual outfit — a dark green sweater top over a tank top, which was a still darker shade of green, a black knee length skirt, stockings that reached to mid-thigh, heeled shoes. Sara looked sharp as well. As we appeared to fit in, we decided to crash.

It was the holiday party of a big multinational.

We knew no one, but we nodded and smiled and pretended and lost ourselves in the throng and made conversation about nothing in particular, trading gossip about our imaginary colleagues. Sara hooked up before eleven with a man in a stylish suit. She said goodbye to me before departing the party to continue her evening in a hotel room several floors above. I boozed up on martinis at the bar, trading drinks off charm.

My phone said it was eleven thirty when I resolved to make a move. I had been there almost two hours, and I knew that Sara must have gotten laid in the time she had been gone. I wanted sex as well — after all, that was the point of our going out.

Returning from the toilet, I meandered through the large room — less crowded than before, but still busy — looking for possible assignations. A man who I had conversed with earlier had said he was a programmer on the web design team. I remembered him for his caustic wit and his superior knowledge of American sports. We chatted some more, and I suggested that we wander a bit.

In a bathroom downstairs, a room with a lock, the two of us half-stripped. Skirt and panties puddled by the sink, my high heels sat on the countertop, and I padded around in black stockings. He lost the jacket of his blue suit and his trousers. I pulled him to me by his unknotted tie; the kisses saved us from drowning.

My back and arms were braced against the wall with my thighs tight against his chest and the calves dangling from his biceps and shoulders. He threw me backward, his body slamming me into the unyielding brick. The force of impact when the cock bottomed out and dragged me up jolted the muscles in my back each time. As he fucked me, gradually, my weight shifted down: my arms wrapped his neck and his head while my legs hooked around his waist and crossed at the ankles. He came with my body pinned by his cock, the cunt compressing about him and milking the orgasm out. I didn’t come, but that was ok: he had made me sweat.

We dressed and parted, and I think he left the party soon after that.

My night also ended in a hotel room, with a balding, slightly overweight, and bespectacled middle manager. I accepted his invitation because I liked the baritone voice and the booming laugh and the wry sense of observation. Naked, he stretched out on the bed, and I fellated him from my knees from between his feet, which were rooted to the floor. Afterwards, he positioned me on the mattress on all fours and licked my pussy, squeezing his tongue and fingers into the tight spaces. While he fucked me doggy style, he pressed his fingers to my lips for me to lick and suck. As well, he fucked me from behind, lifting one leg in the air, the grip of his hand tight below my knees, as I laid on my side and twisted my arm off the bed to thrust back at him. I came from how his cock pounded me, and he exploded into the condom just after the aftershocks of my last spasm.

On the second round, he had me straddling him, my hands pushing off the woolly thighs behind me while he held me by the waist and bounced me up and down over his erection. He had me in missionary position, with my nails clawing his back and my cunt constricting about the shaft in orgasm. Then he had me on top again, facing his feet this time, and the backs of my thighs ricocheted hard off the fronts of his, and the flesh of my ass shook at the collision with his groin. He pulled off the condom and fucked my tits, his rigid shaft sliding against the sternum while I pressed the breasts together and narrowed the cleavage to squinch up the passage. The semen exploded over my face, leaving streaks of white in my hair. After I had cleaned up in the bathroom, I said my farewells and went home to slumber under the blankets of my own bed.

The green-eyed monster December 11, 2010

Posted by Leah in Gallimaufry.

I have a story to tell. I had sex last night. But before I share, as I am asked about these topics frequently, I thought I would write a post about jealousy and envy.

I want to distinguish the two emotions. I experience jealousy when I covet what another person has and feel resentful of this success or achievement. I experience envy when I wish that I had the same good fortune as someone else and resent its absence. They both arise out of longing and yearning, but I think the two feelings are subtly different. Personally, I struggle more with the latter than with the former. I am not so much jealous of my boyfriend or his lovers as I am envious, especially now when the Atlantic separates us.

I have discussed aspects of my open relationship before. The boyfriend has a pair of regular lovers, who he sees (separately) a couple of times a week, and the very occasional random hookup as a bonus with any other women he may find. In London, I see Frank when I can, Amadeo about once a week, and have frequent casual liaisons.

