jump to navigation

Busy weekend October 17, 2010

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


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

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

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



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

I depart with another wind player.

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

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

He plies his technique upon my sex.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sudden redness October 9, 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask me for it,” he says conversationally.

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

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

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

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

The luminous flash September 21, 2010

Posted by Leah in Craigslust, Exhibitionism, Fucking, Repeated hookups.

I tutor a French Algerian boy once a week. We met through a strictly Platonic ad that he had placed on Craigslist. His family are recent immigrants to the UK. We get together for coffee, and he practices his English on me while occasionally I make a hash of my high school French with him. The boy has a curiosity and a je ne sais quoi recklessness that keeps our conversations engaging despite the differences in our age and experience.

At our most recent meeting, I wore a pleated black skirt that ended mid-thigh and a low-cut white shirt that showed the tops and the sides of my breasts. I had a date later in the evening with a prospective partner who answered this highly non-Platonic Craigslist ad. That date never went anywhere fun: my instincts told me not to trust the man, so I made my excuses and left after the second beer. Anyway, Frank and I had enjoyed a quickie the day before. He visited for half an hour. We fucked through two of his orgasms and cleaned up together in the shower, and then, energized by the sexual interlude, I went back to work. My cunt wasn’t pressing to get laid. I would wait for the right man instead of submitting to the wrong one.

At the café, my skirt rode under me when my weight sunk into the plush easy chair and I perched one knee atop the other. Across the coffee table, Ismail’s eyes followed the bend of my right leg and trailed along the outside of my thigh nearly to the very top. He gazed into the shadow of the skirt, looked down at the ground, then looked up again. His eyes fixed on mine briefly. A few sentences later, they had dropped to my cleavage. They didn’t settle there. No, they descended again. He was evidently a leg man. Ismail stared at my thighs, at the flap of fabric that covered the meeting of my legs, at my calves when I scratched them, glancing away when I caught him looking, stealing back when he thought I didn’t notice. I hid my smile as he spoke into his coffee mug, eyes darting downward.

For an hour, his eyes drunk in my freshly moisturized legs, the smooth shaved skin, the tease of the short skirt. Every so often, for the space of half a minute, he studiously avoided regarding my body altogether, as though conscious of doing something wrong, before returning to check me out once more, compelled to do that thing anyway. He ogled, but he didn’t leer. The look was admiring and wishful. I was amused. I didn’t mind. Resisting the urge to cross my legs the other way, I kept my legs tightly closed and angled my body in the chair to provide him a better view of the upper thigh while I made conversation.

Ismail’s pants had tented. He adjusted the way he sat.

I wondered what he wanted to do. Did he want me lying supine on the wooden coffee table between us? Would he pull my legs apart by the ankles and position himself between them? Would his hands caress the contours of my thighs, reaching up to touch what he couldn’t see? Would he then lift up my skirt to expose the sheer black panties I had worn, the smooth pubis and the cunt below? I am almost certain he has never had sex. Would he know what to do after that? Does he go down to his knees and tongue my lips and clit through the see through mesh of the front panel? Does he tear off my knickers instead and pull down his jeans and extricate his cock and clamber on top and fuck me? Does he want my legs wrapping his, the soles of my bare feet pressing at the backs of his calves while he cups my breast in his palm and fills my mouth with his tongue? How long would it take for him to come once he is inside my pussy hammering away? Will he go home and masturbate imagining the possibilities: my mouth on his cock, my cunt from behind, my ass?

As I tipped my cappuccino mug upside down to collect the dregs and considered what was bouncing around in Ismail’s cranium, I realized that I had become moist between the legs. The notion of taking a boy’s virginity, turning him into a man, then training him into a dominant flitted through my skull. Ismail was legal, but far too young. It was a naughty, impossible fantasy.

The air was chill. Goosebumps mustered on my arms. The clock on my phone said that it was time to go. I uncrossed my legs. Pushing off the armrests of the chair, my knees parted an instant as I lifted to my feet. It happened in a flash. It was cute seeing him look while seeming not to.

Be rough with me September 15, 2010

Posted by Leah in Craigslust.

I have been fucking of course, but ever since the boyfriend’s visit the kink quota has been low. I miss it. I want sadistic sex.

