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Closing up August 31, 2011

Posted by Leah in Fellatio, Fucking, Public, Repeated hookups.
8 comments

Work has been extraordinarily busy as I finish up in London. Back in Boston, the winter semester starts this week. I return a few days late. I am in Paris from Friday to Monday. I desperately want to finish a project before I go, so I work long hours. As my stay winds down, there are logistical annoyances to confront. Though I packed lightly, bringing only two suitcases of clothes and a duffel bag full of shoes with me, in the past months I have accumulated stuff that I want to take back to the US. Packing up, hanging out with friends and saying goodbye, having sex (and writing about it) also occupy my ever diminishing time.

Last week, I spent many hours at the café where Marshall works. I happily typed away amid the noise and the bustle. During his breaks, he would bring me an iced coffee and sit with me. He asked me out on another date last weekend, but sadly I had to turn him down because of prior social commitments. I agreed to see him on Thursday, however.

Yesterday, a friend wasn’t feeling well and bailed on a dinner engagement. I had already accomplished more during the day than I had any right to expect, and I knew that Marshall had the last shift, so I stopped by the café, where I worked some more and answered e-mails. An hour before the place closed, I sent Marshall a pair of texts. He caught my eye. I smiled.

Only one other employee worked there in the evening, and I am reasonably certain Marshall convinced his colleague to leave early. He did the final cleaning and locked up for the night.

With the door shut and the room darkened, he and I had sex in the empty café. I loosened the tie on his apron to show the front of his jeans and descended to my knees. The chairs in the café are wooden, painted white, with vertical slats in the back. He turned one in reverse and sat straddling the back of the seat. His cock squeezed between two of the slats. I gripped the top of the chair, met his eyes, and sucked his penis wetly and without hands.

Marshall’s cock is long and thick. I have only been able to deepthroat him with my head dangling from the edge of the mattress. When I do so, his balls press up against my nose. I revel in the heady, male musk.

In the café, I easily quaffed the quantity of the cock that extended through the chair. I gripped the bars at the far sides. I loved the moans, which originated deep within his chest when I rotated my face. Going down, my nose poked through the gap in the wood. The butt of my hand had shuffled to the top of his thigh. Arms wrapping the chair, he stroked my hair and sloped my head so that I had to look up at him. Marshall groaned when I made my lips soft, flooded my mouth with spit, and washed my tongue over the knob. My hands nudged into the rectangular spaces on either side of the hole into which he had inserted his cock. I locked fingers over the shaft and angled the penis into my mouth. The groin receded and advanced while I sucked. The vision of his sac on the other side of the wooden bars made me salivate. The balls sat on the chair, tantalizingly beyond my reach. When he pulled the cock free from my lips, it made a delicious pop.

He didn’t want to come from oral sex. We fucked on a wooden table in the middle of the café. The lights were off, but we should have been visible through plate glass windows as silhouettes moving in the dark with unmistakable purpose. I was on my back with my denim skirt inverted. He dragged me to the edge of the table and butterflied my thighs open and crammed himself into my pussy. He fucked me hard. I came after we changed positions. I was on my side, a foot planted on the floor, a knee on the table. He gripped my ass and prodded my cunt from the rear, passing through my orgasm into his own.

He wiped the table and disappeared into the kitchen to finish in there. We left after half an hour. Marshall spent the night at my flat. We intend to meet up on Thursday as well. Today, I have Amadeo at night and much to do before then.

La feuille de rose August 29, 2011

Posted by Leah in Anilingus, Fellatio, Repeated hookups.
2 comments

After my pussy had been devoured, Frank and I fucked. We dressed, went out for takeaway, came home, ate, drank, undressed, and, in bed naked, watched a DVD. The laptop was positioned on the edge of the table next to the bed. I snuggled myself into the crook of his shoulder. His arm draped over my chest. Frank played with my breasts on occasion, lifting them and lightly pinching the nipples. Sometimes, he reached down to brush over the pubis and finger the lips of my cunt. Most of the time, he simply held me. I scratched his arms and his thighs. We each had bottles of beer that we drank.

His penis stood at half mast, standing at attention on occasion and softening partway again. I touched his penis, but was in no hurry to fuck. I like the films the Coen brothers make.

Frank had other ideas, however. He jogged my elbow and pointed to his erection.

I giggled.

My lips clamped over the glans. The point of tongue slipped into the tortoise shell and flicked across the aperture at top. A steady tug on his shaft eased his foreskin down. I closed my eyes. The lips applied pressure and gave suck.

Frank gathered the hair that fell down the sides of my face and lifted it away. He exerted no force at all to the back of my head.

Filling my mouth full of saliva, I sucked him softly. My head lowered halfway down the scepter, then ascended again to kiss the crown wetly. Each up and down movement took long seconds. Rotating my head, I kept changing the angle of fellatio. I stuck my bottom lip out and dragged it over the glans. I made a tight seal around the shaft and took him deeper by degrees. I felt the gentle tug upon my hair while I inhaled.

Frank groaned his approval.

Speeding up a little, I swallowed the shaft deeper. The head imposed itself at the entrance of my throat. Pushing my hands off the mattress, I continued at this faster pace. Three-quarters of the shaft fit easily inside. Breathing through my nose, I kept the suction constant and lifted to the bulbous knob each time. For a moment, I took him inside all the way. My bottom lip pressed against the lip of his scrotum. The hair on his groin tickled my upper lip. Fingers pushing on the sac from below, Frank held the erection upright for me.

I replaced his fingers with mine and zig-zagged my tongue down the underside of the shaft. Kisses followed the movement of the tongue. I returned to sucking him. The blowjob continued this way for close to ten minutes. He had come once, so I knew he wouldn’t explode immediately. Frank kept the hair out of my way and sipped his beer while I obliged his cock with my mouth. Minor variations in the rhythm of the suction coupled with small deviations in the mechanics of fellatio ensured the longevity of this erection. Holding on to the base of the shaft with my hand, I mostly played my mouth over the top half of the shaft. For long stretches, I did nothing more than mouth and tongue the head.

