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Two one night stands May 9, 2011

Posted by Leah in Fucking, Masturbation, Random hookups.

— 1 —

Friday, friends and I went barhopping in Covent Garden. I ended the night in the apartment of a mid-twenties South American guy who studies at the London School of Economics.

We didn’t make it to his bedroom before getting started. He reached into my short puffy skirt while we made out. His fingers stroked the lips of my cunt through the underwear. He was naked first, and he had me straddle his lap. It took him several tries to release the clasp on my bra, but once he did, he fed on my breasts. I rode his erection through sheer black bikini panties.

He was reluctant to wear a condom, but I insisted. We fucked in several positions. I laid on my back, knees in the air, shins horizontal. The impact of the thighs and cock transferred his momentum to me and made my body inch upward. The leather of the sofa stuck to my skin. Knees on either side of his hips, I leapfrogged on top of his erection. My fingers played at the clit with my muscles taut about the shaft within. I knelt clutching the high sofa back as he pummeled me from behind. First he held me by the thighs to open me up, then he held me by the breasts to bring me back. Both of us came this way.

Luis didn’t like to be sucked and wasn’t one for eating pussy either. In the bedroom, it was more of the same: competent fucking and nothing else.

— 2 —

After orchestra rehearsal, I went to a party that one of the violinists was having. I hit it off with a friend of the host and departed the festivities around midnight.

We took the bus back to my apartment and secreted ourselves in the bedroom. My roommate fucked her fiancé in the next room. We heard them. They heard us. The bed banged rhythmically against the wall.

Between our two rounds of fucking, I masturbated myself with an empty beer bottle. I wet the rim and pressed it against the lips of my pussy. The neck of the bottle dropped in almost at once. I held the thick cylinder below the neck and spun the bottle within myself. (I have often remarked what a pity it is that the human penis doesn’t rotate.)

Tony sunk to his knees on one side of the bed and watched me up close. His fingers touched over the clitoris and the lips where they flared around the glass.

Using both hands to clutch the bottom of the bottle, I wielded the vessel like a dildo and fucked myself with it hard. I harbor the private suspicion that beer bottles are designed with alternate usage in mind. They are resilient objects.

Unfortunately, Leffe Brune was my lone orgasm of the night.

Bad sex April 20, 2011

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

It began with slobbering kisses, thirty seconds of foreplay while we undressed, thirty seconds of cunnilingus, and uninspired bedroom conversation that featured particularly inept dirty talk.

He reached between my legs and fingered my pussy while twisting a clothespin on my nipple.

He fucked me from behind. He tugged my arms behind my back and pulled me against his groin. The technique wasn’t lousy. He just didn’t last long.

He expressed disappointment at my lack of an orgasm. I bit back the inclination to apologize. I takes me more than three minutes of fucking to come.

He wanted me to masturbate myself. I used the handle of my hairbrush to accomplish this task. He had me sit over his chest as I did, a position of ascendancy that negated any submissive feeling that had been generated from being told to perform. It took ten minutes of penetration, the slide against the G-spot, and direct clitoral stimulation. The climax was small and inconsequential.

Declining another fuck, I made my excuses, dressed, and left after that.

The man sent an e-mail asking for a second meeting. I said no. He sent another. It went into the trash can.

Georgia boy April 8, 2011

Posted by Leah in Fucking, Masturbation, Random hookups.

London basks in the unexpected warmth of the sun in April. The bruises on my rump made me decide Thursday on a loose fitting dress that reached to my ankles. I spent most of the day on my feet. As I didn’t wear panties, I was aware of the air circulating between my legs when I walked. I ate lunch outside in the company of colleagues, graduate students and faculty, and was conscious also of the weight on my buttocks when I sat cross legged on the grass. Because I squirmed so much, I eventually stretched out on my side.

At night, a pulse of sustained horniness throbbed through my cunt.