I posted a new ad on Craigslist this weekend (below). It disappeared almost at once, so I posted it again and again with variations. None of the responses so far have impressed me.

Be rough with me – w4m

I want you to do me hard.

Throw me to the ground and rip my clothes off. Grab my head. Push your fingers into my scalp. Stick your cock in my face. Pound my throat. Set the vicious tempo that you want. Fuck my mouth like you own it. Make my lips swell at the collision when you bottom out. Twist your fingers in my hair and yank. Use the reins to control my movements. I want you to. I want my nose smashed up against your pubis and your balls pressed up against my chin. I want thick cords of saliva dangling from your shaft as I struggle to keep up with how fast and how rough you are. I want you to compel my face to your balls and ass and have me lick and suck.

Pull me over your lap and spank me. Leave your handprints on my buttocks. Turn my ass and thighs red and purple. Be brutal. I can take it. Spank my clit. Wrench my pussy lips and my nipples. Slap my breasts. Make it hurt. Make me remember you.

Fuck me in all positions. Don’t be gentle.

Drive into me from above so that I feel your weight on top, crushing me. Wrap your hand about my throat and choke me. Spit in my face. Cuff my cheeks hard — left side and right side — with stiff and unyielding fingers and also the back of your hand.

Clutch my breasts and maul them while you thrust into me from below. See how my pussy stretches to accommodate your thick penis? Feel the wetness skating down the sides of your shaft and coating your balls? Lift me by the hips and launch yourself at me. Let me squeeze your cock with the muscles of my cunt. Pinch my clitoris.

Take me from behind. Pull my hair as hard as you can. Tug it by the roots. Set your teeth into my neck. Leave bite marks over my back and shoulders. Grab my bouncing tits and haul me backward. Use your strength to impale my pussy onto your prick. Slam your cock into me. Now do it harder. I want to hear the balls smacking against my buttocks. Rub my clit diligently and aggressively. Keep going. Fuck me through my many orgasms.

Sodomize me. Take my ass. Hammer your erection into my bowels. Stick your fingers in my cunt and feel yourself moving inside my anus. Pull me back by the hips and thighs. Batter me with that cock. Split me in half with your long, thick penis. Let me know how strong and powerful you are. I want to be small and submissive under you.

Come in my mouth. Come on my body. Come in my cunt and my anus. I am three holes for your pleasure. Use me. Be strict with me. Call me the vilest names. Leave bruises behind.

I want a man with phenomenal stamina for a one night stand, a dominant lover who knows how to take charge of an uninhibited, dirty slut like me. You should be muscular and fit. Kinky is good. Intelligence is a definite plus. Condoms are mandatory for vaginal and anal penetration. Be prepared to come several times while we fuck the night away. You will host in Zones 1 or 2.

Please send a picture of your face and your body in your reply. I don’t need to see your hardware.

A date and a non-date July 25, 2010

Posted by Leah in Craigslust, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Public.


He invited me to join him in the park. He knew a place where the grass was long and uncut (just like his cock, he said). First, we enjoyed a little picnic — he brought a blanket, sandwiches and fruit, salad, a bottle of wine, two glasses. We basked in the weather and spoke of the plays we had seen, museum exhibitions, the daily aggravations of the underground. Yards away, people kicked around a soccer ball, walked dogs and babies, and laid out on the grass, like us. We saw and heard them.

I had worn a loose fitting skirt that fell to the knees with no panties below. I loosened his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped, and tugged the shorts and briefs down his remarkably hairy thighs. The cock was hard, an average size, and uncut; his pubis could have used grooming, the nest of hair was so thick. I retracted the skin and licked at the head. Lips taut about the shaft, my mouth took him in. While I worked the penis with lips and tongue, he reached up the skirt and fingered my pussy. He ran over my slit, rubbing the moisture from the cunt over the bare pubis. The grass concealed us effectively, but the sounds of the blowjob were loud in my ears. With a penis in my mouth, my eyes scanned the surroundings for voyeurs. It didn’t appear that we were observed. I sucked him five minutes, ten at the most, before he came.