I loved how he laughed at the pleasure of the things I was doing. It made me grin and redouble my efforts to please him further.

He had distinctive scents. My wetness from before had been absorbed into his pores. I had the smells of sex in my nose. Mostly, I tasted my own spit on his cock. But at the top, the foreskin had Frank’s own flavors. The eye wept tears of salty precome.

I deepthroated awhile, and when my jaws tired, I pointed the cock to the ceiling and stroked my fingers on either side of the shaft. The hands took their turns at making passes from the base to the tip, one on top, the other at the bottom, the cock sandwiched in between.

When Frank flattened the penis against the groin and the belly, I took my cue and commenced on his balls. Forearms on either side of his thighs braced my body. I lowered my head and lapped the wrinkled skin of the sac. The tongue rasped over the flabby folds. The testicles moved underneath. Capturing one in my lips, I pressed my tongue against the rounded bulge and felt it displace under the skin. My lips tugged the testicle softly as they administered suction. I nipped and nibbled and dragged my tongue over its twin. Nose and tonguetip followed the seam of the scrotum. Spit layered on his perineum. I smeared the wetness over that sensitive patch of skin. Fingers descended deliberately to the asshole and feathered over the corrugated muscle. Fine hairs fringed the crease like tassels.

As my tongue swept from the ring of muscle up to the balls and down again, Frank moaned expressively. The note of pleasure in his voice sounded like pain.

I lapped at the anus. These weren’t ginger and delicate touches. The tongue licked vigorously. My jaws controlled the movements.

I licked outside only. Instead of spiraling around in circles as I sometimes do, I wiped over the opening from bottom to top. Frank spread his thighs wide for me, folded his legs back at the knees, and obligingly lifted his feet into the air. The ass tilted up to my face. One of his hands fisted my hair, but again, he didn’t apply downward force.

With heels of hands pressed at the joining of the thighs and buttocks, I feasted on ass flesh. I nosed the perineum. He tasted of sweat.

Pushing my lips against the taut muscle, I kissed his anus. My tongue licked the sphincter. Prising the buttocks open, I dipped the tonguetip inside. Mostly, I focused on stimulating the halo of nerves surrounding the aperture. My tongue mopped over the responsive band of flesh. When I pressed my face down hard, the heat of his buttocks surrounded me. The tongue was relentless. Without pause it swiped for long minutes.

Licking the tip of a finger, I ran it over the anus. When I was convinced that it had loosened the opening, I kissed my tongue deep into the maw.

I grasped the erection as I pushed off his thigh. I had a steely rod in one hand and a wall of muscle beneath the other. The cheeks of his ass warmed the cheeks of my face as I vibrated my lips over his bung. I felt the ridges and the notches of the exiguous skin surrounding the orifice.

I remember the first time that a lover placed his mouth over my anus. It was preparatory to an ass fucking, so the purpose was different. At the same time, the slippery wet slide of that flexible, spry, infinitely knowing, infinitely nimble tongue drove me mad with sensation and desire. And it remains ever thus. Though Frank is clean, I know what comes out of any asshole. I get off on how dirty this is. It is a pleasure for me and for him. My fingers lowered to my pussy, pressed down, and wriggled the distended flesh from side to side.

My nose advanced into the the hard knot below the balls and flattened. The tongue curled and compressed to fit, then extended past the sphincter. The spit lowered into his ass. I made slurping noises as I sucked the saliva out again and washed it over the squinting eye.

For his part, Frank kept his thighs apart. He held the cock upright. The fingers of his hand closed a third of the way down the shaft, smoothed up to the glans, and pinched off the tip. His head craned up from the pillow, and he tried to watch me. Eventually, he brought his legs against his chest and rocked on his back. This tilted his ass in the air for me. My jaws worked hard over the aperture.

To pause a moment and take in air, I crooked my head sideways and smooched the rising curve of the rump. My fingers replaced his on the shaft, and I gave him a brief suck. I licked vertical stripes along the stem, down to the base, down over the compact balls, down along the perineum, down to where I had been before. My teeth bit gently on the skin, then my lips went soft and made a seal on the pucker, and my tongue resumed its placement in his anus. I made an effort for this man with whom I have shared so much. I strained to please him. I made love to Frank without restraint or modesty or shame.

I lost track of time. I enjoyed doing this for Frank. I liked how his body bucked from the bed while I licked and kissed. I liked that he spoke incoherently while I rocked my head from side to side and vibrated my lips. I liked that I was the first woman to have shown him this pleasure. Whatever happens, wheresoever he and I may go, whoever we end up with, I will always have this distinction.

When I surfaced, Frank’s hand jerked hard over the erection. I took over. Making my throat loose, I swallowed the length of the cock in a single movement and hummed when I hit bottom. The ending credits of the movie came and went before Frank ever did.

Cunnilinctus August 29, 2011

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Repeated hookups.
3 comments

Frank and I spent Sunday afternoon wandering the Notting Hill Carnival. I had been invited to a party in the evening to which Frank would certainly have been welcome, but I wanted to spend time with him alone. I know I will see him again before I leave, but he can’t make it to Paris next weekend, and my hours with him are so limited. I wanted to make them last. We made it back to my place before dark.

Frank pushed me into a chair when we arrived. My leg hooked about his trunk, the ankle kicking off the small of his back as he lowered. I clawed his t-shirt from his shoulders as we kissed. To keep his mouth pressed up against mine, my fingers darted through his hair and clutched the back of his head. Desperate for further contact, my hands flitted from his broad and powerful back to the valley of the spine to the rock solid shelf of his hip. Squirreling into his jeans, they gripped his muscular buttocks, dug into the flesh, and clenched.

Frank winged one leg over the armrest of the chair. His fingers stumbled over the belt and the buttons and dragged my jeans off. The panties I wore were a thin white mesh. My cunt showed through. As the kisses continued, his hand lowered to the delta of my legs and fingered my lips. My wetness seeped through the fabric. We stopped kissing just long enough to remove my top. I undid the hook of the bra and gave him my breasts to suck. Arms wrapping my back, his mouth followed the line of my throat from the chin to the shoulder. Strong hands kneaded my breasts. As he sucked hard on a nipple, his hand smoothed over the inner surface of my thigh. Finally it slipped under the leg hole of the panties. He kissed me aggressively while rubbing my pussy and clit. I breathed heavily and moaned into his open mouth.

