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How the new year begins January 2, 2012

Posted by Leah in Fucking, Random hookups.

The first kisses were chaste — the roommate on both cheeks in the French style, her husband in the same manner. In the first minute of January first, I swapped spit with an anonymous stranger by the Thames and then with several others.

Saying goodbye to my friends, I wandered the crowded streets of the city. Under a vault leading to cobbled mews, I bartered a quaff of champagne from a soldier for a snog. He kissed fabulously. His leg threaded between mine. Back bent into an arch, I kicked off one foot. His arm supported my waist, and his tongue made itself a home inside my mouth. As I straightened, he took a generous feel of my ass. Standing on the tips of my toes, I kissed him again.

Probably, I should have stuck with him for the night. Masterful kisses supply a superlative recommendation for cunnilingus at least.

Instead, I slipped into a cocktail lounge at a hotel and one hour later took an elevator up to the fourteenth floor in the company of a Canadian man. The first fuck of 2012 was a drunken shag of absolutely no consequence or merit. So, too, was the second. I beat a retreat in the morning before he woke.

There is better sex yet to come. Amadeo has claimed me for Wednesdays as usual. I will see Frank on the weekend. I have been in touch with Marshall also.

Simon says December 30, 2011

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

I saw David before I left for the Xmas holiday, and I saw him again before heading out to the UK. He and I played Simon Says last night. The penalty for each transgression of the rules was one drop of candle wax on a sensitive place. From experimentation, we knew that it would hurt like hell but would not leave marks on the skin. I would be bound while he administered the penalty.

It started easily enough: “Simon says strip.” I did.

David stood and undressed and sat naked on the easy chair in his living room. “On your knees,” he instructed, and I properly ignored the command. He smiled and repeated it with the appropriate preface. I complied. His cock was hard. He stroked it. I began crawling to him.

“Simon didn’t say come here, bitch,” remarked David.

“I am sorry.”

“Simon didn’t say you could talk either.”

I froze and waited. David was a bastard sometimes. His students must hate that he was a stickler for rules.

“Come here.”

I didn’t so much as blink.

“Simon says wash my feet.”

I walked to the kitchen, soaped up the sponge in the sink, and went to him. On my knees, I scrubbed his feet clean and dried them with the dishtowel. Clearly, this wasn’t what he expected, but the rules had been followed. My aspect was smug in consequence.

David thrust the sole of his foot at my closed lips. “Lick,” he said. I turned my face to the side. The foot swatted at my cheek.

He pointed his penis upright. “Cunt,” he said. (It was wet.) “Simon says lick my balls.”

This I happily did. My lips applied suction to the hemispheres of the scrotum. I tongued the sac as I held each testicle between my lips. I spread my jaws and took both of the balls inside together. The tongue lapped at the coarsely textured skin. He kept me at it for long minutes. Thick saliva coated the balls. Because it pleased him, he fingered my nipples. He pinched them tight and dug his nails in. I winced at the abrupt jolt of pain, but I continued my oral ministrations on the scrotum without interruption.

“Suck my cock.”

I looked up at him. My lips steadfastly munched on his balls.

“Good girl. Simon says deepthroat.”

This was patently unfair. I yawned immensely and lowered my mouth on the shaft as far as I could manage in the absence of preparation. Suppressing the gag reflex, I filled my mouth with spit and made a concerted effort to reach his balls. I had three-quarters of his length inside.

“That isn’t deepthroat,” he said. His hand pressed on the back of my head and compelled me down. By instinct, I resisted, pulled away, and coughed.

“That counts as three and four.”

I took the crown into my lips again. I made my throat loose and forced myself to take the cock in to its root. By sheer effort, I accomplished the feat. My eyes were watering when I had the knob seated in my throat. My lips kissed the lip of his sac. The hand on top of my head held me down longer than was comfortable. Tears escaped the corners of my eyes when David let me surface for air.

“Now suck,” he said. I did. I realized that this was my fifth infraction a microsecond after I had commenced the act of fellatio. David noted it, too. He slapped the side of a tit.

He glanced at his watch. “Simon says make me come. Simon says you have exactly five minutes.”

David has stamina. I pulled out all the stops in the time allotted. I tried but failed. Even the index finger pushed up against the prostate didn’t do the trick.

“Six,” he intoned.

I nodded.

“Well, keep sucking.”

I didn’t.

“Simon says suck me slow.”

I kissed the crown, tongued around the glans, took the head inside, and glacially slid my lips down the shaft. I took the penis in by degrees. To begin, I had the top half of it contained in my mouth on the downstroke, then two-thirds, then three-quarters. He sighed expressively and let me suck him slowly, softly, and with intent. I rotated my face and collapsed my cheeks and lifted my tongue against the underside of the rigid cock. The spit leaked from my lips and trailed to his balls. I scratched the insides of his thighs. His eyes were shut in contentment. Though I kept mine downcast for the most part, once a minute or twice, I tilted my head up, which lifted his penis, and glanced upon his countenance with enormous eyes that blinked slowly closed. My face lowered and twisted on his shaft. The constitution of the cock flesh altered minutely between my lips. It went on. I don’t know how long I sucked him this way. I felt the solidity of the hardwood floor in my knees and the balls of my toes. The discomfort enhanced in me the sense and the quality of my submission.

Suddenly, David’s hands grabbed the sides of my head. He fucked my mouth as though it was my cunt. The pelvis flared out, and he lifted from his seat to penetrate deeper and harder. He was suspended in air when his musculature tensed. An iron grip obliged me to keep the glans inside my throat.