Whereas we may be envious of what happens in a one night stand and jealous of the frequency, this is fundamentally non-threatening by virtue of being a transient encounter. The lover is disposable. The sex is unimportant. The cock I find serves its function as an autonomous dildo. He uses a woman as three convenient holes for his penis. This applies even when the date incorporates elements of kink.

When a relationship exists — what I have written about with Frank or Amadeo, for example — or what the boyfriend has with his lovers at home — jealousy, envy, and even rage arise sub rosa. They stab at the left side of my chest. The pangs are momentary. They go away. The feelings dissolve when I intellectualize the set up. I want a diversity of experiences and a stable foundation. My boyfriend wants the same. We are each other’s bedrock. Our others enable sexual variety. One person can’t provide everything. This is a way to scratch the different itches.

In principle, we have discussed a veto over each other’s regulars. In the end, we decided that trust alone suffices.

There are emotional bonds with our steady extras. I want to please my regular lovers in bed more so than I do a one night stand. I am fond of them as people. We are friendly. Our personalities mesh well. I enjoy their company. We do more than have sex. And the sex is more than just fucking. The foreplay and the afterglow and the conversation are integral parts of the whole. This is as it should be. A reason to have a regular is that friendship and familiarity improve the sexual experience.

The boyfriend and I are open at communicating what happens — not all the details all the time, but enough. Personally, I like to know as much as possible. When the boyfriend speaks explicitly about his adventures, I often masturbate. I started the blog so that he would acquire a sense of my London. Our experiences pop up in conversation all the time. Sexuality is so much a part of our personas that it seems normal when they do. The arrangement is weird only in that one of his lovers is also one of my friends. I introduced her to the boyfriend as a fellow kinkster. Though we have messed around as a threesome, most of my interactions with the girl are social and professional. It can be a little freaky knowing, while we are chatting about a perfectly ordinary topic, that on the previous afternoon, she had begged my boyfriend to have her clit spanked while cuffed naked to my bed and had been rewarded for her tears with permission to suck his cock and swallow his semen. I like her, so it’s ok.

Sex isn’t a competition. (People can suck at it though.) I don’t mind that the boyfriend also gets his orgasms from other women, sometimes in the D/s context. There are things that we do only with each other, for example, going bareback. There is a part of him that is reserved only for me, and also the reverse. We are closer with each other than with anyone else. I can live with that.

The line in the sand is love. Both of us fall well short with our others. I am far from monogamous sexually, but I focus like a laser where it concerns the intensity of my affections. If one of us were to fall in love with someone else, then, at that point, he or I would need to make an irrevocable choice between the options. I am not at all comfortable with divided loyalties. I’d rather lose the boyfriend than share him this way. For my part, I am constitutionally incapable of having two boyfriends at once. Polyamory isn’t an option from any direction. Indeed, I worry that Amadeo may be growing too attached to me. We will sort this out in time.

The arrangement I have is unorthodox and irregular and complex. But it works. The human mind is plastic and adaptable. It gets used to the unusual. We have fun.

In the shower, we get dirty December 10, 2010

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

— 1 —

He laid in the tub, legs extended, with his back propped up against the side. I sat over his thighs, my pussy hovering over his flaccid penis. Two fingers splayed on either side of the lips of the cunt, I pulled the skin taut, and tilted the pussy upward. The stream of urine released over his cock. It doused the shaft and ran down his balls and disappeared under his legs in the direction of the drain. I made sure to soak his skin with my pee. The fluid wetted the insides of my thighs as well. Because I had been drinking and hadn’t used the toilet for several hours, the piss stream went on for at least a minute. I was conscious of the elongation of time, the hiss of the spray, his breathing and my own in the otherwise still room.

When I had finished urinating, I backed myself down to his feet and lifted the cock from where the elephant trunk had folded over, all drowsy and droopy. I nosed him awake. Fingers curving around the shaft, I brought the foreskin down and wiped my tongue over the glans. Open lips dragged along the sides of the cock. I lapped my acidic urine from his flesh. I kissed the groin and sucked hard, vacuuming up the piss that clung to the hairs of his pubis and beaded over his skin in tiny droplets. As I brought my mouth over the penis, it stiffened agreeably between my lips. I wanted to suck him, to chase the pee with semen, but he wanted to piss over me first.

— 2 —

We swapped positions. I was recumbent in the tub with my head flat against the bottom surface and my legs stretched out over the edge. Amadeo stood, one foot precariously balanced on each side of the tub. The cock pointed down at my face. I opened my mouth, jaws spread wide, stuck out my tongue to provide him a target, closed my eyes, and waited. The water fell over me from high above. The warmth of the drops that sprinkled my body made me squirm and shiver in the cold tub.