He jerked at the orgasm, and the penis slipped from my lips. The come landed on the ground and also on his shorts and legs. Though we wiped it with paper napkins, it left a wet spot on the fabric. Since it was there, once he had pulled his shorts up, I pressed my mouth over it and sucked, tasting his brine. The saliva made the wet spot bigger. The penis stirred below me.

When it was my turn, I laid on the blanket on my side, my head level with his waist, and hitched up the skirt. I showed him my pussy, pressed a grape inside, ate another. He extracted the grape, popped it in his mouth, and swallowed, then proceeded to eat my sex. His technique was to rub my pussy lips, sending his middle finger inside, tapping the walls with it, perhaps reaching for the G-spot, while he licked and sucked on the clitoris. It lacked variety, but it did the job. The summer air hit me from below as he lapped. I had the scent of dirt and grass. Looking down, I liked the contrast between his skin and mine. Aroused by the blowjob already, I quivered and had a small orgasm. Since I was busy being licked, I didn’t pay attention to what was happening around us. The noises of the park hit me after: the sounds of children playing, the babble of indistinct conversation, a foot striking the ball. There was no applause or laughter when we finished, no police, no amused or disapproving looks. We must have gotten away with it, in the tall grass, on a lazy afternoon, surrounded by hundreds, out in the open, right in the heart of London.



My lunch date didn’t show. That’s shibari I won’t be having.

Bad nights out July 23, 2010

Posted by Leah in Craigslust, D/s.
add a comment

A reader asks: do you ever have a bad night out?

Yeah. I do. Last night’s date is an example. The guy looked about five years older than his picture and thirty pounds heavier. I should have left then, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. The conversation turned, without preface, to sex. In place of charm, he asserted his dominance and proceeded to tell me how he wanted to tie me up and use all my holes. He insisted that I call him Master Dave, which sounds pretty damn absurd to these ears. I have never liked calling anyone Sir or Master. I find it ridiculous. I make no oaths of fealty. I am no one’s slave. I submit because I want to. The lovers who make my legs go weak don’t need these trappings. When we play, their authority is organic and therefore authentic.

This guy was way cooler in e-mail than in person. Needless to say, nothing happened. I went home, hung out with the roommate, read a book.

More so than in the US, I have had a bunch of meet-ups here that haven’t led to the casual encounter. (For the statistically minded, of nine dates off of CL, stuff happened in five of them.) This is frustrating because I go on a date expecting to have sex at the end of it. Even when we do get into bed, not everyone is so hot in the sack. But there’s usually something positive to tell about the experience.

So far, I have been with eight guys in London, sleeping with seven and being masturbated in public by the eighth. I am pleased with six of these encounters, which isn’t a bad ratio at all. Like pussies, these things come in waves. I have had a run of luck. And at some point it’s bound to end.

I am seeing Frank tonight and have meetings set up for Saturday and Sunday afternoons.

Alternatives to Craigslist? July 21, 2010

Posted by Leah in Craigslust.

I posted the following ad thrice this week.

NSA fun – w4m

You are an interesting guy. You live an interesting life. You have interesting friends. You crave interesting sex.

I am an interesting girl. I live an interesting life. I have interesting friends. I crave interesting sex.

We should totally get together!

I am looking for a one night stand only. You and I are both drug and disease free. We use condoms. Kink is negotiable. I am not a prostitute.

Race, age, nationality are not factors in my decision. Good looks are important to me — so send a pic. A good brain is even more important — show me that you have one. Make an intriguing proposition. I might say yes. Do not send me a picture of your cock. I don’t need to see it before we’re naked together. I prefer if you can host in Zones 1 or 2.

Admittedly, it is not the greatest ad in the world, but still serviceable. It has led to a couple of conversations, but didn’t garner nearly as many responses as I would like. The w4m ads on the casual encounters board in London are flagged almost instantly. Do any readers know alternatives to Craigslist in the UK? If so, please send word.


A London derrière July 18, 2010

Posted by Leah in Buggery, Craigslust, D/s, Fucking, Spanking.
1 comment so far

For our date, he asked me to wear a skirt that could be brought up over my ass easily. He wanted to spank me barehand over the knee, you see.