Frank tugged the panties from my legs and placed me slouching in the chair with one thigh draped across each of the armrests. He went to ground and burrowed into my cunt.

Frank’s tongue lapped over the opening of the pussy. The moisture that escaped wet his chin and his cheeks. I had both hands in his hair, tightening on the scalp to immobilize his head between my thighs. His mouth was in constant movement, traversing the small distance from vagina to clitoris. His lips sucked hard on the swollen clump of nerve endings. The bony chin rode against the labia as he did so.

Frank looked up at me. I smiled down and tilted my head backward into the cushion of the chair. Face tightened in a grimace of pleasure, I squealed my ecstasy aloud, with volume. My hand fumbled around at my waist until it latched on to his. I tightened around his fingers and brought them to my tits. I was a river inside. The pussy was all mush. The nerve endings were so sensitive. Whenever the angle of contact adjusted or he shifted the center of his attack, new synapses activated. I screwed my eyes shut and focused on feeling. I felt lightheaded.

Frank fed on my wetness. My thighs attempted first to guillotine and then to strangle him. The pressure of his hands forced my legs apart to give him room to maneuver. His lips snapped up the labia. He tugged and twisted his face. Flattening the lips, the tongue poked inside and circumscribed the interior wall. The membranes of the vagina were slick with arousal. Salacious words encouraged him to keep licking me, to suck harder, to use teeth. “Don’t stop” became my rallying cry. This needn’t have been a worry. He wouldn’t.

Frank squeezed two fingers into the cunt and fucked them in and out while we kissed. I tasted of the Caribbean spices from lunch. It was the fingers rubbing insistently at my clit that supplied my first orgasm. I broke the kiss and shrieked exultation.

Frank dropped to the floor and licked like a dog, using the flat of his tongue after I had come. The press of fingers on the pubis stretched out the skin surrounding the pussy. His nose gave my clitoris eskimo kisses. He lifted a leg over his shoulder and kept tonguing me. Within minutes, I creamed again. His face dug into my cunt as I wrapped my legs about his back in a state of frenzied excitement. My head rolled from side to side. My heel kicked off his shoulder. I let myself go. After the incipient orgasm had shattered the dams of restraint, it was so easy. He licked. I came. Orgasm splashed on his face.

Frank barely used his fingers. It was all his mouth. He nibbled. He sucked. He lipped. He lapped. He bit. He spit. He feathered. He nosed. He tongued. As I don’t know how many more times we will hook up in this lifetime, I exerted myself to commit every touch to memory.

Frank, after all this, ate me harder, if that’s even possible. He dragged me from the chair onto the carpet. With my legs hitched over his back, he sunk to a low crouch on the floor. The iron grip of my fingers compelled his head between my legs. I must have left indentations in his skull. I wriggled on the ground, in death throes. My back arched up off the floor. The blood vessels in my neck stood in relief. My screams echoed in the room. I balled my hands into fists and beat at the floor. When I came, I seized his fingers and hauled myself partway off the ground. My knuckles turned white. I clung to him in order to remain anchored to this globe.

Frank had a smug smile on his face when I sat upright. I tugged his arm and pulled him to me. He toppled over my body. He tried to tickle me, and we wrestled for leverage. He is bigger and stronger, so he won, pinning me down. My legs scooted open, and he occupied the space they had made. As we kissed, he squeezed my breasts. His hard cock prodded my belly through his black jeans. I would do something about that next.

The Marshall plan August 26, 2011

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups.
10 comments

Marshall and I went out on Thursday night and got thoroughly wasted. The pub we were at closed at midnight. The two of us decided to walk to his place since it was nearby. He also had a stash of booze.

We fucked, drank, then fucked again. Around 2 am, when he could no longer raise an erection despite the ministrations of my lips and tongue, Marshall contented himself with rubbing his half hard penis over my sensitive areas. We kissed and cuddled until slumber enfolded us.

I awoke in the morning with his face between my thighs. Orgasm countervailed the modest hangover. After the initial gush of my pussy, he kept right on going. I came a second time and then a third.

I coaxed the erection from his penis and lowered a condom over it. He fucked me in the missionary position. The cock stretched me open. The tension in the shaft established vibrations in the walls of my vagina. Legs spread wide, they made a W over his thighs. His arms cradled my body and wrapped my shoulders and back. I screamed my fullness in his ear. His Dutch accented obscenities turned me on. The perspiration that coated our bodies added a glide to the movements. At times his lips crushed mine. At times the contact was barely there. Every kiss was an instant of perfection.

I died and revived in the jolt of the climax.

Between my legs, my cream had turned the condom white. Loosened up by orgasm, I clawed at his biceps and spread my legs ever wider for him. I begged Marshall to come in my pussy. He fucked me harder. Only his hips moved. He knifed the cock into me with the propulsive strength of his thighs. Balls full of sperm slapped below my pussy. One wave of orgasms rolled into the next.

Marshall’s endurance had limits. His cock twitched and jerked against my vaginal walls. The orgasm set me off again. I imploded around his explosion.

I took the tube to the university, wearing a dress shirt that I had stolen from his wardrobe knotted about my midriff along with a t-shirt many sizes too large and the ratty jeans from the day before. The train was crowded. We squeezed into one corner of a car. My hands clasped about his waist for balance, I perched on the ledge by the door. As the train accelerated and decelerated below the city streets, my legs bounced against the backs of his. His delectable tight ass rode against my pubis. I kissed the nape of his neck and the center of his back.

We plan on another date next week.

