Leah Lays London

The lawyer August 7, 2010

He gets off on acts he finds humiliating to his partner. We discussed this in detail before we met.

In addition to sucking his cock, he had me suck his big toe. He pressed the bottom of his right foot against the shaft. I spread my jaws wide and took the head and the toe in together. While I stroked my hand over the shaft, I drooled over what I held between my lips. The bottom surface of the foot had thick, coarse skin. My tongue swept over it. The man used his toe to hook my mouth open like a fish and forced the shaft deeper within until the head crashed into the roof of my mouth. I fluttered my tongue and lapped at the cock and the toe and swished my saliva between them. I held the foot in my two hands and sucked the big toe alone, running my lips up and down as though this was his cock. I sucked the other toes as well, one by one, the tongue squeezing in the spaces in between. I held his sole against my breasts. I touched it to my pussy.

He lifted his legs in the air and rocked on his back while I ate his anus. Pulling the cheeks apart, I buried my face between them. The warmth of his body heat surrounded me. I licked around the corrugated ring of muscle before poking my tongue past the sphincter. I kissed him with an open mouth. My jaws worked his asshole. The nerves were sensitive to the press of lips and tongue. My hand jerked his shaft while I pleasured him. For my part, I don’t find the act of asslicking to be degrading. After all, he was the one whimpering incoherently.

After fellatio, he took a thick marker and wrote words on my chest. SLUT, he named me, in big red letters below my breasts. CUNT, he wrote on my belly, with an arrow pointing down. SKET, a word new to me, and SLAG marked my thighs. He scrawled BITCH on my back.

He fucked me from behind. I balanced on hands and knees on the cushioned divan while he pounded me from a standing position. He slapped my ass as he thrust. The girth of the shaft stretched my muscles. I clenched my pussy about it. My fingers rubbed my clit. Gathering my arms in his, he wrapped me in his grip and bit the nape of my neck and mauled my breasts. His hands squeezed my throat, front and back, and he told me to stick my tongue out. After playing his tongue over mine and biting my lips, he jabbed his thumb into my mouth. I washed my tongue over it. When he withdrew his hand, he wiped it in my hair, then turned my face in his direction and spit. The expectorate ran down my cheek.

“Oh, you cunt, look at you,” he said.

We changed position soon after that. Lying on the divan, feet rooted to the ground on either side, he had me mount his penis, facing away. As he fucked me, both of his hands played over my pubis, manipulating the clit until I came. My vagina wrung his cock within. Before orgasm, during, and after, I begged him to take me harder. My pussy was the nexus of all my sensation, the core of my ability to feel. I wanted his cock to possess my cunt. I wanted to earn the appellation of slut that he had given me by virtue of hard use.

“Be rough with me,” I told him. “Don’t be gentle.”

He obliged.

He discovered my blog and e-mailed me about two weeks ago. We arranged to meet near his place on Friday afternoon. I came from home, wearing a tank top, a hoodie, and loose drawstring pants. He came from his office in a business suit. We were an incongruous couple. The conversation in the café before we went to the apartment was social, but unrevealing. He works as a lawyer. He goes to the opera. He is in the middle of a divorce. In negotiating the parameters of play, he asked to take pictures, and I refused. He was attractive and a forceful personality, but there was little warmth or humor in him. He should have placed his hand over mine on the table. He didn’t. He wanted regular meetings. I wanted to fuck like savages once. Already, I knew we weren’t compatible for more. The primary reason I agreed to have sex at all was because he seemed genuinely interested about my schoolwork. We talked about that more than anything.

The encounter was physically satisfying. But there was little emotional response on my part. I wasn’t sent spiraling into subspace as I did the things he asked. I felt dirty and obedient, but emotively disengaged, dissociated. My mind was analytical when I wasn’t being fucked. Having his cock in my pussy elicited a primitive, carnal reaction. My body absorbed the ferocity of his cock and wanted him to hammer me still more violently.

He came three times during our two and a half hours together. The first explosion was in my mouth. The last was in my cunt. The middle was the most memorable. He threw me off his penis and sent me tumbling to the floor. Pulling the condom from his cock, he shot over the hardwood, leaving a foot long streak and a puddle at his feet. He told me to lick it up.

I dropped my body low on the ground and stuck my ass high in the air. My breasts brushed along the floor as I obeyed his instruction. I licked up the come, tongue dragging over the dense wood, tasting dust along with semen. I slurped his ejaculate, rolled it in my mouth, mixing it with saliva, then spat it back onto the floor, and vacuumed it up again. I pressed my face to the wood and left sloppy kisses as I drank. My lips and the flat of my tongue were intimate where we had stepped. My chin and my cheeks and my nose became sticky with the fluids. I had the semen in my hair. It took me long minutes to wash away his spendings. The wood was stained with a large wet spot when I finished.

I am reconsidering the wisdom of meeting the readers of my blog for sex. This could be one-off in more ways than one.