“Swallow,” he said when he had finished his spasms. The shape of the orgasm and the geography of our bodies left me no choice. It was done already. His semen barreled directly into my esophagus.

He cast me back and chuckled softly.

“Salmon says clean me off.”

I licked the sides of the shaft and curled my tongue at the pearl of come lodged within the aperture.

“I said Salmon says, not Simon says,” David observed, pointedly.

I hadn’t noted the first word. He may have slurred it. This was surely cheating. I laughed at his audacity. To avenge myself, I took the skin of the right half of the scrotum between my teeth, bit down, and tugged. I persisted in washing the cock.

“Game over. Simon says game over,” David announced, after I had finished. “Let’s call it nine.” His fingers swept over my slit and brushed against the clit.

Cocksucking had aroused me. I wondered how long it would be before David fucked my pussy. I wanted him to dominate me. I wanted to rut on hands and knees. I wanted to compress the walls of my cunt about his shaft. I wanted to come for him repeatedly, at his word, and be the agency of his pleasure. I nosed at the balls and kissed wetly where I had a moment ago nipped. The penis folded over the scrotum. It reminded me of an elephant’s trunk. The head hung below the testicles. I sunk low and mouthed the glans. Kisses led to his feet. I licked above the toes.

“Leah says ten.”

Home for Xmas December 29, 2011

Posted by Leah in Anilingus, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fucking, Repeated hookups.

I spent a week at home during the winter break. I took the train from Boston to New York City. I met up with my sister, and we drove upstate to the parents. We see extended family during Thanksgiving while Xmas is cozy and comfortable. It’s usually only the parents and my siblings. Because my brother went to visit his girlfriend’s mother’s family in California this November, we had missed him last month. To make up for the lost time, we hung out lots.


The day after the day after Xmas, I met up with a former lover, who is seventeen years older than me. He taught my sister the piano, worked with my Mom, and is a family friend of long standing. I have known him almost my whole life. In May of 2010, we had a week long fling, which I initiated. At the time, he was in the final stages of a divorce. His wife had left him. We kept in touch afterwards. Last year, when I was home for the holidays, he was dating a woman, nearer to my age than his. This winter, he is single again and in the middle of a protracted dry spell.

I texted him over the kitchen table before lunch while my mother and sister were pottering around the oven. I slipped my right hand into my jeans and sent him a picture of the bulge it made in my pants. I sent a photo of my tongue flicking at the tip of a finger moistened by the secretions of cunt.

During the next half hour, I typed a series of SMS sexts.

Do you have a cock for me to play with, mister?

I want you inside me, lover. Your penis is a hot, thick presence that makes me flood.

I want to be under you.

Fuck my pussy hard. Please. Will you?

I could be persuaded to suck as well. Do you want my red lips wrapped about your shaft?

We agreed to meet at three o’clock in the afternoon.

I borrowed my Dad’s car and drove over to his place for our assignation. We sat in his living room and caught up over glasses of wine. He joined me on the small loveseat. We made out. The classical music station on the radio gave rhythm to our movements. He masturbated my pussy through the tight denim. I spread my legs wide. I touched knees and tightened my thighs around his hand. My chest thrust into a grasping palm.

Upstairs, in his bedroom, we continued. I sat on the edge of the bed, legs open, and he knelt on the floor and devoured my pussy. He stood and cupped my head at back where it joins the neck while I ingested his cock. My fingers grasped the balls and the last inch of the shaft, which I could not enclose within my mouth. The head nudged its way into my throat. Breathing carefully through the nose, I swallowed away the gag reflex and constricted the epiglottis. Lips pursed over the springy skin. My jaws were stretched enough that the sides of my face hurt. The tongue swiped across the underside of the shaft.

He took me doggy style to start. His hands pressed down at my back and buttocks while the cock drove deep into my cunt. The heavy balls slapped the backs of my thighs. I craned my head back to find his lips. The cock penetrated me slowly. I moaned as it tunneled into me. The walls felt full inside. Cream from my pussy trailed along the circumference of his cock. It deposited a ring of foam at the base of the shaft. When he warned me of his impending orgasm, by an exertion of will I freed myself of his erection, turned, and kissed his chest. I licked the sweat from his skin. The nipples were deliciously sensitive to the touch of lips and teeth.

I straddled his legs and pushed off his torso while I rode hard the hard penis. Hands clasped my leg at the knee and traversed the line of my thigh. He followed the curve of the flank up to my tits, which he squeezed. The up and down motion of my body had a metronomic precision. I slid down the stem and landed atop the root and tensed the muscles there as my knees folded out. The vagina compacted about the shaft, and I lifted while the walls were so tight inside. When my lips kissed the glans, I relaxed the muscles and lowered my body weight down again. He placed his fingers in my mouth, and I sucked them. He informed me that he was once again close, and I dismounted.

I was so close as well. He lashed his tongue around my clitoris. He growled into my gaping pussy. His nose flattened against my pubis. The dam inside me burst. My legs elongated. My feet curled. My toes clenched like a monkey’s paws. I shut my eyes to focus on the sensation, to revel in it. My ass bucked from the bed. My cunt seemed to invert. I laughed through my orgasm. When my eyes flashed open and focused downward, I noticed that my fingers gripped his so tightly that the knuckles had whitened. I laughed again at the exquisite and joyful pleasure of release. He crawled on top of my body and kissed me. I tasted my piquant juices on his lips and tongue.

My fingers combed his hair as the kisses deepened. The rigid cock prodded at my belly. Reaching between my legs, I placed him inside. “Fuck me. Fuck me till you come.”