I called Frank. He was in Oxford and would return to the city on the weekend following this one. We arranged a dinner date.

I cycled through the names and e-mails of previous lovers and wondered which of them would understand an ad hoc booty call with another man’s markings from the night before still visible over my body. I thought of the clarinetist, who I have been meaning to hook up with a second time. I thought of Daniel, the flautist, who I have been with thrice. I rejected both of them as being uncertain prospects. After our meetings, Dr. Williams sends me e-mails urging a new assignation. He writes nearly every week. A dom who pleads and begs attracts me not at all. I liked the dog man quite a bit, but none of the recent hookups from Craigslist appealed enough to inspire an instant sequel.

The roommate was with her fiancé, so I knew I had the apartment to myself for the evening. I went to a pub half a mile away, conveniently located next to a youth hostel. I picked up a boy from Atlanta, who was in London on spring break, and brought him back to my flat. We sat on the sofa, half emptied bottles of beer on the coffee table, and made out. He reached a hand up my dress, where he discovered my naked wet pussy. I told him to take off his clothes and dispatched my own.

“I keep busy,” I said, when he noticed the discoloration on my tits and the bite mark on the lower surface of my right breast.

He nodded.

“We will fuck once, and then you will go.” I didn’t want post-coital company.

His fingers touched over my chest. “Do you have any lingerie?” he asked.

It was an unexpected suggestion, but one to which I acceded. I returned from my bedroom in a black slip that was transparent over my breasts and ended three inches below my cunt in pleated tulle.

I nestled beside him on the sofa and hooked the leg nearer to him between his two. He fucked my pussy with two fingers and rubbed my clit in great circles while I swallowed his tongue and his saliva. My hand stroked the length of the erection, which had a tendency to lift vertically against his groin.

I took a condom from my bag and rolled it over the penis. Bringing my legs to either side of his, I pointed the glans to the opening of my cunt and stretched myself over him.

“Fuck me,” I directed.

While he held me by the waist and raised and lowered his hips, I ran my fingers through the fuzz of hair on his chest. Sinking my head down, I latched my lips to one of his nipples and sucked. The boy clenched his hands over the faces of my thighs, and he shoved off them with his arms and performed a pelvic thrust that rocked his penis inside me. I clamped down. Reaching behind my body, I gripped his balls and massaged them.

The boy’s arms wrapped my back and pulled me against him. He tugged the strap of the slip down one shoulder and lipped across to my neck. His fingers brushed through my hair. I pressed my mouth over his.

The boy laid me horizontal on the sofa. I rotated so that my body slumped into the cushions, and I lifted my legs so they rested against his arms and invited him to occupy the space in between them. The cock bulldozed into my pussy. I braced my feet against his shoulders for a moment, but most of the time, they hung in the air and kicked at the ceiling.

He didn’t last long, that Georgia boy in my cunt. After he had finished spurting into the condom, I laid back against the throw pillow and masturbated myself to an orgasm.

Once we finished our beers, he dressed and left me.

The chain-link fence March 3, 2011

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

About a month ago, I suggested to Amadeo that when the weather warms slightly, the two of us should play in public. Even a brief session outside, with the risk of being caught in flagrante delicto appeals to me. There’s a sordid danger to the act. There’s the fear of discovery. I don’t want to be seen. But I get off on the possibility. It’s an illicit thrill — to get away with being dirty in places where one ought to behave with propriety. Given the ubiquity of closed circuit television cameras in London, a quickie encounter has an added peril.

I received an e-mail from Amadeo two evenings ago in which he outlined a scenario for us. Though he allowed a winter coat in acknowledgement of the weather, he wanted me to wear a dress short enough to ensure easy access to my pussy. He specified no stockings. I took care to shave my legs in the morning and brought the outfit to the office. After my workout in the gym, I showered and changed.

The winter jacket reached to my knees. The leopard print minidress I had worn stopped halfway up my thigh. I liked the bracing rush of air that spiraled between my legs as I descended into the arteries of the London underground.

