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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.

Hard and pleasant use August 5, 2011

Posted by Leah in Bondage, Breath play, Buggery, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups, Spanking, Urine.
7 comments

Because of work commitments, I only had sex once this week, with Amadeo. It was another hard session. This is how it went.

• Amadeo tied my panties about my ankles and had me kneel on the sofa. I bent over the couch with my arms stretched horizontally along the back while he flayed my buttocks with his belt. I screamed through the ball gag.

• While I squirmed over his lap, he held my wrists firmly in one of his hands, forced my legs apart with his thighs, and spanked my pussy. As I haven’t waxed since before my vacation, I have a soft cushion of hair on my pubis. Amadeo used this as an excuse to spank me ten extra times.

• We employed restraints that passed over the door to bind my arms above my head. Amadeo attached nipple clamps to my breasts and whipped my tits as they had so far been left out.

• Finally, he slipped his fly open to expose his cock. I sat on the edge of the coffee table and sucked him off. I was conscious of the ache in my chest and how my ass smarted while I fellated him. Holding the sides of my face, he used my throat for a cunt. The saliva ran in rivers over his cock. The fluvial excess left puddles on the carpet.

• Amadeo didn’t come in my mouth. He peeled off his clothes and fucked me in the ass. I was on the floor, on knees and the balls of my toes with breasts flattened against the cushions of the sofa. He had me hold my cheeks apart for him as he battered his way into me. My buttocks were an angry red. He slapped them again with his bare hand as he fucked me. He told me that he liked to see the flesh ripple.

• A few fingers of whisky, and we were ready to go again. I slouched on my back with my head propped up against the back of the sofa. My feet hooked around his waist. Amadeo squeezed my tits as he probed my cunt with his cock. He jabbed his fingers into my mouth. I brought his hand to my throat. He clutched my windpipe and slipped his tongue past my lips. I enjoyed the kisses as much as I enjoyed his cock.

• He flipped the condom inside out and tipped the semen into the cup of his hand. I lapped the come from his palm. I played with it, stretching long strands between my fingers and breaking them as the triumphant runner tears the tape at the end of a race.

• After all this, Amadeo rested. He reclined on the sofa with his head cushioned by throw pillows against the side. My naked architect leafed through the correspondence of Vincent and Theo Van Gogh. He read aloud to me while I sucked softly on his scrotum and penis. We set the alarm on his iPhone. He wanted me to continue in this way for an hour. As he had come twice, a shifting touch of fingers and lips allowed him to last so long. My jaws were sore. I looked up at him as he finished himself off by masturbating.

• He shot his sperm into my panties. He took the semen wet cloth and rubbed it over my face. He anointed my forehead with his come. It moisturized the pores on my cheeks. To consume the leavings, I sucked hard on the fabric and twisted it until I could taste no more of Amadeo. I decided I would wear the same panties in the morning.

• He ordered me to masturbate in bed. I did so using the steel dildo that I keep in his apartment. He rubbed ice cubes over my breasts. He licked the melted water from my nipples. After the orgasm, he had me do it again because I had climaxed without seeking and acquiring his permission. He kept me going without coming for minutes after I asked, until I begged. Taking the dildo from my pussy, he slipped the ice cubes into my cunt and lapped the slit. When he told me to come, I did so on command. He bit my clitoris. The sharpness of his teeth fused pleasure with pain and augmented the intensity of the orgasm and the volume of my screams.

• In the bathtub in the morning, he blasted the shower at maximum heat and full pressure at my clitoris. I diddled myself until I climaxed, remembering to receive his consent first. Afterwards, we fucked in the hot stream. I went to my knees and drank the contents of his bladder. He hosed me down with it, my face and breasts. I spread my thighs so he could aim the flow at my cunt. I washed it in my hair as though it was shampoo.

• He drove me to the university and sent me to work wearing a buttplug in my anus. It remained in my ass until after lunch.

Flogged and fucked July 30, 2011

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

A reader e-mailed me to ask what it feels like to mix pain with sex. I thought I might use my latest meeting with Amadeo to elaborate on the experience.

The two of us were naked in his bedroom. After eating me out until my juices dripped from his chin, Amadeo used cords of hemp rope to affix my left wrist to my left ankle and my right wrist to my right ankle. With my knees propped up, I laid diagonally on the mattress with my back flat. A pillow supported my head. The blindfold negated my vision. My nipples were swollen from the clamps he had employed half an hour before. He trailed the end of his belt softly along the inner surfaces of my thighs. The touch of leather over the pubis was feather light, gentle, very nearly inconsequential. It floated over the pussy lips, barely making any contact with them. It almost tickled. Then he brought the end slashing down.