He did exactly that. When his body slammed down, the momentum flowed from him to me in a wave that rippled through my trunk and radiated into my extremities. My spine did a sideways dance. My fingertips tingled. I felt the force of fucking in my eyelids. My arms wrapped his back, and I gripped his bony shoulder blades. My feet kicked off his calves. My legs interlaced with his and tangled them up in a knot. My face burrowed into his throat and collar. The shaft, which was so wondrously long and thick and hot, stretched my pussy out. I compressed muscles around his cock, making the entrance snug for him. I held on to the sides of the mattress as he took me harder.

My lover’s movements became erratic. He pulled the cock out of my pussy, peeled the condom off, and shucked his hand along the erection. The semen streamed out in bright, flashing ribbons. The come splattered me. It splashed the bottoms of my breasts and painted the cleavage between them. The viscous fluid rained onto my abdomen, collected in the hollow of my navel, and overflowed the belly button. The shaft jerked against my curling fingers as I pointed the penis. I giggled at how much come there was. Jellied puddles of his semen dotted my torso when he finished spasming. It was an alien landscape of opaque lakes. Over the sheen of perspiration, thick, viscid, sticky pools of come, pale and white, glistened on my skin like the first winter snow.

“Thank you,” I said, and rubbed his come over my body until it was a transparent gloss.

We fucked again, first in bed, then in the shower while we cleaned each other up. I drank his second orgasm, nearly as voluminous as the first. Semen overflowed my lips and dribbled down my chin and throat. He tasted of spice and salt. The third explosion, smaller than the previous two, arrived as I rimmed his asshole. My head ducked between his legs. The semen plastered wet hair to my face. A fog of steam surrounded us.


The family friend was not the only man I had on Tuesday.

The second is a friend from high school. Yoshio and I were in the class of 2003. I have known him since the fifth grade. Our first time was the summer after our freshman year of college. We have subsequently hooked up maybe a dozen times. I would date him in a second if he had an affinity for dominance and lived in the same city. Instead, he lives across the country, where he is working on a Ph.D. in aeronautical engineering.

We met for dinner and then went to a bar for drinks. We ended up at his house in the evening, where we played Scrabble with his little sister. I texted Dad near midnight, confessed that I was tipsy, and informed him that I would be home in the morning after crashing at Yoshio’s for the night. He texted me back: Ok. Be careful.

Ours are liberal families. My parents don’t know the details of my sex life, but they have no illusions about its existence. Yoshio’s parents retired early for the night. His sister’s bedroom is upstairs. We made up the couch in the living room with bedding but went to Yoshio’s room in the basement. When I left at nine, his parents were up and about and the sofa hadn’t been slept in.

I stripped to my panties and sat on his bed cross legged. Yoshio spread himself on the mattress. His fingers started at my shin and climbed to my knickers. The front panel of the thong underwear was a fine black mesh. He teased my cunt lips through the cloth. My moisture created bubbles in the filmy web of the fabric.

Fingers loosened his belt and the top button of his jeans. Taking the blue flap of denim in my teeth, a swift lateral movement of the head unbuttoned the fly. I nuzzled the swelling in his striped boxers. The erection left a dark shadow in the white cloth. I breathed upon the cock and pressed my lips over it until the cotton darkened with my moist breath. He smelled deliciously male. I tasted the musky skin. The heel of my palm flattened his balls. He brought the boxers down to his knees. The tumescent cock made a glorious contrast to the wiry black hair that covered his groin. I sniffed his length. Making my lips soft, I addressed his glans from below. Precome had already beaded at the slit. I kissed away the tears of the cyclops. Yoshio was content to have me suck him for a while. I sat up when his hand started to pull at my shirt.

He removed my blue sweater top and the light yellow tank top and the transparent black bra, which matched my sheer panties. I had his long sleeved shirt off and kissed his chest as I lifted the t-shirt away. We knelt and kissed on the bed. I chased his tongue from my mouth to his. Fingers traced the length of his spine, the pads pressing down where the back indented. Yoshio brought me over his lap and tugged on my ankles until the legs extended over him. His fingers feathered over the slit. Wetness seeped out. He sucked on his fingers. His head squeezing under me, he pulled the thong to the side and applied his tongue to the flow at the delta. I hunched my body over him, lowering my pussy across his open mouth, rubbing against his mandible, reaching for his cock in the process. Yoshio’s tongue threaded between my lips. I licked upward from the balls along the central vein on the bottom surface of the shaft.

He lapped my pussy for long minutes.

“Fuck me,” I said when he paused a moment to catch his breath. “I need your cock inside.” I peeled away the black thong panties in an instant.

He extracted a condom from his wallet and did what I asked. Supporting myself on forearms and knees, I arched over his torso. Left hand on my upper back, right hand on the rising curve of my rump, he steadied me while I pressed my cunt over the penis, which angled up from his pubis. On the initial foray, I tightened my pussy and balanced myself halfway. I hovered over the erection and resisted the downward compulsion of gravity and gratification. He laughed at the deliberate postponement of the fuck I had wanted and pulled me down by the waist. With the cock contained totally within, I spun my hips in a taut circle. My labia dragged against his groin.

He didn’t last long within me. His body tensed. The penis cocked and convulsed. He gripped me tight. I clutched the back of his neck and cooed to him while the condom filled with his spendings.

In the aftermath, we stretched out. Yoshio was on his back. I was on my side. My fingers wafted through the hair on his chest. We kissed. He stroked my breasts idly. As I fingered his cock, I admitted that I had been with another man a few hours before. I told him the two of them are so different, that I like them both very much. The penis stiffened against my palm.