As my mouth filled with urine, I gargled his piss and swallowed most of it down. It tasted bitter and tart. As he continued, my mouth closed and the tongue forced the piss out so that it waterfalled over my cheeks and chin and neck. I did this repeatedly. Rolling my head from side to side, I made sure that the stream would land everywhere over my face. I took it from my sternum and brought it down over my breasts as though I was using his urine for washing.

“Drink, mia cara,” he told me. So I opened my mouth again and let it fill up with piss and made a seal with my lips. My cheeks ballooned, and I took a massive gulp and knew his heat as the urine went barreling down my throat.

I held on to his calves and ran my fingers over his feet as the water stream diminished at last to a trickle and then stopped. Opening my eyes, I had a vision of the man from below, towering above me like a god on Olympus. Amadeo shook his cock, and the last of the drops splashed below my breasts. The locks of my hair had became drenched in urine as the dregs spiraled down the drain.

— 3 —

When Amadeo pulled me up, before he would let me take his cock into my mouth, he piled my hair on top of the shaft and used the ends to wipe himself off. I held the scrotum in my two hands as my head bobbed over him. While I sucked him, he pulled the showerhead down and blasted the flow, first at my face, and then at my tits and cunt.

An exploratory finger screwed past his sphincter. Its face rubbed vigorously against the prostate when he came.

— 4 —

During the shower that followed, the two of us filled our mouths with hot water and spit onto each other’s faces. I used the sponge to soap every inch of his body and followed with my lips as the water washed the suds away. I placed kisses on his feet and toweled them with my hair. I brought myself astride each of his legs and swept my pussy down. I enjoyed cleaning his penis in particular. I liked stacking the soap on top and blowing it away. I liked the fresh and unblemished taste when I mopped my tongue over the tight skin. I liked how Amadeo stooped to slap my buttocks and pinch my tits and thread his fingertips between my pussy lips while I had his cock seated in my throat.

Amadeo lowered himself down and toppled me over him. Because we hadn’t brought a condom with us to the bathroom, we couldn’t fuck. Straddling his waist, I brought the penis vertical and pressed it flat against the groin. Holding my lips open, I rubbed myself up and down the bottom of his shaft and over the face of his balls. The clit peeked out from under her hood as the cunt dragged over him. Hot water beat down on my back and shoulders. The friction wasn’t enough to make me come, but I liked the contact of skin sliding against skin. He didn’t come either, preferring to feed the semen to my pussy later.

In my turn, Amadeo’s hands soaped over me, the touch lingering over breasts and back and ass. He primed the pussy by kneeling and jawing against the cunt. He forced two of his fingers into me, fucking them in and out rapidly until I came. My legs pressed tightly together, the muscles of the vagina crushed his fingers within. The moans echoed in the narrow space. After the orgasm, he dragged his cheek over my lips. The stubble on his face felt prickly against my smooth skin.

— 5 —

In the morning, before we turned the water on to shower together again, I went to my knees in the tub. Once I had the head exposed to the air, I mouthed the knob and darted the tip of my tongue at the aperture on top. Holding my mouth open, I looked up at him expectantly with wide open eyes and touched the penis to the bottom lip. I awaited his 7 am piss.

He sighed. The pressure of the bladder sent a powerful stream at me first thing in the morning. It blasted into my throat when it came. As I closed my lips to guzzle it down, the piss fell over my neck and my breasts. Much of it, I drank. But I also rolled my face in the jet and directed the flow of urine against my forehead and across the bridge of my nose. When I clamped my lips about the shaft, I felt the movement of the piss beneath his skin. The urine tasted harsher in the early light of day, more sour than it did at night. The color was yellow instead of clear. I made noises of satisfaction as I swallowed the urine down.

Once Amadeo had emptied, I brushed the head of his penis over my face and brought my lips over the tip. My tongue swabbed him clean while I held him in my mouth. I rejoiced in the incipient hardness of the penis as my lips sunk down his length. Fingering my clit, I sucked Amadeo’s cock with his urine still wet on my skin. As part of the blowjob, I spent the longest time just mouthing and tonguing the sperm laden balls. Ropes of spit and semen dangled from my chin when he completed. This was the fourth orgasm that he gave me.