A searing pain began in the labia. Circles of hurt radiated outward as the nerves responded. I winced at the blow. My knee pulled up and my body twisted over to one side. The abrupt and angry activation of the nerve endings set me to shaking. Chest heaving, I swallowed gulps of air.

He gave me a few seconds to gather my composure. I let my weight sink into the mattress and spread my thighs open for him in acquiescence. I remembered that he had turned my ass purple the last time we had played.

This time the belt landed directly over my clitoris. After the cunnilingus, the area was excruciatingly sensitive. The hood may have been down. It would have offered feeble defense even if it were not. I screamed. There weren’t words to the bellow. It was a loud confession of pain and rage. My pubis burned with a fiery ache. I squirmed on the mattress. Deep, tearless sobs wracked my body. By exertion of will, I forced myself to take large, steady breaths. I stretched open again and waited for the next sharp blow.

Anticipation stretched out in the silence of the room. My muscles were tense. There was a tightness in my respiration. When the blow came, he struck my clit again.

I called him a motherfucker and a bastard. I wriggled against my bonds and curled one of my thighs protectively over my cunt.

Amadeo very gently eased me to lie flat on the mattress again. A slight, but insistent pressure against my knees extended the chasm between them.

He hit my thighs at the crease where they met the pubis and continued over the legs, leaving my cunt alone. This hurt, but far less than before. When he mixed in the occasional blow to my pussy, I could tolerate this pain. The sensation was not as intense as what had transpired previously.

Amadeo spit on my cunt twice and rubbed the saliva over the lips with the knuckles of his hand. I knew that the next blows would hurt. I gripped the bonds between my hands and my feet, steadied myself, and waited. Indeed, he struck the labia as I had known he would. He missed slightly, so it was a glancing blow rather than a direct hit. He corrected for the mistake, compelling my knees open, flashing the leather down from immediately above. This one really scorched. I sobbed under the blindfold without actually crying and shrieked my fury at him. He folded the belt over and strapped me again. Quite deliberately, the sting landed in exactly the same place as the one before. I spit at him — it was the only thing I could do — but as I was blind, missed badly in my attempt. The globule of expectorate arced onto my breasts. He hawked in my face to show me how it should be done and slapped each of my cheeks.

He traded the belt for the cat-o’-nine-tails. He swung this instrument more freely and fiercely, with less precision than before. The multiple falls meant that several places would hurt at once. But the ache induced was also more diffuse. Additionally, I had gotten used to the whipping; the nerve endings became partially sensitized to the pain. He applied the tails to the thighs more than to the cunt. He lashed my arms, my belly, and then my breasts. I squealed impotently as the cat thudded against my tits. I heard the wooshing sound, the brief movement of air, the momentary breeze on my perspiring skin. Then came the hard landing and the needles shooting pain into the dermis.

At the last, he used the riding crop. “Bastinado,” he said, and he beat the balls of my feet. “Boobs,” he said, and slapped the breasts from the sides. “Ten over the cunt,” he said and made me count. In order to alter the direction of impact, I heard him change sides every few numbers. His hand soothed along the inside of my thigh and coaxed my legs apart. He whispered reassuring words. The gentleness stopped at speech, however. He didn’t moderate his strength.

Whipping is an exercise and an assertion of his power over me. That is the heart of its appeal. I am tied up. He can do what he wants. I surrender my body to his violence. I do this of my own accord. By refusing the security of the safeword, I volunteer to accept the next hard blow. I embrace the pain because a man to whose dominant character I have acceded gives it to me in his generosity. I wear his marks willingly over my skin. I feel so alive as the hurt is administered to me. This is my submission.

The tears started at three. My nose went runny at five. There aren’t words to describe the agony and torment I experienced at seven, eight, and nine. Ten impacted me as a blissful release. The suffering was finally over. Amid the bawling and the howling and the sniveling beneath the blindfold, I also laughed aloud at the completion of the whipping. An overriding sense of accomplishment accompanied the conclusion of the act. I had endured. The pain had excited the nerves. It made me feel awake to the moment. It echoed still. The flesh thrummed in tempo with my pulse. I hurt in places I could not name. This aroused me.

Amadeo kissed me and filled my open mouth with wine. This aroused me, too. He unknotted the rope that bound me. When both hands were free, I plucked the blindfold from my face and threw myself at him. I bit his lower lip and gave him my tongue, taking his. Large paws cupped my tits as we made out. The outside of my cunt throbbed. The muscles in my legs were suffused by ache. My shoulders smarted from being tied for so long. My ankles and wrists were raw from straining against the rope. Small, parallel welts crisscrossed the insides of my thighs. (Evidently, he had applied the cat with greater vigor than I had supposed.) My pussy lips were battered and bruised, deformed and sore. These were minor discomforts now.