He turned to his side and pushed me flat on the mattress. I hooked a leg across his flank. He paused to slip a condom on and used my thigh to lever his movement as the cock plunged in. He fucked me from below, thrusting with pelvis and hips while my fingers rubbed in circles over the clit. The flesh was fluid under my touch. I raised my leg to enhance the penetration. Slowly, my body turned around until I was on my belly and he was between my legs fucking me from behind. Our thighs were flush. Yoshio fucked my pussy with short jabs. We kissed.

I rose to hands and knees so that he could fuck me doggy style, but eventually, my body twisted around again. He fucked me from the side. His lips nuzzled along the line of my shoulder to my throat. When the cock slipped out of my cunt, he occupied the space between my legs and entered me from above. In the missionary position, we kissed endlessly with his cock inside me. As I had been stimulated so extensively, my pussy had a hair trigger. I came explosively. Yoshio kept his penis embedded and unmoving within. His palm cupped one of my breasts.

His eyes shut and his brow furrowed with the effort of concentration. He didn’t intend to come, but he couldn’t contain his eruption when my vagina wrung about his shaft. I gripped his forearm and kissed his throat.

I removed the condom and slurped the semen from his cock. The shaft hardened as I took him easily into my throat.

My fingers made my cunt yawn at him. “Do you mind that this little pussy hopped from another man’s bed to yours?” Experience has taught me that Yoshio liked to hear me speak about other lovers.

Yoshio gave a noncommittal grunt. He rotated so that he faced my cunt. His cock was stiffening before my eyes. His fingers reached for my pussy. He spread the wetness on the labia over my clit.

“Someone else bored into me this afternoon. He did me first. He made me cream. I used his semen for body lotion. I washed my face in it and swallowed his come.” Fingertips brushed along the furrow of his ass to his balls. They grazed across the back face of the scrotum. I plucked at the prickly hairs and batted the sac, which set the balls to a pendulous wobble. My tongue swirled around the head. I deepthroated him in a fluent and practiced motion. The points of painted nails dug into his buttocks. The cock ballooned, making my cheeks puff out.

“You’re spending the night with me, aren’t you?” The crown made a liquid plop as it evacuated my lips. Yoshio rolled another condom onto his shaft.

Back to Blighty December 19, 2011

Posted by Leah in Bondage, Buggery, Craigslust, Cunnilingus, D/s, Electra complex, Fellatio, Fucking, Gallimaufry, Masturbation, Public, Random hookups, Repeated hookups.

I am in the UK again from December 31st to January 17th. I will be crashing with my former roommate and her husband. They are renting a one bedroom flat near Hampstead Heath. I get the plush new sofa in the living room. I expect I won’t be at their place every night. After all, I have friends to see and be done by.

Amadeo has proven to be a generally poor correspondent. We Skype now and again. Frank writes a long e-mail every couple of weeks. These arrive unexpectedly. The letters are warm and funny and inevitably make me wish I had considered doing an undergraduate degree at Oxford or Cambridge. His missives and my replies are interspersed with frequent text messages. The salacious SMS exchanges happen when one of us endures an incomprehensible seminar. I like to think of Frank growing hard in his seat in public and hiding the erection in his pants with A4 paper. In the back of the auditorium, I squirm in my chair from arousal. My panties become moist. I miss these men.

For the past six weeks in Boston, I have been seeing someone. In his early thirties, David is a newly minted assistant professor. I like him very much so far. We are still in the process of discovering each other, sexually and otherwise. I have no expectations for how long the relationship will last. We aren’t exclusive. My colorful sexual life isn’t a secret to him either. He has seen the marks that other men have left on my body. He disapproves only on aesthetic grounds. He is especially proficient at applying pain without leaving bruises. David and I met through OkCupid. Like my own profile, his indicates an interest in casual sex. Naturally, in the bedroom, he gets off on his dominance and my submission. He is adept with rope. I am his bondage whore. He has made my body contort in positions I didn’t know were possible for me and taken me hard while I was tied. Sometimes he wants a brutally fast orgasm from a skull fucking. At other times he has me between his legs worshiping his phallus for most of a lazy Saturday afternoon. The Venn diagram of our kinks overlaps considerably, but there are also significant exclusions.

Because we have common friends, the ex-boyfriend and I run into each other socially. We haven’t fallen into bed. I have only been back to the old apartment once, to pick up my stuff. It’s over. I think of him less and less. But sometimes, when I am meandering through an art gallery, for example, I play the conversations we could have had in my mind. The abundance of memories I have makes me smile. He is happy. I am also, in my own way, content with the rhythms of my days and nights.

I hooked up with both of my regulars from before shortly after returning to the US. Though we do not play often, the most exciting sex I have had was a gang bang with five men organized by one of these fuck buddies. One by one, I sat on the men’s laps, naked. Wearing business suits, they kissed and touched me. The men toyed with my breasts and fingered my pussy. They affixed clothespins to my body. I brushed my ass over the erections that tented their trousers. We shared bottles of wine. Because I wanted to walk comfortably the next day, we decided that only three of them would fuck my ass. The men conducted a lottery for the privilege. I was doubled up, back and front. Once, briefly, I was tripled. My openings were made watertight. I held a penis in each hand and stroked the shafts. The men tied me to the sort of bench that is typically found in the locker room at a gym. The rope knotted my wrists beneath the plane of the thick wooden plank. It wrapped over my back to hold me in place. My tits were squashed flat. Knees on the floor, my legs were held apart by a spreader bar. My ass extended over the edge. They took my anus and pussy. My chest rode hard against the oak. Frequently, I fellated a man who straddled the bench and fed me his cock while another fucked me. The sex was continuous. It went on for two and a half hours. My friend had me first and last.

