Marshall One More Time

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.

Republished with permission from Leah Lays London. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by Burning Angel.