Amadeo and I ate at an excellent Italian restaurant. (He is finicky about the cuisine of the country of his birth.) The waiter stood behind me when we ordered. Following the scoop of my dress, his eyes nestled in my cleavage. Amadeo’s amusement at how conspicuous he was found a mirror in my smile. We lingered over wine until 10 pm. Then it was time to go.

We drove north of High Barnet, beyond the terminus of the Northern line, and wended through narrow streets. Standalone houses replaced the apartment buildings of the interior of the city. After several minutes of seemingly aimless driving, Amadeo circled around a block and then doubled back. He parked the car and told me to bring the bag in the back seat. The side street we had stopped on was deserted: there were a handful of cars parked on the side of the road and no pedestrians at all. The streetlamps offered only a dim illumination to the setting. The buildings around us were dark. They looked to be abandoned. A hundred meter metal fence marked the boundaries of an asphalt lot. I surveyed the length of the street and didn’t see cameras.

Amadeo took the bag from me.

I removed my coat.

“You will be cold,” he said.

I shrugged and threw it over the trunk of his car.

“I am going to cuff you to the fence.”

He sent me to my knees, brought my arms up above my head, and secured the wrists with handcuffs to the chain-link fence. He pressed his fingers to my lips and had me open my mouth. The fingertips skated along the row of teeth. He stretched them over the tongue. He scissored them apart to widen the maw. The fingers spun inside. I forced saliva between them. I bobbed my head as though I were sucking his cock.

Amadeo brought the penis out of his pants. He hadn’t worn underwear and was most of the way erect. The eye of the glans peeked through the foreskin. The fingers made a circle around the thickening shaft and exposed the head.

I glanced all around me. Amadeo and I were still alone. I was aware of the goose pimples on my thighs and exposed forearms. I could see my breath.

The metal was cold against my back. Suppressing the impulse to shiver, I focused my attention on his prick. I licked my lips and waited. A jolt of electricity raced up my spine as I contemplated what we were about to do.

When he gave me the cock, I took it down halfway without a second’s hesitation. My head moved back against the fence, then forward, in the direction of his pelvis. The saliva dripped over the front part of the penis. I made slobbering noises as I sucked him.

The pressure of his hand tilted my head up and made my neck arch. The fence gave behind me as he pressed inward, the metal biting at the back of my head.

He jabbed the cock deeper into my mouth. My fingers looped through the links of the fence. I tightened my grip as I strained to accommodate the front part of the erection into my throat. I made gagging sounds.

He swore at me and bade me to throat the cock fully. I followed his instruction. The gag reflex was more pronounced than usual last night. It took an effort to comply. But I did. My lips came to a halt where the seam of the scrotum begins. My nose was buried in his pubis. I had his scent deep inside my lungs. I glanced up at Amadeo and conceded my submission with a needful look. He fucked my face for a minute or so. After that, he let me continue the blowjob at a more equal tempo. I interrupted the sucking to tongue the sides of his shaft. I accepted the knob of his penis into my throat repeatedly, surfacing for a swallow of air each time.

Amadeo took his penis from me. He used it to slap my cheek. He pressed down on my forehead and ran the shaft, which was sticky with saliva, over my cheeks and nose and then placed it between my lips. I sucked. Without my hands to help guide the movements, there was no finesse to this blowjob. He didn’t care. He had me swallow the spit that corded in thick strands on the lower part of the head. As the cock was now lubricated, I could take it deep more easily. I shook my head from side to side with the penis seated atop my tongue. The cheeks puffed up. They expanded and contracted like bellows.

He boxed the side of my face. He reached for my tits and tweaked them through the stretchy cotton fabric of the dress. He combed his fingers through my hair. The fingers dug into my scalp. All the while, he surveyed the area to make certain there was no one else present. I was constantly aware of the backdrop of the sex. It excited me to be sucking cock, chained outside, like a dog, like a bitch, like a slut. I was a mouth he had claimed for his use. I was a woman.