He is a lecturer — roughly, an assistant professor, but tenured — at a university in London. In our e-mail conversation before meeting, I asked him whether his students had ever turned him on, whether he had ever acted on his attraction, whether a girl had ever sucked him off in his office for a better grade. He told me that in his discipline, there are more women than men, at least among the students. He explained that when he was at the front of the lecture theater facing a room full of undergraduates on the rare warm weather day, he would confront a sea of legs under the long rows of desks. Crossed legs, bare and gleaming in the light, were a distraction to his thoughts, and carelessly uncrossed legs so much more so. No one else could see the color of the girl’s underwear but him. In most cases, he believed he wasn’t being flashed intentionally. He has geeky good looks and flustered easily, stumbling over his words when the conversation turned to sex. I don’t expect what he said is entirely true. I have flashed a few profs in class in my time, mostly for the amusement of the game and the private satisfaction of a successful tease. Occasionally, I have done it commando.

The lecturer told me that of course he fantasized about fucking some of the girls in his classes, his advisees, even a graduate student or two. He was attracted to my ad in part because of my age, the dozen years he has on me, that I am a student, a proxy for the ones he can’t touch, or won’t. He claimed that he would never act on his impulses because it was unethical and possibly even a firing offense. At the universities I have been, it happens, not frequently, but enough that there are rumors and hearsay. Most girls I know have had crushes on a teacher or two. Some are desperate for a grade and will pay any price and bear any burden. Not all professors have scruples.

I wore a loose fitting summery skirt with a tank top and made it a point to keep my legs uncrossed and open. The tops of my thighs showed, but I didn’t flash him. Over drinks in the mid-afternoon, he related his latest conquest in Madrid. He had managed to take a señorita back to his hotel room after Spain’s victory in the semifinals of the World Cup. His voice was higher pitched than usual, faster, and he spoke in a whisper as he recounted the tale. I almost expected him to blush. In my turn, I told him about the outcome of my various ads, the older men that I have been fucking in London. I explained that I was a bad girl who deserved a spanking. We got along.

In his apartment, he opened a bottle of wine for us, pulled up some tangos on iTunes, closed the curtains, and dimmed the lights. I pressed my body against his on the sofa. We made out. The kisses were fierce and sloppy, but what he lacked in technique, he made up for in enthusiasm and hair pulling. I stroked the erection in his shorts while he squeezed my tits through the top.

Bringing me over his lap, he flipped my skirt above the waist and yanked my turquoise underwear down to my knees. Having squeezed skin lotion onto my ass, his hands smoothed over the backs of my thighs and my buttocks. He worked the muscles with his strong fingers, giving them a deep massage. His touch was generous and forceful and pleasurable. It caused my skin to feel warm and tingly.


His hand made a loud sound that echoed through the room over the mood music. This unexpected beginning startled me and made me jump in his lap. I touched my hands to the floor and closed my eyes and took a deep breath that I exhaled very slowly. I focused on the sensation in my ass, how the charge rippled through the skin. The friction and the heat of the hands in movement over my skin delighted me. The nerve endings were suddenly alive. Sighing contentment, I kissed the side of his leg above the knee. My weight pressed against his thighs as I settled myself for the spanking he would deliver.

It proceeded slowly. Several times a minute, he brought his right hand down over me. In between, his fingers and his palm rubbed over the curves of the buttocks and thighs. He started the spanking at the fleshy part in the middle of each cheek and alternated between them. Gradually, he worked around to include the downslope of the rump, and the sides, where the ass merges with the hip and the top of the leg, and continued on down to include the back faces of the thighs below. My right side, which was positioned away from his body, received more attention than my left. After the first blow, the subsequent ones did not arrive unforeseen. When the circling motion of the hand was suspended, there was a fractional pause, and I knew that a spank would land in the next instant. I didn’t know exactly where he would strike, but I tilted my ass up in anticipation. I felt goosebumps everywhere as I waited.

This dance continued for the space of several songs. I knew my skin was reddening, but the blows themselves felt like light swats. They stung, rather than hurt. He was pulling his punches.

I needed the spanking to hurt. I wanted to feel it later, deep in my musculature. I was chasing the pleasure that derives from pain. I asked — no, I begged — him to spank me harder.