“I want you to fuck me,” I told him. I stroked his cock, which was mostly hard.

He fumbled for a moment with the packaging of the condom, then gave up and bit the wrapper open. Once he was sheathed, he leaned his weight against my chest. Opening my lips for his, I fell backward. My legs spread, and his body occupied the room that I had made. I grabbed hold of the shaft and placed it at the entrance of my pussy. Gravity took care of the rest. Amadeo penetrated me, sinking all the way in all at once. I sighed in relief and happiness at the sudden fullness of my cunt. The presence of cock gratified me. It was the axis of my globe. Raising the pelvic floor, I collapsed the muscles of the vagina around the shaft. My ankles hooked about his buttocks, and my arms wrapped his back to compel him closer to me. He fucked me with energetic movements of the hips and pelvis. His lips told me with kisses and words how beautiful I was. His fingers combed through my hair, which was soaking wet. He had not come yet. I had barely touched his penis during foreplay. He did not last long inside my much abused pussy. He lasted long enough to have me convulsing about his erection in the half minute before his own climax.

Short takes July 22, 2011

Posted by Leah in Buggery, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups, Spanking.
7 comments

Catching up on work and life takes priority over blogging. Therefore, I have no long post to give. Here are short takes on catching up with my stable of lovers in London.

• Amadeo brought me over his thighs and tugged my jeans and panties down to my knees. I had to keep track of the number of times each buttocks was hit and say the number aloud. He confused me by striking the cheeks at random.

• After he came in my mouth, I spit Amadeo’s semen onto my breasts. It left a sticky trail in its wake as it ran through my cleavage.

• Face lowered to the mattress, I was on knees and shoulders as he wrenched my arms behind me and hauled me backward by the wrists. Pussy yielded to cock. One of his knees dug into the mattress. He planted his other foot to my face. I kissed Amadeo’s big toe.

• Frank stood behind me, cock to one side. He held my hair in a ponytail as I sucked him. While I deepthroated the cock, my fingers splayed on the outside of my cunt. The digits diddled my clit. He came over my face. The stuff got into my hair. Frank isn’t shy about his semen. We shared messy kisses afterwards.

• I clutched the yellow pillow and the side of the mattress. Frank clutched each foot just above the ankle. I stared up at the ceiling and took in measured breaths as his thick glans penetrated my anus.

• Fingers laced with his, I gripped his hand long after my knuckles turned color. Frank ate my cunt with ravenous intent. I came over his face, too.

The phone booth June 18, 2011

Posted by Leah in D/s, Exhibitionism, Fucking, Public, Repeated hookups.
10 comments

After a particularly intense workout at the gym, I had changed into a black and white striped sweater top that bared my shoulders and a khaki skirt that lifted indecently from my rear whenever I bent forward at the waist. I met Amadeo at a pub in Holborn. He discovered I had come commando when I flashed him at the bar. I had not worn a bra either. The weather was chilly enough in mid-June that my nipples peaked.

At the restaurant, I sat slightly further from the table than strictly necessary, with knees separated and feet planted apart. The fabric bowed, the dip of the cloth draping over the middle and covering me (just). During the meal — sushi — I kept my legs together and behaved. The napkin, which extended over my thighs, enhanced my modesty by a factor of two.

Amadeo told me about his recent visits to Germany. I told him about what I have been working on at the university, my plans for the rest of the summer, and how the thesis clock would tick relentlessly once I returned to Boston in September.

After dinner, Amadeo ordered an espresso. I had a caffè latte. As there wasn’t a need for the napkin anymore, it sat in a crumple upon the table. Pushing myself back half a foot, I hiked the skirt up my thigh and showed my stuff underneath.

Amadeo smiled appreciatively at the view. The tip of his tongue slowly traversed from one corner of the lip to the other and made the amble in reverse. I licked a bit of cream lasciviously from my finger.

He held me by the waist, one step in front of him, as we descended the escalator into the belly of the tube. The tug on the fabric pulled the top down the left shoulder. The drape of the cloth accentuated my cleavage. Amadeo deposited small kisses on the trapezius muscle. I was moist below.

On the train, he sat on the ledge near the door at the end of the car. His arms wrapped me from behind and he laced his fingers over my pelvis. I reached behind me to grip his hip. My knees bent a fraction as I pushed my weight against him. My feet held my backpack in place.

Amadeo took his cell phone from his pocket and took a snapshot of us, together. The flash from the second photograph went under the ledge the bottom of my skirt made across the tops of my thighs. I laughed when he took this picture and felt myself getting wetter.