He pulled his cock away definitively and fished for the key in his trouser pocket. “I don’t want to come this way. I want to cream in your pussy.”

Amadeo uncuffed me and brought me to my feet. My hair caught in the fence and snagged, causing me to wince. Amadeo went to the ground. He wet the corner of a handkerchief with spit and wiped it across my knees and just below, where they had become scuffed with the dirt on the pavement. When he was satisfied, he pushed me against the fence and kissed me as though he had just returned from the wars.

I stretched my arms to the side and made a large V. He cuffed my wrists to the fence again. The dress was too short, but it was also too tight over the legs. He contended to pull it up my hips. When the dress had lifted enough to show my underwear, he shifted the panties — also leopard print — to the side and considered my cunt. The fingers slipped inside. Their presence made me groan. Amadeo wiggled them. The blowjob had left a puddle in my knickers. Now I longed to be filled with cock.

He rolled a condom on. He entered me.

I was conscious of my surroundings: the stillness of the street, the brick facade of the building across the way, Amadeo’s car parked in front of us, the long shadows on the pavement, the wintry arctic air, how the metal of the cuffs dug into my wrists, the movement of the fence at my back. I brought my knee forward and kicked my foot off the wiry mesh, drawing my thigh flush against Amadeo’s leg. The movement enhanced the angle of penetration. Amadeo yanked on my hair to jerk my head up. His hand gripped my jaw from below. He lowered his spit into my mouth. He bit my lower lip. He grunted fiercely. The fence buckled as his cock slammed into me. He came within two minutes.

I hadn’t orgasmed, but this didn’t matter. My cunt was raw. The sex had satisfied.

He inverted the condom, placed it over his index and middle fingers, and brought it to my lips. I sucked his sperm from the latex. Once he released me from my bondage, I went to my knees and mouthed his drooping penis. Before rising to my feet, I picked up the discarded Durex wrapper. “We shouldn’t pollute,” I told him, and he laughed.

The reserves of adrenaline exhausted, I shivered uncontrollably. I wrapped myself in my winter coat and, teetering on pointed heels, spun myself in a circle, taking in the neighborhood around us. Though we had been outside for barely ten minutes, the heat in the car felt heavenly.

I masturbated during the drive to Amadeo’s, leaving a pool of moisture on the seat. Whenever he could manage it, his left hand migrated from the stick shift to the space between my legs. As soon as the apartment door had shut, he sent me toppling to the floor and threw himself on top of me. The sex continued for hours.

Bedroom games February 26, 2011

Posted by Leah in Masturbation, Retrospective.

We masturbated in bed, racing to see which of us would come last. I laid on my back, thighs spread open, feet close together, and dragged my fingers through my lips. Fingertips pressing into the pubic bone, I made circles in the flesh. I pinched my nipples. I pulled at the clitoris. He watched me, and I watched him watching me. He hovered, flashing his cock with my pink underwear, and collected the semen in the cup of his hand when he finished. I lapped up his ejaculate, licking the palm until it was clean. The taste got me off.

Amusing myself February 11, 2011

Posted by Leah in Masturbation.

I came home from the gym to an empty apartment. The roommate had taken the train down to Paris in the morning, so I knew I had the place to myself. Not having enjoyed the usual midweek ration of sex, I felt particularly horny. Masturbation at bedtime the night before wasn’t enough.

I stripped to panties and bra, went to the bedroom for a blanket, and threw it over the dilapidated chair in the living room. One foot planted to the floor, my calf lowered over the cushion of the seat. Straddling the armrest, I pressed my chest against the back of the chair. Through the layer of cotton covering my crotch, through the thick woolen blanket, through the leaf patterned upholstery, I felt the unyielding hardness of wood. Sliding my cunt down, raising and lowering my pelvis, adding torque with my hips, I dragged my pussy against the arm.