He obliged.

I closed my eyes and grunted at the blows he delivered. I clenched my teeth and clutched my fist around the leg of his shorts. His hard-on poked against my hip. He stopped when I began to sob, but I told him it was ok, that I was fine, and he kept going. On and on it went.

At one point, I brought my head up and glanced over my shoulder to see how he worked me over. The movement began in his shoulder. His biceps were deceptively powerful, with lines etched in relief. The hand had collapsed into a fist at the top and opened as his arm descended. It reminded me of a pitcher’s windup. He kept throwing his strikes all over the plate. With no obvious pattern to predict, each hit was a surprise. The impact of the hand flat on my buttocks jolted over my skin. It made the flesh shake. The pain was sharp and piercing at the instant of collision, then, as the slap reverberated, it became a diffuse ache that spread through the muscles and nerves. By then the next blow had arrived, and the process repeated. He met my eyes with a feral smile.

I can’t say how long he spanked me. My body shuddered at the punishment he inflicted. By the time he finished, I was lost in an endorphin, adrenalin haze. He held me while I rested on the floor afterwards, leaning back against the sofa, one hand clutched tightly around each of his calves. Except for pinpricks of throbbing, the ass on which I sat was numb. He stroked my hair and made me giggle as he brought the glass of wine to my lips to sip. I stroked my pussy lips and discovered just how sopping wet I was. Turning my head, I noticed the front of his shorts were stained dark, either with my juices, or his own ejaculate. Though I hadn’t realized that I had creamed like that, the former was my suspicion.

We shed our clothes. I wobbled on forearms and knees as he took me from behind. His hands clutched my breasts, and he used them to impale my body onto his prick, which had a substantial girth.

I reveled in the pleasure and encouraged his fantasies along.

“Did you see my panties the other day during lecture? I wore them especially for you. Do you like what was inside them? I like having you inside me.”

“Fuck me, Dr. Williams. Fuck my tight little cunt. I will trade you — my exam grade for your orgasm. What do you say? Isn’t that fair? Isn’t this pussy first class?”

“Spank me while you fuck me. I want you to.”

Before long, my words were incoherent, drowned out by keening. He came moments after I did. After we recovered, he fucked me a second time, again doggy fashion. This time, with lots of lubrication, his cock went into my much abused ass. His fingers played my pussy lips and clit while he thrust inside me, pounding the length in and out of my bowels. Strangely, this fuck was briefer than the first. When he came, he pulled the condom off and shot his whiteness over my buttocks. His hands rubbed the semen into my skin.

I am writing this before bed. I have been home six hours. My ass is red and tender. When I inspected myself in the mirror an hour ago, I noticed a bruise forming on the right cheek. It is about the size of a large coin. I am wearing a pair of light running shorts with nothing underneath and sitting on a package of frozen peas. I squirm in my chair, but there is a broad grin on my face.

Anatomy of a hookup July 15, 2010

Posted by Leah in Craigslust, D/s.

I am on my period, and therefore not thinking sexy thoughts at all. I figured I would write a few words about how I choose my partners, just to keep up the discipline of blogging.

First of all, there needs to be attraction. Market forces operate on Craigslist. It’s unfair, but the women have most of the choice. Conventional beauty helps, but often, I am attracted to the unconventional as well. There’s no formula. I am tempted by all kinds. Rugged masculinity and an intellectual look tend to appeal to me more than metrosexual or cute. I have done my bit for race relations in bed.

I don’t demand a huge cock — enclosed pictures of erections or testimony about the colossal dimensions of a penis are negatives. Creativity and imagination more than compensate for any smallness in size or lack of stamina. Sex is more than what our genitalia do.

Once we start writing, the correspondence needs to be engaging. Because posts get flagged swiftly, I make a quick first cull, then send e-mails to the rest asking for ideas for how the guy envisions play. I look for replies that are responsive to the ad and supply details. It’s an unusual letter that conveys the information I seek. I want to see evidence of a brain at work in the response. I want to be seduced by suspect thoughts — especially if it would be something novel for me. A sense of humor rarely goes amiss, while arrogance is severely off-putting. It’s unlikely that the sex will be a personal epiphany for me. I am looking for a good time, not a revelation or a revolution.