A few other encounters may be worth mentioning. I had bareback sex on a single occasion. At a bar, I picked up an eighteen year old, who looked like he was in his early twenties. I didn’t know he was a virgin until he confessed his virtue in my bedroom after we were already naked. Probably, I should have guessed his inexperience from the way he kissed. He departed my apartment having come in a woman. To start, I gave him a blowjob to take the edge off. He erupted almost at once, filling my mouth with the consummation of all of his adolescent daydreams and night tremors. Despite obvious inexpertness, I liked that I was his first taste of cunt. When we fucked, I squealed aloud in ecstasy before he expelled his seed. While I thought of introducing him to my toy box, I ultimately decided against it. I have long fantasized about training up the ideal dom starting from a tabula rasa. He isn’t the one. I haven’t seen him again.

At the other end of the age spectrum, I indulged my Electra complex over Thanksgiving. On Black Friday, I posted an ad on Craigslist and hooked up with a man in his mid-fifties. He is over twice my age and, in fact, said he had a son a year older than me. We met for coffee and then proceeded to a no tell motel at the outskirts of town. The clerk gave us a knowing look when he handed over the key. The man palmed my ass possessively. I never learned his name. I insisted that Daddy place his great, big cock in his little girl’s tight, wet cunt. Fucking and sustained cunnilingus drowned the bedsheets in my flood. I asked Daddy to sperm on me to close because I wanted to wear his semen. He straddled my chest and, punctuated by small licks over the glans, masturbated himself. He blasted over my tits to make them grow.

Lastly, I went to a conference in Pennsylvania at the beginning of October. I took a rental car and drove from Massachusetts. Around two thirty in the morning, I needed a pit stop, coffee, and a bite to eat. I stopped at a diner along the highway. A man seated alone invited me to join him at a small table. Rather than eating by myself, I accepted. He was a trucker and got to talking about life on the road. Intrigued, I asked for a tour of the truck. The living quarters of the eighteen wheeler were claustrophobic. A bunk bed occupied much of the space. Neatly stacked plastic storage containers lined the top bunk. The bed below was immaculately made. He didn’t wear a wedding band, I noticed. I took a chance and kissed him. His tongue dipped into my open mouth. He leaned his weight toward me; my back bowed backward. My fingers worked his belt buckle apart. I shed my jacket and divested myself of clothes. The cab was chilly. He turned the heat up for me. I sat on the edge of the mattress and sucked his penis to hardness. When I was satisfied with how it shined, I tossed the condom I unearthed from my purse at him. He nursed at my teats and lowered his weight atop my body. My arms wrapped his broad shoulders. I spread my legs in the air. The bedsprings gave a metallic creak. The floor seemed to shift slightly, but I may have imagined this. I sprawled in his arms after sex. We had breakfast in the same diner in the morning. I bought a fresh box of condoms from the convenience store at the gas station nearby, and we had a quickie for the road.

These episodes are exceptional. The majority of the sex during the past three months has been pedestrian. Craigslist is less effective than I remember. It has gotten me laid, yes, but the men I have met in Boston through the agency of the casual encounters board have exhibited little promise. Random hookups still happen, but the frequency has diminished since London. Ideally, I want more than another one night stand. The unrepeated fucks are temporary expedients and stopgap measures. Save for David, sex constitutes only a physical release. It lacks an intellectual or emotional connection. The dildo is sometimes more satisfying than a man. I haven’t been on the hunt as regularly as before. This is just as well. Research and grading papers have kept me busy this semester. Marking exams is a bitch. I expect to defend my thesis in May. The dissertation needs much work this spring.

I still play flute when I can with a chamber group. We don’t perform. We rehearse challenging music for fun. Nearly every morning, I spend an hour at the gym. On Friday nights, I go dancing — usually at gay clubs. Liz and Sophie, two close friends, like making out with girls. We have done a fair amount of kissing and fondling bodies through club wear. It hasn’t ended with tongue circling clit and my mouth imbibing cunt or thighs clamping a head in a viselike grip with fingers pulling the roots of hair and making indentations in the scalp as my pussy fountains against the touch of lips. We haven’t tribbed. Perhaps one day we shall.

I will most likely be in a new city next fall. Where? I don’t know. The job applications are out. I enjoy what I can of Boston while I am living here. I keep busy.

The end (for now) September 15, 2011

Posted by Leah in Gallimaufry.

A conversation with myself

“You gonna go?”




“For good?”

“Maybe. Nah. Maybe.”

“How come?”

“This semester is busy. My thesis clock is ticking. I need to think about jobs. I have been away for more than a year. I want a boyfriend. Not immediately. But soon. I’m gonna give this sex blog thing a rest for a while.”

“Was it fun?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then why don’t you keep doing it?”

“I don’t have the hours a week to spare. For sex, yes. For writing about sex, not really.”

“You don’t have to write about every single time, silly.”

“I’m not planning to do that ever again.”

“Do you have more to say?”

“About sexuality: yeah. About D/s: for sure. About sex itself: maybe. I worry the writing will become stale. Already, I feel like I am repeating myself constantly. I would rather end too early than too late.”

“You have an audience.”

“I know. Isn’t it amazing?”

“You’re going to miss this.”

“Probably. But there’s a lot of other stuff I want to do as well. Life’s short, ya know?”

“Seriously. You’re going to miss it. London, too. Fucking crazy sinks, crowded tubes, British cuisine, the infestation of tourists in summer, pints at the pub after work with your friends, the museums, the theater, the parks, all those orchestras including your own. Everything. You will miss it all.”