A hand covered each tit. I held the swells of my breasts. I squeezed the flesh. The pressure of hands deformed their rounded curves. I compressed and flattened the tits against the harder muscle beneath.

I bit my bottom lip. Friction peeled apart the lips of my cunt. The moistness between my legs had darkened the gray fabric. The wet spot spread as I moved. I felt the incipient stickiness over my pubis.

Arms wrapping the chair, I pushed my body mass against its rising back. My pelvis gyrated.

I unclasped the bra. The straps fell over my shoulders. I cupped my breasts and pushed them together, narrowing the cleavage. The areolae had assumed a deep blush and were several shades of pink darker than the surrounding skin. I used my nails as pincers: pinching, gripping, pulling, twisting. The sharpness of the painted fingernails excited the nerve endings. Blood vessels inside the spongy nipples filled up. The nubs thickened, the integument pebbling over, acquiring the texture of leather. I tightened my grip. I plucked at the hardened protuberances. Hands rolled in circles over my tits.

Closing my eyes, I pumped my hips. Hunching down, rotating the pelvis, adjusting the touch of pussy, I improved the angle of contact. The panties had bunched. Looking down at the imprint of the labia in the cotton, I saw the shadow of the cunt as well. Reaching in, I pressed a finger in the space between the swollen lips.

I licked the nascent arousal from my index finger and spun my hips down faster. I ran my hands over my thighs. I gave my buttocks a loud spank. My breath became shorter as I moved.

Five minutes in, I paused long enough to whisk my panties off. My fervor had soaked the fabric, leaving the cotton drenched. My sexuality had a sharp odor. It filled my lungs and widened my eyes.

Naked now, I reverted to the previous positioning. My hand rubbed across my pussy. Fingers undressed the clit. The pads of the fingers held a long note there. I shrieked out a desperate moan.

I folded my arms and lowered my elbows against the back of the chair. My breasts dragged against the coarse wool, as did my cunt. My back made an acute angle. Pelvis pressing against the rounded edge of the wing of the chair, I drove the cunt against the face of the arm where it flattened, the clit climbing on top of the rest and sliding down again. The rise of the chair nestled into the pit of my arm. My hand lowered along the upholstery in back as far down as I could reach. Holding my chest to the chair in a rough embrace, I swiveled my hips forward, halted abruptly, reversed direction, and then pivoted forward again. I fucked the shabby, rickety chair as though it were a long sought lover.

To masturbate, I could have touched my pussy, fingering the cunt, fingering the clitoris. I could have produced a vibrator or a dildo. I could have affixed clothespins to my lips and my nipples. I could have wadded the underwear in a ball and stuffed it into my vagina. I could have brought ice from the kitchen and let it melt over my flushed skin. I have done all of these things. But not today.

Today, I humped the chair like a bitch dog in heat. I rutted my cunt over the arm.

Eyes squinched shut, jaw hanging down, my forehead creased with the ascending pleasure. I wheezed for breath like a long distance runner at the end of a race. My pussy drove against the scratchy wool.

The clock on the wall tolled the minutes: two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen.

First my back stiffened and elongated. Then I experienced a cramping in my toes. My feet arched down. My neck stretched out. The muscles in my thighs tensed up. An enormous intake of air turned my belly concave. My breasts stuck out. The jaws clamped shut, and the teeth bit down. The nerves in my clit had electrified. The muscles inside my cunt convulsed. The waters splashed from my pussy. Droplets of ejaculate beaded over my upper thigh. I squealed in my ecstasy.

The breath returned to me after the orgasm in heavy gasps. I held my head in my hands. My body shook in convulsions of laughter.

Hauling myself to my feet, I dried my thighs with paper towels. I retrieved a fresh pair of panties from the dresser in the bedroom and selected a t-shirt that fell to my hips. Padding into the kitchen in my bare feet, I boiled water for tea. Opening the small refrigerator there, I contemplated dinner.