I have a taste for kink. I am in control of most aspects of my life, but I like to let go and have someone else be in command of my body when it comes to sex. If I am going to submit, I need to trust my partner implicitly. I need to believe that my limits will be respected and that I will be safe.

When I arrange a meeting, it is in a public space. I expect my date will be on time and well groomed. Ten minutes of waiting, and I am out. I am happy to pay my share, but if the date insists on pulling out the wallet, I can deal with that. I am looking for a man who is pleasant company and charming and who can talk about topics other than sexuality and the weather. I want good conversation, banter, and wit. Having a thrilling life that is full of adventure is a plus, but making the mundane compelling is just as good. There needs to be chemistry in addition to biology in order to proceed.

When we discuss sex, I want to know about the prospective partner’s experience with the kind of scenario that we have talked about in the e-mails. I want direct answers, without obfuscation or evasion. I don’t require letters of reference or to know who previous lovers were, but I want to hear in specific terms the background with rope, for example, if the intent is to tie me up. I need to believe deep in my bones that I will be unharmed and that the guy knows what he is doing. Visits to subspace can be emotionally draining and leave me feeling small and vulnerable. My partner needs, in my judgment, to be able to cope with that. Experience isn’t strictly compulsory. We all have to start somewhere, and I can be someone’s first. I want to see earnestness, playfulness, and sincerity when experience is lacking. The ideal dominant is open, honest, and without guile. His answers are expansive. He recognizes that my submissiveness is a temporary state, that his dominance is a trust, that props and paraphernalia are a means and not an end, that sex ought to challenge the mind and the body and most of all be fun. After a great many dates, my intuition is finely honed. If there are any warning signs at all, I bail. Most of the time, however, if I agree to meet the guy, sex ends up happening. Much of the filtering has already occurred in the e-mails.

Before proceeding to play, I take a picture of my partner and send it to a friend along with a text saying where I will be. I check in with the friend a few hours later.

There have been experiences I do not care to repeat, but I have never felt sex or submission deriving from Craigslist has led me to activities that weren’t entirely consensual or that put me in a place where I felt threatened. Knock on wood that continues.

How the night unfolds July 10, 2010

Posted by Leah in Bondage, Craigslust, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Masturbation, Spanking.

1. After drinks and flirtatious conversation at his local pub, he persuades me back to his place. It doesn’t take much effort to convince me: I am an easy lay. On the way to his building, he stops to kiss me against the facade of HSBC bank. It is a warm night, but the stone is cool to the touch. I lift a leg to improve his access below while his tongue becomes familiar in my mouth. He turns me, arms wrapping my waist and hands climbing. He lifts my top and manhandles my breasts through the bra. He murmurs filthy words in my ear. I am wet. I slant my ass at the erection in his pants.

2. Once the apartment door closes, he leads me to his bedroom and directs me to undress and kneel. He sheds his clothes briskly and makes a circuit of me, inspecting my body from all sides, considering the possibilities that are available to him. I keep my hands on my thighs, palms facing down, and straighten my back so that my chest juts out. My head is canted floorward. I sit on my heels and point my gaze submissively at the patterned rug. The man brings my arms above my head and tells me to steeple the fingers together. I lift them in prayer, in supplication, in grace. He wraps his belt around my forearms. Extracting a slender blue vibrator from a box at his bedside, he sets it to buzzing in my cunt and has me fellate him. The man is a foot taller when I stand on my toes. He simply towers over me now. With his penis in my lips, he scratches my head as though I am a dog. I moan around the cock at the praise I am given. I make my eyes wide, take a long blink, and cast my glance up at him while I work. Fingers clutch his shaft, creating friction at the base as I wash the crown with my tongue. The vibrator falls out as I bob my head over him. Though I would have happily continued awhile, he doesn’t let me suck him long.

3. He has me lie on the bed with my legs in the air and tells me to masturbate myself with a rubber dildo. The toy is an unrealistic black color with a thick scrotum at the base. I work it into my cunt and stab it in and out by the balls. He sits on the bed and observes, first to my side and then from below. He drags me upright by the hair and tells me to squat myself over the dildo and bounce. I fuck the false cock with the muscles in my legs. The man places his head between my wide open thighs and tells me that he likes the way my pussy looks with the lips stretched around the dildo.