We took the long way to his apartment. Amadeo shouldered my backpack. We clasped hands. His enormous paw covered my small fingers.

In a dark shadow under the trees, I spied a man peeing. I nudged Amadeo with an elbow to the ribs and nodded my head at the unknown man.

Amadeo stopped, and he considered. “Not today,” he decided, which was a pity.

We walked south. Victorian houses lined the street on either side. Their facades stretched a city block. About half the windows were lit. Silence sheltered the road. A few streets away, cars rumbled on the still busy main thoroughfare.

I raised to the points of my toes and placed a kiss on Amadeo’s cheek. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me on the lips. As the kiss deepened, I brought his hand up to a breast. His fingers tightened. He extended their reach. Lured by his taste, my tongue followed his into his mouth. The kiss broke because one of us moved our head in an unanticipated direction. We laughed and re-engaged. I sucked on his tongue, latching on to the tip with teeth to forestall him taking it away. Amadeo palmed my buttocks, one cheek in each of his big hands.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he stated. His voice had a growl. He rubbed me between the legs.

I spotted a red phone booth on the corner of the street. “In there,” I pointed.

The box was a tight squeeze. We stood back to front with the phone on our left. I told Amadeo that I had condoms in the side packet of my backpack. He unzipped and covered his cock. I pushed my hands off the paneled glass and thrust my ass at him. Amadeo prised my legs further apart and entered me from behind. I was so wet that his penis slid all the way in at once.

He fucked me in that constricted space. The cock was like the piston of a steam engine, a single cylinder moving in a two stroke cycle. In and out, in and out, it went. My cunt, greased by arousal, provided the lubrication for the shaft. He accelerated to a pace that worked. After that, the speed didn’t change. Instead of going faster, he went harder. Amadeo held my hips and slammed his cock home. The balls clapped against my buttocks. Their impact echoed in the booth.

I saw my reflection in the glass. My face scrunched up in lines with the effort of fucking. My moans had volume. He matched them with his grunts.

Amadeo pulled the sweater down my shoulder to expose one of my breasts. Shoving me against the wall of the phone booth, he flattened the tit against glass. The surface felt cold to my bare skin. It made me shiver.

A sharp tug of the hair forced my head backward. He bit my bottom lip. My nails broke the skin on his forearm. The end of his belt slapped against my thigh.

His fingers gathered the wetness from my pussy. He pressed them into my mouth.

There were lights in the building. I wondered if anyone saw us. I hoped so.

“Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” The words were my mantra.

My hand reached behind me. The grip on his ass encouraged his movements. Amadeo was deliberate to allow me to come first. My wetness splashed onto the backpack situated on the floor of the booth. He stopped moving while my vagina contracted about the shaft. He grunted at the achievement of holding his orgasm back as my muscles constricted. Head thrown back, I laughed like a madwoman.

He started moving again when I told him to fuck me.

I started chanting, this time punctuating the premise that he should fuck me with the demand that he must do it harder.

Not a minute after my orgasm, his arms wrapped my waist, and he lifted me up. My feet were suspended in midair. His shaft plugged me impossibly deep. Shrieking, I clamped myself about the penis as it convulsed inside me.

His jolts went on and on in a sequence of hard pulses. His hand gripped the tit that was still partially exposed. My legs kicked in the air as he tightened his hold on me. “Slut,” he intoned.

Yes, I am.

When he set me down, I sagged against the side of the phone booth. The air stunk of sex. My makeup and hair were disasters. I needed to pee.

I heard the zip of his belt and the metallic ring of his belt buckle. I smoothed the skirt to cover myself. Turning, I spread my arms to embrace him. We kissed, and while my arms circled his neck, he lifted me up once more.

We were three blocks from his apartment. I walked there on unsteady legs.

Things that were in my cunt yesterday June 2, 2011

Posted by Leah in Bondage, Buggery, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups, Spanking, Urine.
3 comments

Ben Wa balls: I slipped them into my pussy after lunch. They shifted and teased me throughout the day. During spare moments, I compressed my muscles to give the pelvic floor a workout. I stood on the Jubilee line to Amadeo’s place. The spheres jostled as the train accelerated and decelerated. Amadeo discovered the Ben Wa balls and extracted them from my cunt when he stripped me down after dinner.

A pestle: Since he had cooked, I did the dishes after the meal. Once naked, I wore his belt around my neck. Amadeo had me sit on the counter, drew my legs apart, and spun into my cunt the ceramic pestle I had washed. He had earlier used it to crush spices. The texture was grainy and rough. I liked its coarseness against my labial folds.