“I am going back at the end of December or in early January. I’ll see Amadeo. I’ll see Frank. I will be in the UK for a couple of weeks. I will write up whatever happens. It fits the theme of the place. Leah lays London. It will be like old times. This isn’t goodbye. I am coming back.”

“And then? Is it goodbye after that?”

“I don’t know. That’s an honest answer. I simply do not know. I have been pondering another blog. Something exciting and different. Fresh adventures. New friends. I have an itch to write. But I make no promises. Right now, I need a break.”

“The curtain goes down.”

“But the show goes on.”

“It always does.”

Connect the dots September 15, 2011

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Repeated hookups.





I wrote the letters vertically in green marker down the underside of his shaft. Snapping up the swinging sac with my lips, I sucked each of his testicles. The tonguetip poked at them. My lips made a seal and tugged. I compacted the grip of my fingers on the scrotum, brought the balls together, swiped my tongue across, and sketched a smiley face underneath. Saliva smeared the ink.

I handed the pen to Frank. “You do me,” I said.

A scattering of small brown birthmarks populate my right shoulder. Frank played connect the dots with the magic marker. He kissed the blemishes and layered star shaped ornaments over the skin. He sketched a ladder between the hollows of my ribs. The stubby felt tip of the pen set me to giggling. Ink smudged. He drew a long line from my nipple, down the bottom of the breast, down the torso and the abdomen, down still farther over the pubis, finally terminating at the clit. He repeated on the opposite side, straighter on his second effort. Lips and tongue followed the lines to their convergence. He pinched the hood down and licked.

Juices dripped from my pussy in viscous, silver strands. His tongue collected my wetness. Palm facing up, he snuck two fingers into me, and spun his wrist while he nursed at each of my nipples. Frank alternated between them so that the one wouldn’t feel left out by the other.

When it was my turn to play, I flicked my thumb across Frank’s spongy glans. The mouth made faces at me as the heel brushed over it. Precome beaded in the eye. I spread it over the head. I stroked his shaft with my left hand and allowed the right to feather along the furrow of his ass. The minute hairs tickled the pads of my fingers. I verbalized a promise to rim his asshole later. I loved how he groaned when I said this.

He tilted his face and looked up at me. I covered his mouth with mine. A purple dildo clattered to the floor.

I compressed my tits together, and Frank wedged his cock between them. The shaft slid through the cleavage. Penis flat against the breastbone, the glans looked like a locomotive powering through a tunnel. Craning my head from the pillow, I extended my tongue to lick the choo-choo at the apex of its ascent.

I had him sit on top of me and petaled the labia open. The shaft pressed against the inner lips of cunt. It dragged, forward and backward, along the slick folds and became damp in the seepage from my pussy. The contact the stem made against the clitoris felt glorious. The nerves below ached in their want. I painted his balls with cunt wet fingers.

We sat on the bed. His thumb rubbed lightly across my slit.

“When were you last tested?” I nuzzled against his shoulder.

His lips pursed together as he considered. “February,” Frank said.

With superior strength, he flipped me horizontal and pinned my arms to the bed. I brought my legs around his and spun them over his calves. He pecked my lips. I clamped down on Frank’s tongue and held it between my teeth. It skated over the points as he extracted it from me. After a moment, his tongue darted back into my open mouth, as I knew it would. My hands lowered on either side of his spine. I gripped his buttocks and shook the cheeks. My tongue briefly slipped into his mouth. Frank dropped a series of soft little kisses over my upper lip. I licked the line of his smile, which persuaded his tongue back out to dance.

I broke the kiss and released a heartfelt sigh. “April,” I said, reaching behind me. My hand stumbled blindly over the nightstand for a condom.

Farewell, lover September 12, 2011

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

I am back in the United States. I have two more stories to tell about London. I had my final Wednesday date with Amadeo. Frank came to visit on Friday and saw me off to Heathrow on Saturday. Both these goodbyes were tinged with sadness. I am friendly with Marshall, the man I have seen several times during the last weeks. Though we have out of this world sex, we aren’t especially tight. I am not broken up about leaving him. With Amadeo and Frank, the situation is different. I miss them terribly.

On the seventh day of the month of September in the year two thousand and eleven, Amadeo brought me to subspace one last time.

He took me in every orifice. Using my ears as handles, he throat fucked me. The saliva spilled from my mouth, falling in thick ropes that left a puddle on the floor. The tug of wrists wrenching both of my arms from their sockets, he impaled my anus onto his cock and battered my ass from behind. He pinned my wrists high above my head with one of his enormous paws, and while his cock pounded my cunt, I sucked and bit on the fingers in my mouth. After I came, he licked my puffy and swollen pussy with an abundance of gentleness. I brought his hands to my breasts while he ate me out. He deposited kisses over the water smooth pubis and swirled his tongue round and round the orgasm engorged clit. The pussy licking was the prelude to a fisting. It took him twenty minutes to squeeze inside. I couldn’t see it happen — not fully — flat as I was on my back, breathing hard, and clenching the sheets. I concentrated on his speech, and he talked me through the process of fitting his hand into my cunt until the muscles at the entrance stretched like a rubber band about his wrist. I was a mitten. I was a glove. My hair was swimming in sweat. I resided in a hazy and contented place with his fist inside.

Amadeo’s aftercare was exquisite. He held me protectively.

He took me over his lap and spanked me. The barehand blows landed over my buttocks in fortissimo thunderclaps that set my ass to rippling. The heat seared into the flesh. The skin turned an angry red. The muscles ached. Wriggling his hand between my thighs, Amadeo discovered a sopping cunt. In the intervals, he fingered my pussy lips and clitoris. He left no bruises but nevertheless walloped me until I was beyond screaming. Tears bespoke pain. But I was also aware that this could be the end. I will miss our nights together. Orgasm came to me in an adrenaline and endorphin fueled rush.