4. He removes the belt from my arms and threads it around my throat. He has me suck him again. This time, he wants my head dangling from the bed. The blood rushes to my face. His hands maul my tits while I stick out my lower lip and take the glans inside. He rocks his hips and gives me more of the cock. His grip on the sides of my face tilts my chin in the direction he prefers. He thrusts his pelvis at me and forces himself deeper. The crown muscles into my throat. He holds position and presses down harder, angling my head up so he can get himself embedded fully. His balls press against my lips and nose. The breath comes to me in heavy gasps when he withdraws the shaft partway. He hammers me with the penis, using my throat for a cunt. Saliva sheets over my face. Most of his cock is in my mouth the whole time he skull fucks me. The glans jabs in and out of my throat. My lips are heavy and swollen when he ceases.

5. He watches me pee.

6. I sit on the bathroom sink and wrap a condom over his penis. He stands between my legs and penetrates me. Anchoring one leg to the floor, I push off the counter with the other. I fuck him in the near darkness of the room. The toiletries on the shelf behind me clatter to the floor. He kisses me while he fucks me. He stops himself before he comes and eats me to an orgasm. His tongue licks spirals around my clit. He whisks his goatee over my pubis. The bristles are coarse on the smooth skin. He presses his chin down on my labia and uses his facial hair as a brush on my cunt. It’s prickly. I like the circular movements he makes when he digs down. He clamps down on the clit and sucks. I lick my juices from his face afterwards.

7. In the bedroom, he asks me to do something dirty for him — my choice, anything at all. I urge him onto the bed supine and clamber on top, knees straddling his waist. I lift his left arm up and tongue the armpit. The odor is strong. It fills my nose. I shrug it off and deposit kisses along his underarm. I lap where the muscles bend. I repeat on the other side, nosing into the hair, licking wetly. He tells me no one has done such a thing for him before, not his ex-wife or any other woman. I smile.

8. Pulling me by the lead, he drags me from the bed, makes me stand in the center of his bedroom, and instructs me to brace my neck with my hands and stretch my shoulders apart. Again he opens the toy box, this time extracting a leather cat-o’-nine-tails. Pulling the belt around so that it falls down my back and hangs between my buttocks like a tail, he proceeds to whip my breasts. The first blow takes me by surprise. The impact of the leather smarts upon my skin. I cry out involuntarily. Successive blows are timed about two seconds apart. I count them silently as I flinch. My breasts wobble in response to the whip. By the twentieth hit, I am whimpering in pain. By the fortieth, I am conscious of my tears. He swings the whip harder and harder at the end, stopping at seventy-six. I look down at myself once he has finished. My skin is flushed red. There are stripes above and below my tits, where the falls of the whip have fallen. The nerve endings sing. My body aches.

9. He fucks me after that. This is simple missionary sex. He is on top pounding away while I am beneath him, writhing. My hands clutch at his shoulders. I moan. I wail. My head rocks from side to side. There is no finesse here, but neither of us need it. We are animals rutting. Fingers clutch at my throat, their grip tightening on my windpipe when he comes. I orgasm twice. The first time is explosive. It has me shrieking. The second time is softer. It radiates from my cunt in waves and resonates deep in my bones. Coupled with how he shudders inside me, the sex leaves me euphoric.

10. After he extracts himself from my pussy, he pulls the condom off and turns it inside out. He smears the semen over his palm and offers it to me. I bring my head down obediently and lick it up. The condom may have been lubricated on the inside. The semen has an unpleasant taste. I swallow quickly. I know he won’t come for me again. The man is in his late forties. He told me earlier that he can generally orgasm only once in a night. This is why he has been careful till the end. The underground, I know, is still running. I reach for my clothes. The man helps me dress. I go down on my knees and thank him for the evening with my lips encasing his penis. I stroke his balls. Hauling myself to my feet, I leave kisses on his chest and collar. He embraces me. The grip of his fingers is strong in my hair during our last kisses. It is time for me to go.