Ice: Amadeo placed two ice cubes into my pussy. My body squirmed and my legs wriggled. He forcibly held my thighs open as he diddled my clit. The heat inside melted the water, which he drank from me as he licked.

His tongue and his spit: Obviously.

Two clothespins: In the bedroom, Amadeo arranged clothespins in spirals about my areolae. The way they stuck out reminded me of the quills of a porcupine. Stronger metal clips with teeth attached to each of the nipples. He secured the clothespins that were left over from his set of two dozen to my underarms and my navel. One peg of the clothespin on each side of the pussy entered my cunt. He used the pincers to tug my lips apart and licked the fissure in between.

Three fingers: When he fingered me, he shoved the three central fingers of his right hand into my cunt. He stabbed them in and out with ferocity until I came. After the orgasm, I lapped my juices from his hand. It was only when I had done this to his satisfaction that he removed the clamps from my nipples. They were sensitive and raw to the touch of fingers and lips. The rush of blood inside made the nerve endings throb.

A steel dildo: It is our favorite toy. I enjoyed having its heft inside, the way it compelled my pussy to stretch, how Amadeo curled it. He nudged it against the G-spot and the anterior fornix deeper inside.

The metal buckle of his belt: Just because.

The middle of the belt: Amadeo folded the leather over in half. He wet it in my pussy and used it to lash my buttocks. I gripped the headboard while he whipped me.

A vibrating egg: While I sucked his cock, the egg buzzed inside my vagina. It had a remote control. Amadeo made me moan around his penis each time he ramped the setting higher. At full power, the constant whirr made my muscles thrum. The egg remained in my pussy while Amadeo’s lubed up cock occupied my anus. At the end of this round, I laid on my belly, pubis rutting against a pillow. The vibrator purred over the G-spot while Amadeo prised my cheeks apart and pounded my asshole. The belt looped about my wrists. Arms bound behind my back, he hauled my body onto his prick.

Urine: Actually, this took place in the morning. Before we showered, Amadeo had me lie down in the bottom of the tub. He stood on the sides, his spread open legs directly over my head so that I could look up at the split of his muscular ass and the balls swinging above. He pissed, directing the flow at the cunt lips, which I peeled open for him. A quarter hour later, he came over my face. My index finger applied pressure to his prostate to enhance the sensations he experienced.

Amadeo’s cock: Of course.

How to dom me more than once June 1, 2011

Posted by Leah in D/s.
8 comments

I am intelligent. I am industrious. I am competitive. I am ambitious. I am opinionated. I am feminist. I am feminine.

I am also submissive.

I like a man to take control during sex. I like that he uses me as his fuck-toy. I like being overpowered physically. I like the way he insists on having sex as he engineers it. I like the names he calls me. I like when he is rough with my body. I like pain and have a reasonable tolerance for it. I like how he applies his creativity and intellect to render me an instrument for his pleasure.

These are aspects of one persona (mine).

Most of the sex I have these days transpires in the context of no strings encounters, often with men I meet on the internet. It is easy for a woman in her mid-twenties to find sex in an urban and cosmopolitan environment, and I have one night stands as a consequence of various chance meetings, but the fact is that I seek kink in order to sate the emotional and inner yearnings at my core. While I indulge my appetites with frequency, very few of my partners end up achieving fuck buddy status. This is not by design.

I like having regular play partners for the simple reason that by virtue of friendship and familiarity with each other’s bodies and desires, the experience of sex becomes heightened for both of us. Rarely, however, do I spend more than one night with a man. It is difficult for me to find people I like well enough and with whom I have sufficient chemistry that a friends with benefits arrangement becomes conceivable. The added constraint of having a similar philosophy regarding domination and submission complicates matters.

I have a checklist for what I look for in a regular. I need to have fun in his company. I need him to treat me as an equal in the non-sexual context. I need him to fuck well, paying attention to my orgasms in addition to his own. I need him to be mindful of my limits as he pushes me. I need him to treat me as an equal participant in the kink. I need him to make me feel safe while I am challenged physically and submerged in submissive mental spaces. I need him to conduct a seamless transition from camaraderie to carnality. I need him to respect me — before, during, and after the play.

It is the rare man who can do all of these things for me. I might have a nice date with a guy, go to bed with him, play hard, and then discover an unevenness in how we interact afterwards. The laughter isn’t as free. The second date has a tension to it. Having treated me once as his slut and his bitch, he no longer regards me as an independent personality. He attempts to assert his dominance within a quotidian context, where power games are inapposite. A boundary has been crossed. Much of this may not happen in any overt manner. But it’s the vibe I get. It’s a subcutaneous sensation intuited from how we communicate. He fails to appreciate that my submission arises from my volition rather than his will. I no longer trust him sufficiently to place myself in his power. Under the circumstances, we won’t have sex again. A relationship can’t develop.