Names I have been called August 25, 2011

Posted by Leah in Bondage, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fisting, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups, Spanking.
6 comments

Bitch, bitch dog, bitch whore, ass bitch, bondage bitch, dirty bitch, filthy bitch, fucking bitch, little bitch, mongrel bitch, submissive bitch, well-trained bitch, blowjob bitch, cocksucking bitch, cocksucker, cock slave, mouth, cunt, fucking cunt, greedy cunt, little cunt, owned cunt, silly cunt, stupid cunt, pussy, used pussy, twat, scrotum licking twat, fuck puppet, fuck-toy, sex toy, favorite toy, plaything, glove for his fist, slit, slut, anal slut, ass slut, beautiful slut, god-damned filthy slut, good little slut, horny slut, kinky slut, Miss Slut, piss slut, pain slut, come slut, submissive slut, superslut, willing slut, urinal, whipping post, sub, whore, whore mouth, dirty whore, purchased whore, piss drinking whore, shameless whore, slutty whore, willing zero pound whore, ass, arse, asshole, dirty asslicker, little girl, naughty girl, bad girl, good girl, idiot girl, sub girl, three holes, come catcher, come receptacle, place where he comes, territory, marked property, possession, his body to use, his, all his.

These are some of the terms he uses for me — the descriptions in English anyway. The names are endearments. Amadeo may have unloaded half his arsenal of expletives on me last night.

He wrapped scarves about my wrists and ankles, looped a noose of yellow rope about the red silk on each limb, and tied me to the four corners of his bed. Once I was spread-eagled this way, he whipped my breasts and toyed with my pussy, using fingers, a vibrator, kitchen implements, and his tongue. The ball gag muffled my screams. The fisting was exquisite agony. The tension in my arms and legs when he smothered me with his body and fucked my long tormented and cock deprived cunt was unendurable ecstasy. I soaked his sheets.

Not cricket August 23, 2011

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

Over a month has elapsed since I enjoyed a new cock. This weekend, I had three.

~

Friday

I went clubbing with various friends from the orchestra. My halter dress dipped into cleavage and ended mid-thigh. I danced dirty with the guys, some of whom I knew and some of whom I met during the night in Soho. Around two, I left with a cute English boy, who invited me to watch him play cricket the next day. A tiny hovel of a basement apartment in Canary Wharf served as our destination. We had sex: half a blowjob, a bit of pussy eating, then his cock inside me. Inebriated as I was, I have little recollection of the particulars. I doubt that I came.

Spending a full day on a game whose logic I don’t comprehend while cheering for a guy I met while most of the way sloshed didn’t appeal to me. I tiptoed out of his room and, dressed wholly inappropriately for the bus and tube, made it back to my place early in the morning to sleep off the hangover in my own bed.

~

Saturday

Deciding to blow off work and other vexations this weekend, I replied to an m4w casual encounters ad from a dom looking for a sub. After a few e-mail exchanges plus the usual picture swap, we met at a wine bar in Covent Garden close to his hotel. As he didn’t look or act like a troll, I made a safety call and followed him to his room. Once he hung up the “Do Not Disturb” sign and closed the door, the first thing he had me do was strip naked. I placed my neatly folded clothes on top of the dresser. Then he had me crawl to the bathroom behind him.

The incipient erection made his trousers bulge. After I had unfastened the belt and loosened the top button, I tugged the zipper down with my teeth. The boxers and the pants descended to below his knees. He lifted up his polo shirt to show his penis, which sprung to wakefulness. I looked up at him, and without comment began to suck. I deepthroated easily. Though the girth of the erection didn’t increase, its rigidity and extension did. With fingers wrapping about the shaft at the bottom, the base of my hand pushed up against his groin and scrotum. The lips made a seal, and I bobbed over two-thirds of the penis. My head pitched to the right on the way down and straightened as I retreated. Tongue rasping along the underside of the cock, I filled my mouth up with spit.

His hand cupped the side of my head, above one ear. As I swallowed back the gag reflex and opened my throat to his knobby glans, the grip of fingers in my hair toughened. Saliva escaped my mouth and fell to the floor in a rope. He took his shirt off. The tiles of the bathroom floor bit my knees. This new lover groaned his satisfaction as I pushed one hand off each of his thighs and fucked my face over his penis.

“Look at me,” he directed.

The view from the floor was this.

From my vantage point below, his body was foreshortened. A wooly fleece covered his torso, the sparse white hairs contrasting with darker whorls, and thickened over his belly. He had a slight paunch. He looked down at me. Spectacles at the tip of his prominent nose distorted the features of his eyes. Both hands had an iron grip on the back of my head. They compelled me down to his root, then held me there. I struggled backward, spit the cock out, and took draughts of air.

He steadied my head, his perspiring palm against my left cheek, and slapped the right. He waved his cock at me, and I sucked him again. My jaws spread wide open while his pelvis did a twist. The cock rooted around halfway down my throat. My spit ran onto his balls. I made gulping sounds.

After this, he hauled me from the floor and propped me on the sink. Pausing for the condom on which I insisted, he entered my pussy. One foot dangling from his shoulder, he wrapped both of his arms around the thigh and used the leverage to pump himself into me hard. It felt good, but the orgasm came too swiftly.

What followed was tame. His idea of kinky was to blindfold me in bed. I did not orgasm there either. Neither did I spend the night.

~

Sunday

Since mid-May, I have been flirting with this buff, athletic guy who works at a café near campus. He gives me the occasional free drink and has lent me some of his music. Last week, when I mentioned that I was leaving London soon, he asked me on a date. We had uncommonly gorgeous weather and spent the afternoon at the Southbank. We found a tapas restaurant in Vauxhall for dinner. Rioja lubricated the conversation. It was light; it was convivial; my legs brushed his under the table. I thought his quick wit negated the myth about the Dutch humor gene, but it turns out that, while he did spend most of his life in Holland, he emigrated there from Suriname. By the end of the meal, the two of us sat on the same side of the small booth with his arm extending behind my back and shoulder. His head dipped to kiss me. I invited him back to the flat to mess around.

I had worn tight fitting denim shorts, a white tank top, and the usual sundries underneath. He had worn khaki trousers and a blue and white checked dress shirt whose cuffs he had rolled up to the elbows. Kind of Blue played on the stereo. A bottle of Lagavulin and two tumblers sat on the small coffee table. I hooked my leg about him and straddled his thighs. His hand caressed over my ass and stroked my leg from the shorts down to my knee. We kissed unceasingly.