The week so far (3/3) January 28, 2011

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, D/s, Fisting, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups.


Amadeo has a large hand. Lubrication dripped from it and soaked the bedspread. Three fingers were in me, fucking in and out of the slit. A fourth, the pinky, easily joined the others. He poured more of the oil into the trough of his fingers and folded the thumb between them.

I didn’t have a clear view of what was happening. The constant stream of commentary allayed any trepidation I felt. Amadeo wanted to fist me. As I said, his hand is large.

Four fingers had slipped in to the bottom knuckle. The palm flared out just beyond.

The air entered and exited my lungs in shallow convulsions, the intake of breath in time with a thrust inside, a sharp gasp released, and an exhale as he pulled the hand fractionally out and twisted.

“I am going to push now,” he informed.

I nodded consent. I took a deep breath and held it. My ass tilted up from the mattress.

He pushed. I bore down with my muscles, chomped my teeth together, and grunted. The pussy stretched to admit his hand.

I looked down again at the space between my legs when the movement had finished.

“Almost there,” he said. The hand rotated but its forward motion diminished.

The thumb had almost disappeared. Amadeo’s hand had inched inside to the very bottom where the heel and the base of the palm jutted out.

He poured out more of the lubricant. My cunt ached.

He kissed the top of my pussy. His tongue swept over the clitoris. “Ready?” he asked.

I looked him in the eyes and rolled my head back and closed my own. My thighs parted. I swallowed another deep breath. He pushed again, adding a sideways twist to his movement. The breaths came hard and heavy. So also the groans. He pressed down, and I struggled to relax my muscles and allow the walls of the vagina to go slack. When he stopped forcing his hand at me, he was inside to the wrist. Always, when I am fisted, it looks amazing.

We had fucked first. He had employed the metal dildo that he had given me. We had inserted a thick cucumber wearing a condom. It had taken us fifteen more minutes to secrete his hand inside. He wiggled his fingers then. I felt them move.

I looked down at him and smiled. The smile became a chuckle and then a deep throated laugh. The intensity of the experience was overwhelming. This was a moment of nervous relief. A sense of satisfaction and accomplishment covered me like a warm blanket.

Amadeo pivoted his hand and settled the wrist. The entrance to the vagina made a tight band around him. He stretched his fingers experimentally, pushing against the deep spot in the back that I had told him about. I winced at the contact with the cervix and purred when he found the swollen bundle of nerves inside.

It took another ten minutes for him to collapse his hand into a fist. The walls of the cunt were elastic. They made room. But their plasticity came with strain and effort. I swam in my perspiration. The hair plastered to my forehead. My breasts reflected the bright bedroom light. Sweat stung my eyes. I blinked the prickling away.

He spun the fist inside me. He jostled the hand at the wrist, moving forward and backward an infinite inch, punching into the vacant space.

He tongued around my pussy, lapping at the distended, engorged clitoris. He touched a vibrator to the agonized bundle of nerves and rolled his right hand within me. His left hand, splayed over the curve of my belly, held me to the bed. The fingers clenched and unclenched inside. The knuckles pressed at the G-spot. The face of the finger rubbed against the anterior fornix.

I clutched his forearm in a death grip and came. This connection — the whiteness in my knuckles — was my anchor to the world.

Once the orgasms started, they would not stop. A dam had burst. The levees had broken. The waters escaped the walls of the vagina. They cascaded out the pores in front. The clitoris twitched constantly. My moisture sluiced between his fingers. At the end of it, once Amadeo had extracted his sodden hand from my pussy aided by muscles pushing, he brought his head down to snap up the labia with his lips. His head shook from side to side like a dog’s, and he rasped his tongue over my clit. I squirted square into his face.

The week so far (2/3) January 27, 2011

Posted by Leah in Masturbation.