Possibly, I am misinterpreting his intentions. Possibly, I am being unfair in my judgments. It isn’t about fairness though. I can only rely on my instincts. And my instincts tell me that we have exhausted our potential the first time and that I should look for someone new.

The dominant men who successfully get me into bed a second time and ultimately become regular play partners have the ability to compartmentalize. They recognize that submission and kink exist only within a particular context. Both when we are having sex and when we are not, they exhibit respect for me as a person. The friendship extends to both places. I am tied up, he pours hot wax over my breasts, and next spanks my cunt until I cry. When we have a glass of wine after sex, he laughs at the joke I make at his expense. He uses the flow of his urine to wash his semen from my face, and then, following the shower, he towels me off with infinite tenderness and care. We go to a concert together, and I buy dinner because it’s my turn.

He is dominant. I am submissive. But I never feel that he is my better or that I am his inferior.

The fountain May 28, 2011

Posted by Leah in Anilingus, Bondage, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fisting, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups, Spanking, Urine.
8 comments

He has tie points installed into the headboard and the footboard of his bedframe. He looped rope through them and had me spread-eagled over the mattress. Using first a wooden spatula from the kitchen and then a riding crop, he spanked my cunt. He struck the pussy lips past the point of pain and into a state of numbness. The blows landed exactly and accurately over the distended and exposed clitoris. I had asked him to do this to me.

Afterwards, Amadeo spread himself in the space between my stretched apart legs and worked his mouth over pubis and pussy. His tongue threaded into the folds of the flesh and teased the wetness out of me. He licked the engorged lips. His fingers reached inside and pushed against the G-spot. The pressure there made the clit stand out. I felt my spine elongate and extend while he lapped at the clitoris. My arms lengthened as I tugged at the bonds around my wrists.

Attendant to my arousal, the blood throbbed in the flesh. The clit trilled under his ministrations.

Amadeo would not let me come. He brought me to the escarpment and deliberately backed me off. He simply wouldn’t touch me, neither with his fingers, nor with his tongue while I hovered at the edge.

He turned his attention to my breasts instead. He licked around the areolae. He sucked on the nipples, bit down on the nubs, and chomped. The nerve endings screamed their pain. Lips gave voice to their agony.

Amadeo kissed me intimately. He looked down on me and stuck his tongue out as far as he could.

“Suck it like it’s my cock,” he said.

Lifting my head from the pillow, I brought my mouth over the point of tongue. I compacted my lips and kissed wetly there. Applying a loud and persistent suction that pulled the tonguetip inside past the rows of teeth, I closed my eyes and spun my face by degrees.

His fingers touched over my much abused pussy lips. He smeared the wetness that had escaped my cunt over them. Two fingers pressed in. He fucked them in and out.

“You’re not allowed to come without permission,” he stated.

Amadeo returned to sucking my nipples, far more gently this time. A pair of his fingers stretched all the way inside my vagina and pivoted within. The knuckles of the other fingers brushed over my pubis. Five minutes of this and I felt loose and wet inside. My muscles tightened about his hand. My ankles strained at the rope. My knees bent, and my thighs lifted up. Amadeo pushed my center flat against the mattress and continued fingering me while he nursed.

After a time, Amadeo compressed my breasts together and slid his cock between them. After a time, he straddled my head and gave me the front half of his penis to suck. After a time, he lowered his balls into my mouth and turned himself around so that I could rim his ass.

I craned my neck up and buried my face in the crevice of his buttocks. Nose riding into the crease, my tongue lapped at the exiguous ridges that surrounded the anus. He spread his cheeks so that I could lap more easily at the pucker. Gingerly, the tip of my tongue poked past his sphincter. He let me lick for a while, then returned his penis to my lips. From this position, he spread his body over mine so his weight was on top and initiated sixty-nine. His tongue circled my clitoris. He kissed into my cunt. The two fingers dug in again. He scissored them apart and slipped his tongue between the digits, which he fucked in and out while he tongued over slit and clit.

I moaned around the cock in my mouth and sucked harder. This caused him to redouble the exertions of his tongue. My saliva streamed down the sides of his shaft and made my face sticky.

“Tell me when you get close,” he said. While he applied suction to the clit, he also jabbed his penis against the roof of my mouth.

I didn’t have to tell him. He knew how to read my body and backed off on his own. He turned himself, crawled between my legs, and dedicated his endeavors to bringing me repeatedly to the precipice of a soaring orgasm. He brought me there, and he held me back.