He knew just how to do it. Our heads were in constant slow motion. Lips applied a perfectly judged amount of pressure. His tongue followed the line of my smile and, with its curling tip, teased out anticipation. My deep breaths took in but a little air. When I touched my tonguetip to his, we circled in a slow dance. A loud smack, and we moved apart a millimeter, then made contact again. He sucked on my pouty lower lip. Suddenly his tongue darted between the rows of my teeth. My forearms framed his head. Compressing the sides of his face, jaws nibbling, I sucked on his tongue and offered him more of my mouth to explore. As the kisses deepened, his fingers trailed along my spine.

With my eyes closed, I unbuttoned his shirt during the kisses that followed and sat on his lap frog like, thighs on the outside of his and flush with them, two hands at his waist, untucking the fabric from his pants. Then, fingers spanning the broad muscles of his chest, lips descended his throat. Down the line of the sternum they went, shifting laterally to his masculine tits. This excursion was fleeting. I could not long resist the allure of his eyes and mouth or the taste of whisky on his tongue. My lips fastened to his. His hand slid under the small of my back, snuck into my panties, and palmed my buttocks. The kisses continued unabated.

I crossed my arms and lifted the shirt from my shoulders. The bra was next. His hands touched softly over my bare breasts. I lowered my body onto him, and then I turned and sat on his lap. My back slanted against his solid chest. He kissed the hollow of my throat while his fingers traversed the expanse of my torso and reconnoitered my cambers and bends. The pads of his fingers skimmed the breasts where they rounded and slalomed through the valley between them. Their lightest touch sketched designs over the abdomen, where it indented. He skated along the depression of the navel, circling the border, hooked two fingers into the empty belt loops, and tugged my shorts up. When I sucked in a deep breath to collapse my stomach, his hand slipped under the waistband and wriggled between the denim and the satin panties. The other hand was a presence everywhere. He weighed the breasts. He tickled my flank, the side of his finger floating downward from the underarm to the waist and proceeding to the meeting of my thighs on the outside of the shorts. He fingered the slit through blue jeans. My cunt dripped.

My hands held the sofa back and the back of his head. I gyrated my ass over his pants, lap dancing to Miles Davis’s improvisations on trumpet. His hand stroked my neck as we kissed. My body undulated as I did my grind. His erection prodded me from behind like a tree branch.

He snapped open the buttons of my shorts one by one. His hand sunk into the gap and made an arch under the denim. He worked into the panties this time. The tip of a finger stroked the furrow. His tongue traced the shell of my ear. I spread my legs. My touch strayed to the midpoint of his trousers. While I clenched and unclenched my hand over his slacks, his fingers flicked over my labia as though leafing through paper. A lone finger reached inside me, extracted wetness, then pressed vertically over my lips, shushing my mouth. He silenced the unconscious moans this way. When I crossed my eyes to stare at his index finger, he crooked the digit past my lips. I tasted piquant and zesty.

I got off his lap and alerted him that he was overdressed. He did not take care of this problem at once. Instead he kissed me. He cupped my cheeks in his palms and pointed my face to his. The angle shifted constantly while we osculated. My nose hopped over his, and the kisses oscillated back the other way, slowly. His tonguetip sliced from side to side against mine, did a sudden twist below, then somersaulted back to the top, vaulting my tongue in the maneuver. I puckered my mouth and sucked.

I shoved his chest lightly to push him backward, stood, and squeezed my ass out of the shorts. Once I had kicked the panties from my feet, I bent at the knees, splayed my pussy lips open, and displayed my cunt. The clit stood at attention. My fingernails pinched the flesh and teased the hood down. I asked if he wanted to be inside me.

He regarded me rapt and groaned assent. Once he had wriggled free of his shirt, I snailed my tongue from the armpit to the nipple, then back up again, grinning as the low baritone moans informed me that this provided a direct linkup to his loins. Going to my knees, I undid the belt. He lifted his ass from the sofa and pulled his pants down. My fingers spidered down his abdomen. Taking the cock in hand, I placed a wet kiss over the glans. There was a slight tang of precome. I made a pathetic joke about the Netherlands. Deciding that the bed would be more comfortable than the sofa, we proceeded there. We sixty-nined. Because I wanted to fuck, I didn’t care to prolong this phase. But I was delighted to learn that his skills at kissing translated to amazingly proficient cunnilingus.

His cock pinned me to the bed as though I was an insect in a museum display. My legs started in the air, feet waving like tiny wings, but I lowered them around his buttocks and kicked my heels over his thighs. His arms on either side of me supported his weight. My arms wrapped his shoulders and compelled his body onto me. His mass flattened my chest. I barked each time that his cock bottomed out. This fuck sent me careening from one orgasm to another. On our second effort, I swayed on hands and knees while he pounded my pussy from behind. The pendant on my necklace swung pendulously and ricocheted from my chin. With his cock in me, I could not stop coming.

When we weren’t rutting, we were kissing, or I was slobbering over his penis to make it hard for my cunt. We punctuated the few hours of sleep with fucking. He said he had never been with anyone who orgasmed so much. I asked him to make me come some more.

I ran out of condoms. In the morning, we went out for breakfast, replenished my supply of prophylactics at Boots, and adjourned to the flat for one last round. He didn’t leave until noon, making me late for work. Though I am short on weeks in London, I want to hang out with Marshall again before I go.

I scent the morning air August 19, 2011

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

The first thought that forms in the light of morning is the compulsion to suck. I like how the constitution of penile flesh alters within my lips, going from an inchoate, bendy, pliable state, to a finished product, inflexible and rigid and unyielding. The springiness of the skin belies the strength beneath.

Amadeo moans sleepily as consciousness returns to him. I smile when his eyes flash open and work to seat the glans within my throat. Though his hands tangle in my hair, he lets me fellate him at my own pace. Interrupting the pure sucking movements to tongue the sides of the shaft, leave small kisses over the underside, and nose his pubic hair and the meeting of his legs and groin, I start slowly but steadily ramp up the velocity. At first, I concentrate on the front half of the penis, but pay homage to it all before long. Cocksucking is an act of worship. I exalt the man when I adore his penis.