Tim is my best friend in graduate school. He is one year ahead of me, five years older, and acted as something of a big brother when I started. We have slept together a couple of times, but decided that we were better as friends than as friends with benefits. He turned thirty yesterday. I phoned to wish him a happy birthday.

I called a few hours before he went out to celebrate the occasion with his friends. On my end, it was just before bedtime. Toward the end of the conversation, once we had finished catching up about life and work, Tim asked if I was horny and wanted to play a little on the phone. I immediately agreed. Shedding my pajamas, I spread out on the bed and caressed the hemispheres of my breasts. One hand held each, weighing them momentarily. As Tim described the hardness of his cock in Boston, I mashed my tits flat, squeezing the flesh, compressing, rougher with my body than most lovers are with me.

Tim said he was stroking himself thinking of me naked and available for him.

I told him I would go to my knees and lick the insides of his thighs and lap at the joining of his legs. I would suck his balls, one of them at a time, lips discovering their shape. The rounded bulges they make against the skin of the scrotum exist for kisses. I wanted to nose along the length of his shaft. I would steeple my hands about the cock and suck wetly at the head, lapping the precome that saturated the crown. I promised to swirl my tongue round and round the glans. I wanted to look up at him with big eyes while I took his cock into my mouth fractionally deeper until I contained him in my throat and the head made a lump in my neck that he could see and touch. I would breathe carefully through my nose, spin my lips at the base, press my fingers against the back face of his sac, and swallow to massage the glans with the muscles of my throat.

Across the Atlantic, I heard him jerking his cock.

Remembering blowjobs past, I wanted him to bundle my hair in his grip, catching the stray locks that fell over my eyes. I recalled how he fondled my tits and ran his hands over back and shoulders while I sucked his cock and scratched at his thighs and clawed at his buttocks. I would lick the sweat from his balls and his groin.

I touched my pussy as I chronicled the act of fellatio.

Tim took up the narrative thread and explained how he would start at my breasts and work his down to my cunt, kissing each square inch of skin as he progressed to his ultimate goal. Once there, he would lick all around before addressing the pussy itself.

Fingernails peeled apart my lips. They carefully brought down the hood to expose my clitoris. A pair of fingers slipped halfway inside. They extracted the wetness at the entrance, smeared it across the roof of the clit. I diddled myself as I listened to Tim detail his oral ministrations.

I wanted to fuck him.

This was a fantasy. There was no need to think about horrid condoms. In my mind’s eye, I saw his bare cock enter me, Tim’s maleness driving into my vagina, the soft skin cloaking the hardness underneath, a rigid penis in contact with pliant muscle. My snug cunt embraced him. Cream from my pussy lubricated the motion. His erection would stretch my walls, dragging along them as he plunged headlong into me. The goatee would tickle during the kisses that we would share.

My feet were flat on the mattress. The kneecaps lifted like mountain peaks. I pressed the glass dildo against the opening. The bulbous knob on top poked past the labial flaps. I spun the glass in a way a cock cannot.

Theme and plot were dispensed with in our story. The sentences became emphatic rather than descriptive. I implored him to take my cunt as I hammered my pussy with the dildo.

“Oh, yes. Oh, fuck!”

“Oh, shit!”

“I am on top, fucking you.”

“Fuck me hard. Have me as your bitch. Come for me.”

Harsh breathing answered my heavy moans. I tried to time my climax to coincide with his. I did not succeed. Tim announced his orgasm and came with an explosive sigh. I imagined his semen leaking out of me. I pictured how I would lick the cock clean of his come and my juices. Dildo abandoned to these thoughts, I rubbed my clit vigorously until I also shuddered. It took me a few extra minutes.

Afterwards, we chatted in a pleasant shade of afterglow. Fingers soothed over my still wet pussy.

Leah rides again January 20, 2011

Posted by Leah in Bondage, Breath play, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups, Spanking.