I begged him to let me come.

He steadfastly ignored my entreaties. The look on my face, the desperate want, my needy pleas — these amused him. He brought a vibrator out and pressed it against the clit while he licked my opening. He extended the index and middle fingers inside as far as he could manage and rotated his hand at the wrist. He finger fucked the digits in and out swiftly and then returned to a slow turn while he lapped at the folds.

I stared down at him while he brought me to the ragged edge. I held tightly to the rope. My legs struggled with their bonds while I squirmed in my torment.

I wanted to come. I told him this again and again. I verbalized my desire, explaining to him how much I wanted my parole. I tried persuasion. I asked nicely. I requested him to shove me over the edge of this cliff to which he had led me. I implored. I pleaded. I beseeched. It was in vain, for he wouldn’t allow it. After some minutes, I stopped importuning him for consent. Rather, I screeched epithets.

“Not till I say so,” he insisted. He laughed at the names that I invented for him.

In addition to a change of clothes, toiletries, and a couple of articles of lingerie that he likes, I keep a steel dildo in Amadeo’s apartment. He placed it inside and fucked me with it. Initially, the metal was cold to the touch, but my body heat warmed it up. It felt extremely heavy — far more so than any cock. It filled me up. My muscles stretched to accommodate the unbending steel, especially when Amadeo angled it against the sides of my cunt. It was long enough that the massive rounded knob prodded at sensitive places deep within. To the reconnaissance of pussy, he supplied torque to twirl the metal inside me, which he knew I enjoyed. Mostly he fucked me with the dildo, using the strength in his powerful upper arm to control the depth and the velocity of the movements.

I panted hard. He diddled my clit. Looking down at my stretched out body, I focused my attention on my toes, how I wiggled them, on the grain of the footboard of the bed and the color of the oak, on how my legs stretched apart, bound as they were by rope. My eyes scrunched shut with the effort of concentration. Sweat beaded on my forehead and streamed down the sides of my face.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would have creamed hard repeatedly by the time we had arrived at this point in the evening. I could not come without permission, however. I inhabited a submissive place. I determined to play this game to its conclusion. My imperative was to obey his instruction. I would come only when he assented to my orgasm. I rationalized that it would be his gift to me.

Amadeo didn’t offer me his permission. But neither did he torture me for long. He extracted the dildo and laid it over the mattress of the bed. Cupping my tits with his large hands, he kissed me gently and for the longest time. His saliva lowered into my throat. His tongue explored the inner surfaces of my mouth and made my cheeks bulge. He sucked and nipped and nibbled and chewed upon my bottom lip. He touched the pussy lips with a profound softness and with infinite care. Not for the first time, Amadeo made love to me.

This interlude of gentleness was followed by partial fisting. Amadeo squeezed four fingers inside me and folded them on top of each other and located the thumb parallel and facing down in the valley of the digits. He turned the hand at the wrist and screwed the fingers in to their bottom bend. The knuckles pressed at me from below the cunt. My juices coated his hand in a thick grease.

I could have come at any instant. He needed only to give the word. But he didn’t. So I contained my orgasm. I was a bitch held at bay not by the ropes that restrained me, but by dint of willpower.

The bastard wouldn’t produce the order to let go. Instead, he rolled a condom over himself and provisioned me with his penis. He laid on top of me with the cock ensconced to the balls. He fucked my cunt with short rabbit thrusts. But mostly, he remained motionless over my body with his shaft embedded fully within. His massive frame crushed my breasts flat. He reached above my head and tugged the rope about my wrists. He gnawed at the cartilage at the top of my ear and spun his tongue around my earring. His cock lunged in and out in concise and punctuated bursts.

I gritted my teeth. I shook my head from side to side. I thought of mundane aspects of life to distract myself.

He didn’t complete. “I don’t come, you don’t come,” he said, and pinned me to the mattress with his cock.

He left the fuck unfinished, departed the bedroom, and returned from the kitchen with fruit that he fed me and water to rehydrate my parched throat. He sat on the mattress and read to me from Sade.

I needed to pee. He loosened the bonds and followed me into the bathroom. While I urinated from a sitting position, Amadeo had me spread my legs wide apart. He directed the flow of his piss at my pussy. The two streams joined. His urine and mine fell with a splash and tinkled together in the toilet. He pointed his penis higher and stepped closer to me. The urine fell over my belly and sheeted down my pubis. At the end of it, when our bladders had emptied, he gave me his glans to suck. I closed my eyes and took the crown into my mouth. My tongue blotted the tip of the residues of piss.