As I work him, my hand reaches between my legs. Fingers press on the smoothly waxed pubis and rub in taut circles.

His hips pitch up from the mattress. I tighten the seal of my lips, furnish saliva, and swallow fluently as the cock sinks deeper. Finding my rhythm, I fuck his cock with my face. At the base, my cheeks collapse, my throat swallows, and I add a clockwise twist of my head. At top, my lips have a loose hold on the helmet, I take in a draught of air, and then I am headed downward again. The spit sheets down his balls. With scrotum sucking divertissements, we continue in this manner.

The ragged quality of his breathing communicates his nearness to completion some minutes later. How long, I can’t say. I am in a trance. I haven’t been paying attention to the time.

“Where do you want to come?” I ask him. My nose nuzzles down his length.

After a moment’s contemplation, he answers. “In your pussy.”

I roll a condom over the shaft and position it at the opening and lower my body. The tension at the entrance and in the walls as he penetrates feels numinous to me. I feel my muscles stretch to accommodate the thickness of his cock. Once the penis is ensconced, Amadeo clutches my breasts and lets me do the work of fucking him. I use the runner’s muscles in my thighs to control lift and drop. I remember my kegels and tighten about the shaft.

Playfully, I balance myself on top of the glans and hold position, hovering. The muscles just inside the entrance clench tightly then relax.

Amadeo growls. His hands cinch upon my hips, the fingertips making the flesh indent, and bring me down. The powerful muscles of his arms lift my weight up his erection. He hauls me earthward again while his pelvis rockets up from the mattress. I rebound off his pelvic bones.

We change positions so that I lie on my side, one hand pushing off the bed, the other from his thigh. From behind, one of his enormous hands clutches my shoulder and covers a breast. Fingers digging into my hip, the other hand holds me by the waist to improve his leverage. His cock is the complete toolbox: it hammers, it screws, it saws into my cunt. He fucks me with innate authority, strength, and speed. The movements are effortless, rhythmic, natural, fluid, and easy. The hand on my hip angles my body backward in the direction of his groin as the cock evacuates. I list forward as the cock sinks into me again. When he bottoms out inside, I feel the impact in my thighs and buttocks.

Amadeo calls me a good little slut and corrects himself. I am his good little slut.

I groan at his name for me and respond with wordless speech. The pistoning motion of the shaft against the walls of my vagina feels damn good first thing in the morning. Ten minutes of fucking, and I am nearly there.

We don’t manage to synchronize our orgasms, however.

As it happens, Amadeo doesn’t come in my pussy. He pulls out, snatches the condom from his penis, rolls onto his back, and lifts me on top of him. Cock between my legs, he finishes by jerking himself off. The semen lands between my belly button and the arch of my pubis. It puddles there in thick and viscous lakes. When he has finished trembling, my hand replaces his over the shaft. While he clutches my knees and wings my legs open, my fingers curve, and I rock my palm along his length in order to shake the last dregs of semen out.

The ejaculate is sticky on my body. My fingers gather the opaque fluids, and I suck them clean of his spendings. The wet spot on my skin feels cool in this air. He smells like the Mediterranean before sunrise.

“Bitch didn’t come?” The inflection of the sentence indicates this is a question though Amadeo and I both know the answer. His hands clap, one upon each of the buttocks.

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Turn around and masturbate for me. Come on me like I came on you.”

Straddling his waist, I sit on top of him. My fingers trace the slit up to the clitoris, and I diddle my fingers on top. The glans brushes my ass, which is pink, but unblemished.

Amadeo presses the pillows under his back and props himself up on his elbows to observe. I take the wetness from inside my cunt and smear it over the clit. The tips of my index and middle fingers grab hold of the little bundle of nerves and give it a vigorous shake. Amadeo lowers so he is horizontal and drags me up on top of his chest so he can see me from up close when I come. I finally rotate the clitoris between the thumb and index finger while I rut my pussy against the hard plates of his chest. I feel loose inside.

“Can I?”

“Are you a dirty fucking cunt?”

“Yes.”

“Are you my submissive bitch?”

“Yes.”

“What else are you? Tell me.”

“I am a fuck-toy.”

“More precisely, you are my fuck-toy. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“Keep playing with yourself then, fuck-toy.”

“Please. I need to come.”

“Are you a good girl?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then you can come.” His finger flicks a nipple as though activating a switch.

Orgasm seizes me. The muscles in my legs go stiff and my toes curl up. My head is thrown back. Oxygen comes to me in shallow gasps. The perspiration plasters my hair to my forehead. High pitched sounds sail to the heavens. The window is open. The air is cool. It’s a psalm of thanksgiving I sing. The muscles of my vagina collapse.

There is some wetness on his chest when I get off of him and pillow my head atop his sinewy arm. I lap the juice from his chest and share it with him through languid kisses.

A spontaneous date August 16, 2011

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups.
11 comments

I desired a cock last night. I sent Frank a text: “Wanna fuck?” There wasn’t a response. I gave him a call, got voice mail, and hung up without leaving a message. I thought about Gi, who I saw a few weeks ago, but concluded that the two of us have reached the end of the line. The sex satisfies, but we don’t talk enough. His casual chauvinism is off putting. I don’t like his lack of inquisitiveness. He also lives in a part of town that is inconvenient for me to visit.

I received several calls from the States yesterday, but I figured that everyone who would telephone had already done so. I decided upon a visit to my local in order to seduce a random guy for the night. Buying myself a pint, I insinuated myself into a group of Germans who were standing near the bar. Two of the men in particular chatted me up, but neither interested me much. Another pint, and I latched on to a conversation on American politics. The guy from California who flirted with me wore a gold wedding band. He did not move away when I touched my hand to his arm. The two of us went up to the bar to replenish drinks for the table. Though the pub was sparsely populated on a Monday, we waited for the bartender to take our round of orders. I stood close to him, and while we chatted, my ass brushed his thigh. When I returned from a visit to the toilet, I noticed his friends (a couple) whispering to him conspiratorially. The colloquy subsided to an abrupt silence as I approached. Once my half pint glass of lager was empty, I made a move to the door. The California guy sat there. I hoped he would follow, but he didn’t.