I brought a blubbering face to his penis and sucked him softly, savoring his scents and flavors, the heft of his cock between my lips, and the taste of precome on my tongue. When he was perfectly rigid and yearning, I placed a condom over the erection. Amadeo took me slowly from above. The cock imposed itself to the balls, then retreated completely. My hands tightened on his arms and shoulders, and I kissed him. He kept removing the penis from my cunt and slapping the shaft over my pubis. He painted the moisture from inside over the skin.

I went to sleep with the meter long chain that attached to my collar looped around the headboard of the bed. Amadeo’s recumbent body radiated its heat next to me. He had begun on his side, spooning me, with an arm folded over my breasts. We were both horizontal now, stretched out and supine. He took in deep breaths of air in his sleep. I fingered the cold metal links of the chain and shut my eyes. My pussy was sore from fucking.

In the shower in the morning, I took pleasure in washing his body. I rinsed soap from his underarms and followed with kisses. I used foam to pattern white arcs over his backside. I tasted the skin that I had cleaned. I sponged his cock and sucked him under the water stream. After the orgasm, which produced only the smallest spoonful of ejaculate, I extended Amadeo’s left leg and kissed my way down to his ankle. Taking his foot in hand, I licked along the arch. Fingernails scratched the sole and tickled. I sucked his big toe just as I had minutes before sucked his glans. My tongue flickered into the crevice between the big toe and the longer one next to it. I lapped at the top of the foot and along its sides. My lips left kisses over the pads of his toes. I pressed the sole against my cheek, and I nosed at the heel.

Once we had reversed positions, Amadeo held the showerhead and pointed it over my body. I closed my eyes and stood on my toes, wrapped my arms around his neck, and enjoyed the unhurried kisses while he soaped my tits and back. Bringing my arms in the air, he washed my armpits and flank. He rubbed in circles over my belly, skirted the pussy, and continued on to my legs. I propped a foot on his knee as soapy hands slid along the leg. He scrubbed between the toes. After he had rinsed my cunt lips, he pressed his face down hard and licked me. Turning me against the wall, he gnawed the flesh of my buttocks and the hollow of the neck where it meets the shoulder. He shampooed my hair with exceptional care. I went to my knees again and let the back of my head brush against his penis.

On the drive to the university, whenever he could spare it from the stick shift, he placed his hand on the inner part of my thigh. Rising to tiptoes, I wrapped his shoulder and back and hugged him next to the car when we arrived. We kissed, once, twice, and held each other. I waited for him to dissolve the hug. I clasped his right hand in my left and his left in my right. We drifted apart.

“Farewell, lover,” I whispered. Then louder: “See you around.” The smile reached his eyes.

I don’t know what I can say about Frank. The fucking was likely the purest sex I have had in London. It wasn’t the all night orgy some of our previous encounters were. We did it once in the evening and again in the morning. We did it in my flat, on my bed, over sheets I abandoned, with my packed luggage by the side of the door. It was funny. It was comfortable. We had intensely personal conversations and companionable silences. It wasn’t the least bit romantic. The sex affirmed a friendship, one that, I hope, will endure through the distance and the decades.

It will be ages — well, months — before my next rendezvous with either of these men. It will happen though. And possibly we will renew our acquaintance in bed. I would like that very much.

I will write another post soon.

Loose ends September 11, 2011

Posted by Leah in Blogroll, Gallimaufry.

Belated Blogroll

In addition to the ones I have highlighted, I wish I had the time to explain why I like these blogs so much.

A Feminist Sub

Bareback Grrl

Dark Gracie

Diary of a Kinky Librarian

Dirty Little Mind

Easily Aroused

Pieces of Jade

Quickies in New York

Random Rim Jobs

Remittance Girl

Sadie’s Open Marriage

The Naughty Secretary

The Sex Experiment

25 Things About My Sexuality

Wild Ride

Your Filthy Sex Secrets

Maybe you will have the time to explore on your own.



There is a page.

I thought about adding pictures to accompany the writeups of the various adventures that I have had. Posting photographs of myself and thereby committing them to the internet forever is not something I am comfortable doing. Finding a photo that works with a story is also not easy. I have tried looking a few times. Even if I were to succeed in finding a picture, I am concerned about copyright. Calling this fair use strikes me as a dubious proposition. So this is a project that never went anywhere. Perhaps one day, having made my fortune, I will commission the 122 illustrations that I need.



I am no longer updating. The e-mail address still works. You can send questions there. I expect I will answer eventually.

A bdsm love story September 11, 2011

Posted by Leah in Blogroll.

Words are a power. They are one of the powers of the earth, in fact. I might be submissive in the bedroom, but in front of my keyboard, I have all the dominance. I sculpt the experiences as I relate the assorted sordid tales. Much abides, but much is taken. The stories are filtered through the prism of my perceptions. They are shaped by my memory. I edit the events in the telling. I don’t remember all the details. After all, the best encounters exist for me only in the moments of supreme bliss. I don’t record all that I remember either. There isn’t time to tell everything. Some of it is unimportant. This is how I write. It is fascinating to see how someone else, who shares many of my kinks, presents her experiences.

SapioSlut has a blog. Her adventures appear in a book. As well, there is a sequel.