I went to my knees before the toilet and sucked Amadeo with a wet mouth and the consistent application of pressure. Droplets of pee dripped onto the floor from the lips of my pussy. After his thick and milky semen had barreled into my stomach, he ran his big toe along my slit, then helped me to my feet.

It was late. Amadeo said that he was spent. Rather than letting me masturbate myself, he promised to fuck me to orgasm in the morning. My disappointment was evident, but I acquiesced with as good grace as I could muster. We curled up naked beneath the covers and spoke in whispers. I fell asleep with his chest spooned against my back and one of his hands covering my breasts.

I woke at four in the morning. The latex sheathed penis fumbled at the gates of my cunt. My arms encircled Amadeo’s back. I raised my legs into the air and pulled him down by the shoulders. The instant he was in me, I was wide awake. The sex was uncomplicated. Amadeo pounded me from above. The shaft pistoned in and out with speed and metronomic precision.

“You can come,” he had stated when we started. He gathered my wrists in one his hands and lifted my arms high above my head. He kissed me.

The denial of orgasm in the hours previous left my nerves confused. I wasn’t on the edge any longer, and it took me long minutes to work up to a state of frenzy. When I was there, my pussy fountained.

The orgasm began deep in the walls of my vagina. It rippled from the interior out to the periphery. Every one of my nerve endings thrilled. First it was in my cunt exclusively. Then it was everywhere. I blinkered my eyes shut and saw the stars of the galaxy in supernova. Watery ejaculate gushed explosively from my pussy. It made an arc and sprayed onto his belly and rained back over my thighs and onto the clean, white bed linen. The penis slipped out of my cunt. Amadeo maneuvered it back in at once. He fucked me through the flood now. The liquid issued forth in waves and left the bedsheets sodden.

The inundation stilled momentarily. Then the paroxysms commenced again. My pussy spilled. Under such stimulation, Amadeo could not suppress his instinct to spew. The shaft convulsed, which set the walls of my vagina to quaking. The orgasm poured out of me one more time to match his eruption.

Cunt & ass May 14, 2011

Posted by Leah in Buggery, Cunnilingus, D/s, Repeated hookups.
11 comments

I part the lips of my cunt with the splayed fingers of one hand so that the entrance gapes at him. Amadeo extends his tongue into the maw. He reaches inside as far as he can manage and then replaces the tongue with fingers while his lips snatch up my clit. I grip the leg of the table that I am lying on and spread my legs wider if that is even possible. Amadeo is not content with fucking only my pussy with his fingers: the thumb sinks into my asshole and he rubs it against his other fingers through the intervening muscles. He looks up at me from his knees as he snaps up the labia and shakes his head vigorously from side to side. It is the tongue lashing about the clitoris that gets me though. My thighs are a guillotine on his neck when the little death strikes me down.

He takes my buttocks after that.

His hands pry the cheeks apart and the fingers tug on either side of the opening. The head batters past the sphincter. Amadeo inches backward and presses forward again claiming more territory each time. Lubricant trickles down the backs of my thighs. It feels as though I am being ripped apart from the interior. First, I squeal at the intrusion into my rectum. Next, I squeeze my eyes tightly closed and gnash my teeth. Lastly, resigning myself to the incipient fact of the sodomy, I remember that I want this, breathe deeply, and force myself to relax the muscles in order to let it happen. There is the familiar searing burn in my bowels as I am skewered by his cock.

The pressure on my back forces my shoulders to the surface of the table and raises my buttocks; he improves the angle of penetration this way. Head hanging low, hair swinging wildly, the blood rushes to my face. From beneath, I observe that one of his muscular legs roots him to the ground while the other kicks his weight from the table. The cock stabs into me without respite. The movement of his hips withdraws the penis until the sphincter is a tight ribbon about the thick glans. He spikes himself in again. The muscles of the anus are like bellows — they expand to accommodate the shaft as he impales my ass and contract in the vacuum that he leaves behind when he pulls away. The fucking hurts, but the fullness of the cock inside, the pleasure I take and the knowledge of the pleasure I give subsume the pain in my ass.

The balls slap against my buttocks, and he augments this sound with vicious spanks that set my flesh to rippling. Amadeo jams his fingers in my cunt and relays that he feels his cock moving on the other side of the thin membrane. Reaching behind, I grip his thigh and encourage his movements with thunderous moans. I want his orgasm. I am his ass bitch. So I beg for it.

After he has come, his penis droops inside latex. I peel the condom off, invert it, and smear the semen that fills the tip over his shaft. I slurp the come from his skin. I lick it from where it tangles in the hairs of his pubis, catches the light, and shines.