Oh, well, I thought. Good for his wife.

I checked my phone. Frank hadn’t responded. He is spending most of the summer in Oxford. I didn’t see him this weekend when I knew he was in town because I had to entertain a friend from graduate school who was passing through London on her way to Lahore. It was a shot in the dark.

On the way home, I stuck my head into the bar by the youth hostel. No one in there attracted me enough to stay. I decided to call it a night, masturbate, and go to bed. My shoes clopped on the pavement as I mused over whether to do it in the bathtub with the waterproof vibrator or in bed with the dildo while viewing porn.

I checked my phone again. An SMS from Frank: “Tonight you mean?

Two fingers instantly tapped out a reply. “Yeah.

Give me 1 hour.

Ok.

The roommate is out of town this week, so the flat was mine. Once I returned to the apartment, I undressed, took a quick shower, and slipped into lingerie: a fishnet black slip that hid nothing and left the cheeks of my ass hanging out. I poured a glass of wine and waited for Frank in the living room.

I sent another message to emphasize my desire. “Where are you? You need to be in my pussy.

You need to drink my cum.” He never could spell that last word as I preferred.

The door buzzed five minutes later. The preliminaries were brief. He followed me into the bedroom and stripped.

Lips nibbled the foreskin. The head peered out tortoise-like. I coaxed him out of his shell, not that he needed much persuasion.

“It’s my birthday,” I announced. “I need to blow out a candle.”

I sucked him. I stretched out on the mattress on my belly and, slurping loudly, inhaled cock. Before long, I had the crown in my throat. I breathed around the shaft and through my nose while I extended the point of the tongue to touch his balls. Fingernails scratched through his thick nest of pubic hair. Hands gripped Frank’s tree trunk thighs. At the start of this blowjob, Frank steepled his fingers together and rested them atop my head in a blessing. Once his penis shined with saliva, he reached between my legs and manipulated my pussy from underneath my buttocks. His fingers splashed my interior wetness over the labia. I was conscious of how pervasive my scents were.

Frank held the cock vertical, and I pressed my mouth against the heavy balls. While my lips fastened on the testicles and tugged, my fingers replaced his on the shaft. My palm applied a bit of force to the underside. It rolled against the tumescent flesh while I licked the sensitive frenulum and nipped the apron of foreskin first with lips, then with teeth. Fisting the shaft, I stroked from bottom to top extremely slowly. Lowering spit over the head to lubricate the movements of my hand, I decelerated the rise and fall even more and added a slight twist. Though the tempo slackened, my grip did not. I jerked him off this way, fascinated by the changes in the patterns of his breathing, the minuscule shifts in the density of the flesh, and the palpable tow of desire in his hisses.

His speech was barely intelligible. He enunciated the desire that I should go faster. Ignoring him, I maintained the so slow rhythm. My left hand smoothed over the face of his sac. The balls contracted under my touch. Tightening my closed hand about the stem, I felt the surge of semen below the soft velvet skin and the pulsations of the nerves within. Shucking my right hand to the bottom, two fingers from the left pressed hard against the base of the shaft. A ribbon of whiteness flashed before my eyes and striped my cheek. Quickly, I captured the head in my lips and sucked forcefully.

The penis shuddered in my fingers and hopped against my lip. The ejaculate came out in rapid fire bursts. I drank his come. My tongue washed around the crown when he finished.

Frank’s index finger swept over my cheek and collected the first explosion of his semen. I lapped it from his hand.

We kissed for a bit, and then Frank was ready to go again. I extracted a condom from its wrapper and rolled it over the penis. He laid down on the bed. I gripped the shaft in the middle, placed the head at the entrance of my cunt, and lowered my weight on top. As always, the slide of cock felt exquisite. My vagina tightened about the erection.

Frank let me bounce over him while he squeezed my breasts through the fishnet. I hunched forward and fed him one of my tits. He pressed the mesh taut against the breast, slipped the nipple through, and snapped it up with his lips. He nursed wetly. The slurps he made were loud. We kissed mouth to mouth. Frank gripped my buttocks and took over the pace and the direction of the fuck.

He flipped me onto my back, stood on the floor, and clasped my legs where the knees folded. I slid downward across the silky sheets onto his erection. Pussy was impaled by penis. The thick cock pummeled me after that. My fingers rubbed energetically over the clit.

He wanted to switch positions again. I could tell from the concentration in his brow that his orgasm was imminent. I gripped his arm. “No. Keep fucking me,” I said. I wouldn’t come before him this time, but that was fine; I could wait. He panted during his final moments and grunted each time that his cock spurted.

Frank and I huddled in bed. He ran his fingers through my hair and feathered his hand down my shoulders. I nestled myself in the crook of the arm which wrapped around me. He fingered my tits idly. While we chatted about nothing in particular sometimes his fingers would stray to my pussy. I invited Frank to go with me to Paris the first weekend in September as my date to the roommate’s wedding. He said he wasn’t certain about the date — he would consult his diary and get back to me. We kissed for long minutes.

Technically speaking, it was no longer August 15th. Frank sang “Happy Birthday” to my cunt anyway, then went down on me. My fingers interlaced with his while his lips and tongue worked my clitoris over. I like that he always makes certain that I orgasm, too.

My limbs were heavy after coming. Sleep claimed me.

We didn’t fuck again till morning. It was sex in the missionary position, a quickie because I had no time for more. We are hosting a conference at the university. I had seminars to attend and could not linger in bed. As it was still early, Frank decided to have a lie in and let himself out after I had departed.

I have been around the sun twenty-six times now. The twenty-seventh circuit has started well.

Dirty words August 13, 2011

Posted by Leah in Blogroll, Masturbation.
1 comment so far

I have plugged Liz Doherty‘s blog as the best resource on the web for learning the mechanics of the casual encounters board on Craigslist. It additionally features high quality erotic writing. I admire the honesty and frankness with which Liz recounts her experiences. She writes about a few of the more memorable ones.