As an undergraduate in Chicago, I learned about submission in sex clubs. I was taught by two dominant men in particular, one in his late twenties, another in his middle thirties. SapioSlut’s D/s awakening arose via the agency of SapioSir, who, she relates, changed sex from being something nice and fun to something that reaches right through me, turns me inside out and upside down, and whose limits we have yet to reach. I hope those limits are always on a distant horizon. The journey to the edge of the world has its rewards.

SapioSlut ejaculates in orgasm. I do, too, but only rarely. For her this happens with desirable frequency. She says: I can’t come on command yet, but I can certainly squirt on command. She does so in creative ways: When he invited me to hump his leg it meant that in a few seconds I was squirting all over him and the bed. Towel time! And a good thing too, because the towel was soaked after a few more squirts.

SapioSlut also has more orgasms in shorter periods of time than anyone I have ever heard of. She once had 124 in one hour. I wrote to her to ask about the physiology of these hundred orgasms, the shapes they take. She answered me: I think there is a core set of muscles that spasmed with most if not all the orgasms (in my abs and minor glutes — these were the ones that were extremely sore for a few days) as well as the pure struggle of processing the sensation. You are correct, there [are] definitely different types of orgasms through that lot — some comparatively superficial (for me those are the clitoral only) through to deep cervical ones that happen for me with high intensity directly on my cervix which also tend to deploy an intense emotional response as well. I remember musing about whether this ability can be trained. I still wonder that. I should practice.

There are a wealth of other experiences that SapioSlut has that extend far beyond my knowledge. The force of her narrative wants me to try these things out. When SapioSlut said that SapioSir turned her upside down, she meant this quite literally. Under inverted suspension, a small amount of squirt dribbled down my tummy with the first orgasm, but the large rivulets that came gushing down with the second and third were new indeed. Normally my squirt goes straight into a towel, but this time gravity was pulling it down my body and right through my hair. I have only given a blowjob upside down. I wonder about electroplay. I may not try it out. But I admit to curiosity.

What is refreshing about SapioSlut and SapioSir is that they are obviously in love, and the dominance and the submission and the kinky sex happen within a context. Reading the book and reading the blog, we see glimpses of the depths. Some of the short passages are the most expressive. She writes on January 14: Riding in the car this morning I thought about the bruise on my shoulder. Thinking about how it got there gave me an almost instantaneous moment of arousal. His presence, his touch, his growl, his teeth were all there in my mind again. I wanted more. I was instantly lustful. Deliciously so.

In the long run, I want what SapioSlut has. I hesitate to term my feelings envy because I am not at all begrudging. Rather, I am happy to read what she shares about her life with SapioSir. I find myself moved by the pervasive and palpable joy. The way she plays — adventurous, bold, and oh! so sexy — arises organically, nourished as it is by love. I am still picking my way through the frontier, whereas she has built a homestead there. I hope I can thank her someday for providing a peek at the years ahead. For now, I thank her for sharing a bdsm love story with voyeurs like me.

Marshall one more time September 7, 2011

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

I sat on my shins, straddling his thighs, and during the kisses, I sucked his bottom lip softly and also his tongue. Between us, the only article of clothing we had on was Marshall’s necktie, which I wore in a loose knot; the end reached past the delta and dangled between my legs. His hands smoothed over my back and shoulders, and mine spidered over his chest. Occasionally, I gripped his cock, but most of the time I was content to touch only above the waist. We may have remained nearly naked on the sofa making out for close to half an hour — I was in no hurry to stop.

In bed, he laid on his back, and legs stretching in the bay between his, I laid prone over his chest. While my labia dragged over his abdomen and my hand on his cheek angled his head to one side and his hand on my leg opened up my thighs and fingered my pussy, the kisses continued without pause. Before I took his cock into my mouth, the flat of my tongue swabbed the underside and his balls; the point followed the lines of his groin to where they met his thighs.

I lowered onto the penis, on hands and knees, and he fucked me from below. From above, my body must have looked so small on top of his, a tiny girl clinging to a big man, clenching his shoulders with her hands, his cock with her cunt, constantly moaning. I pushed off the bed with both hands and thrust my pussy up and down the length of his shaft. His arms wrapped my back, and he held me down with his penis embedded deep inside. The tip of his index finger found its way into my asshole and wiggled in to the knuckle; I liked being full front and back.

Later, he took me with my feet in the air. His body slammed onto mine from a height, and he used the sinews in his arms to lift his weight off me as he withdrew.

Still later, he fucked me in doggy fashion. My calves extended beneath the arch of his thighs. He gripped my hips and powered the penis into my vagina, the glans prodding muscles and membranes far in the interior as the balls connected with my body with a loud clap.

I laid on my side in a bend, and Marshall fucked me from behind, so slowly, so softly. The penetration was less deep than before, but my cunt felt more stretched out as the shaft slid against the walls in a molto adagio tempo.

Facing away, facing his feet, I watched us in the mirror on the wall. Like Norman Foster’s gherkin on the city skyline, his penis had a long silhouette and a rounded edge. I balanced myself on top, and as I made an unhurried descent, the muscles of my vagina compressed about the shaft. Marshall had me by the hips, and he raised and lowered my body over his.

The first time I came, I stood on the floor, bowing at the waist. My hand gripped the side of the bed. Marshall had one hand in my hair, and he hauled me backward by the thigh against his pelvis, which drove the other way, improbably fast, impossibly hard.

Somewhere in between — I no longer remember precisely when — Marshall folded my legs open and sucked my pussy. The cream from my cunt had left his condom white. Holding a hand and a breast, he lapped the same wetness from my folds.

The next fucks had a similar shape: we constantly changed position, each seeking to experience our partner in every conceivable manner, desperate to enjoy the totality of the experience, to make it last. I met Marshall so late: this was all we had.