I had sex every day from New Year’s Eve until I returned to London. In the UK, until yesterday night, I had no sex at all. The brief flirtation with celibacy ended with an evening in Amadeo’s company. I had missed his presence in my life as a dominant and kinky lover.

• I liked sitting on his lap and having him reach up my dress to stroke my pussy through the mesh panties. The teasing fingers over the lips made me wet inside and out. I lifted his shirt and ran my hands over his chest. The fluffy curls of hair tickled my palms.

• Amadeo shucked my dress up over my breasts and had me lean against the wall with my ass jutting out. As he spanked my buttocks, turning the skin a warm shade of red, he gathered my hair in his fist and wrapped it around his hand. Using the grip like reins, he compelled my head backward to expose my throat, which he covered with hungry and wet kisses. The points of incisors and canines bit into my neck.

• On his bed, first he fingered my cunt while stopping my mouth with his kisses. Amadeo let me taste myself on his skin. Then he tightened the pussy slick hands over my throat and sunk his tongue deep in my mouth while he controlled my breathing. The blood rushed to my face, and the shortness of air left me feeling lightheaded.

• He brought my legs in the air and shifted them apart just far enough to spank my pussy. The slap of the fingers over my clit made me scream. Though the nerves throbbed and the vulnerable flesh sang with pain, I secretly thrilled at the intensity of the sensation. I wanted to hurt: he knew and made it happen.

• Amadeo placed a collar around my throat. He squeezed his grip under the leather and dragged me across the floor. Attaching a leather cuff to one of my wrists, he affixed a chain and wrapped it around the radiator in the bedroom. I lay on the floor while he toyed with my tits and slapped them in between a succession of kisses.

• The tip of Amadeo’s tongue flicked at my tears.

• I loved when he finally undressed and let me suck him, shackled and naked as I was. Fingers shifting through my hair, he gripped the back of my head. The pelvis thrust at me. The front of the shaft sliding along the cushion of my bottom lip, he fucked my face with shallow strokes.

• Amadeo threw me onto the chair in the corner of the room. Neck bent, my head rested against the bottom of the cushion. Gripping the backs of my calves, he held my legs in the air. The cock stretched me open.

• A finger hooking through the metal ring on the collar, he tugged me up as the penis stabbed itself deep into my cunt. He cuffed the sides of my face. He struck my breasts. I panted and gasped as I held on to his thigh to balance myself while he fucked me.

• Amadeo turned me around and held my head down by the back of the neck over the wooden railing of the chair. Hands clawing at the buttocks, he fucked me from behind. His nails scratched down the expanse of my back. He pulled my hair, and he bit.

• Amadeo folded over his leather belt and swung it at my shoulders. The doubled over strap fell on the rise of my breast. My ass rocked backward against his groin. I wailed in the buildup to orgasm.

• We traded positions: he sat in the chair, and I straddled him. Holding me by the shoulder and the hip, he forced me to hunch down over his cock. I grabbed the edge of the bookshelf above me and impaled my body onto the spike. Biting my lip and moaning, I bounced myself over pelvis and groin.

• He squeezed a much abused breast, held the nipple with his teeth, and dashed his tongue over the top as the walls of my vagina imploded about his shaft.

• We moved to the bed after that, where he fucked me from a perpendicular position beneath me. His fingers tugged at the collar around my neck. I came explosively, and this time there was no respite: Amadeo continued until his own explosion took him. Peeling the condom from his cock, kissing the semen where it trailed over his drooping length and his balls, I sucked him clean.

• After that, he brought out his Christmas present for me: a heavy steel dildo with a sensuous curve. He dragged it slowly past my pussy lips. We played with it. We played with it a lot: the pressure sent me to squirting orgasms while he licked at my clitoris.

Twice more December 23, 2010

Posted by Leah in Fucking, Masturbation, Repeated hookups.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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