Some stand out: the guy who brought me to screaming, squirting orgasms with his hands alone. The one who made me come just by pinching my nipples. The one who first fisted me, bringing me to a kind of climax I’d never experienced before. The one who fucked me all night long, until I was a limp rag doll, splayed on the bed, exhausted and spent. The one who brought a ruler with him so I could measure his cock, because he said he’d never done so. The one so short he needed a stool to climb up on his bed. The one who pulled and pushed me into positions I didn’t know my body could reach, and then fucked me until I thought I’d explode. The one who demanded I kneel before him and “pray” to his huge cock. The one who pounded me into the floor until I had rug burns on my nose and forehead. The one who wanted only to paint my toenails. The one who wouldn’t touch me at all, just forced his cock into my mouth, exploded and left. The one who wore a cock ring and fucked me all the way across the bed and onto the floor. The one I sucked before an open window while the people across the street watched. The one who showered first and flooded my bathroom. The one who took me on a motorcycle ride and fucked me on the hill at Twin Peaks.

I am envious of her adventures and long for the good old days of Craigslist when such things happened with frequency.

I like the evocative particulars in Liz’s stories. The steaminess of the foreplay fogs up my computer screen.

“May I kiss you?” I finally asked.

“That would be good.” I straddled his lap, and took my time getting to know his sweet and tender mouth, slowly exploring it with my own, licking and sucking his lips, nibbling the end of his tongue, feeling the moisture in my mouth increase as I threaded my fingers through his tight curls. Deeply drawing in the smell of his neck, I stretched his t-shirt out to smell his chest before lifting it off him, raising his arms so I could bury my nose in first one then the other of his armpits, taking in his mildly musky scent as I felt myself growing wet. Dropping lower, my nose found his belly button and I buried it there, drawing deeply. He moaned quietly as I opened his jeans and his cock found my mouth. I knelt before him there in front of the couch, my mouth wet and ready, and took him all the way in in one movement, holding him deeply there, against the back of my throat. I was filled. I slowly pulled my mouth back up his shaft, then down again and again, relishing each time he met the back of my throat, offering no resistance. We took his jeans all the way off, and he lay further back on my couch so I could take his balls in my mouth, rolling each separately then together in my mouth, enjoying the scent, texture and flavor of this part of him.

I hardly ever masturbate while I am reading blogs. But images sometimes insinuate their way into my skull and become imprinted there. Sentences linger. Late at night, I might picture the scene while lying in bed, inventing the details I do not remember or that were not originally present. A girl pulls a tight fitting t-shirt taut. The nipples leave tiny bumps in the fabric. Their darkness is visible through the thin, white cotton. It’s not any girl who does this — it’s me. I nuzzle into hairy, masculine armpits. Lips peck over the solid torso. My tongue demarcates the shapes of muscles. I leave his hard and hairless chest shining in the dim bedroom light. I have the taste of his skin in my mouth. The progression continues, constantly lower: raspberry kisses on the navel, a tongue there, then on the cock, then on the close-set and substantial balls. The sac is soft as leather and full of semen for me. I want to kiss it.

I suck the cock, and then I fuck it. I see it happen through slitted eyes. The images are redolent. I smell this man. My hand is inside my maroon sweat shorts. Fingers press atop the pubis. I pinch the pussy lips shut and shake them energetically from side to side. My cunt transudes. At this point, the initial fantasy is forgotten. My fingers move only to magnify the sensation I experience. I kick the drawstring shorts from my feet. I fuck myself with a purple cock made of aluminum. I hear as well as feel my wetness. My head rolls on the pillow. I thrash and moan and stab the dildo faster and harder. In pursuit of a little death, I am killing myself. I am not quiet about the pleasure I take. I don’t mind that I am overheard. I want my orgasm, and I don’t care who knows it.

I am a sexual scavenger. I use the exploits of others, whether erotica or porn, as a jumping off point in my private play. Liz Doherty’s dirty words arouse me.

Tempus fugit August 10, 2011

Posted by Leah in Gallimaufry.
8 comments

There is rioting in the streets of London. The part of town in which I live is, fortunately, unaffected by the chaos. Nevertheless, there is a tenseness in the air. I am wary as I cross the city by bus or tube. Friends are anxious. The day is pleasantly cool. I don’t want to be alone.

Amadeo is traveling this week. Frank, meanwhile, is in Oxford, where he has been for most of the summer. He tells me he will return home this weekend.

I haven’t had a new cock since my vacation. To rectify this oversight, I could pick some guy up at one of my familiar haunts. I could place an ad on Craigslist for a casual encounter or answer one and negotiate a play date with a man who is a stranger to me. Or if I prefer to keep my own company in bed — as I do — I could watch pornography on the laptop while I press a vibrator to my clit. I could call up a friend and, with fingers in my pussy, spin a phone sex fantasy.

The truth is I don’t feel like doing any of these things. Because I have nothing sexy to say, I have been avoiding the blog as well.

Instead of going in to the university, I stay at home during the day and work. I read and write. I meet my friend Mike for an early dinner. He walks me home afterwards, depositing an innocent kiss on my cheek when we arrive at my apartment building. Late at night, I sit with the roommate, drink wine, and talk about small things and big dreams until I go to sleep and dream some more. I do not remember the dreams that visit me in bed. I think none of them are hot.

In the shower, I wash soap suds from my cunt. I prop one foot on the side of the tub. My fingers push against the lips and turn a circle in the flesh. I begin to masturbate, then change my mind, shut off the water stream, and reach for my towel. In my bathrobe, I listen to Radio 3 over breakfast and, after that, am inspired to practice my flute for one hour.

When I sit at the rickety desk in my bedroom, the day spreads out before me as a blank sheet of paper does. Today, as yesterday, I will fill it from top to bottom with crabbed lines and write sideways, illegibly, along the margins to squeeze in a few extra sentences when I run out of space. My hand is crowded. The ink stains my fingers. On occasion a word shines through, but after I have written them, the scribbles are mostly impenetrable even to me and a complete cipher to anyone else. Once I turn the leaf over, I shan’t look back.