The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (25 page)

Michelle, Oxford

When I first started going out with boys I was in my late teens, maybe seventeen. I had this boyfriend, Peter. He was all right, quite fit, nice enough, and we had a lot of
innocent fun. He was my first and we tried all the vanilla things you try first of all: fumbling, nibbling, dry-humping on the bedroom floor, you know the kind of thing. Things changed when I met
his family. We had a nice drink in their front room, all photo frames and books. When his dad served me my whisky and coke, his hand touched mine and I looked up into those brown eyes and – a
spark. I must have blushed. I tend to blush up my neck – goodness knows what he thought. From that moment I could not take my eyes off him. I don’t think anyone noticed. He was a
history professor, interesting when he talked, with a deep voice. I noticed he had long fingers when he held his glass. There were hairs on the knuckles. He must have been twenty-five years older
then me but I just stared and stared.

The next visit was a few days before Christmas. Peter and I had tried our first sixty-nine at my house three nights before and had found it a rather clumsy experience. Anyway, sex was on my mind
when I walked into his parents’ house and sat down. Within half an hour I was feeling fiddly and fidgety. His dad’s voice sounded warm and treacly and I found myself self-consciously
crossing my legs over and over. This crossing of the legs was the way I had discovered masturbation. I used to lie in bed at night squeezing my thighs together to capture the “warm
glow” as I used to call it. Only later did I discover my trusty middle finger. Well, in the living room that night the crossing and uncrossing was having the same effect and a whole cloud of
butterflies was gathering in my stomach. Blushing all over my neck I excused myself “to the loo” and locked the door. There I took down my wringing knickers and, I’m ashamed to
say, lay on the floor with my shoes on the loo seat and wanked my little clit until I came. I didn’t cry out, just panted and thrashed a little, thinking of Peter’s father holding his
glass of brandy to his lips. Pulling my wet panties back over my wet pussy was uncomfortable, but I was glad of the relief, however sticky, when I got back downstairs.

I had no intention of letting it happen again but a few weeks later, Peter’s dad cleared his throat at dinner with a sound that sounded to me in my altered state like an aroused moan. I
excused myself once more to the bathroom and, locking the door, diddled on the bath mat on my hands and knees with my knickers around my thighs and my arse in the air. It was a very good come.

My covert wanking became a regular thing. Every time we visited something would set me off. One time I was sure Peter’s dad was looking up my skirt and I had to slip away and masturbate;
another time he playfully hugged me in a welcome-to-the-family kind of way and I spent the evening squeezing my thighs to a mouth-watering peak before heading to the bathroom for a much needed
flick off, my knickers stuffed into my mouth. You would think this secret life would have added a little spice to my love life with Peter but in truth, so far I had only come on my own. He was keen
but inept, and the locations we tried for our first few tentative fucks (his car, my bedroom, his bedroom) lacked finesse. The parents’ house situation got to be a habit and the normality of
this habit finally caught me out.

We were at Peter’s parents’ place one afternoon in spring and his dad was wearing a sexy cotton shirt and chinos. I had offered to make a cup of tea, and was alone in the kitchen,
putting tea bags in cups and filling the kettle, thinking about the man in the other room. Automatically my hand stole to my crotch as I leaned on the counter waiting for the kettle to boil. I
pressed on my clit through my tights and let my mind wander. Before I really knew what I was doing I had my fingers in my knickers, stroking my elit from side to side. I didn’t hear
Peter’s dad come in. I’d left him playing Scrabble. He had no reason to come in. He came up behind me and placed one of his large hands on my shoulder – the right, the same arm
which was buried in my underwear. I knew it was him by the smell – aftershave and cigars, whisky on his breath. I turned, terrified, and he took me completely by surprise by kissing me fully
on the mouth. I returned the kiss with enthusiasm, but was so clumsy I think I bit his lip.

To my shock and delight he turned me around again to face the counter and reached beneath my short floaty skirt to the waistband of my tights. Easing down both navy hose and lemon cotton
knickers he exposed my bottom to the air. It was a small, tight, soft bottom in those days and I was proud of it. I could well imagine the expression on his face, faced with my pale, shapely peach.
I heard the buckle on his belt jangle and the next thing I knew he was easing a very hard, very thick cock into my pussy from behind. Remember, I was seventeen, just starting out. I had never had
sex in any way other than on my back, certainly not from behind and certainly not standing up. Not only was this completely new and more than a little pervy, he was
huge.
His cock smarted
going in, despite my wetness, stretching me up and out, filling me deeper than I had ever been filled. I gasped and stumbled forwards, my breasts squashing against the counter. In response to the
gasp he shushed me gently and covered my mouth with his hand, as softly as if he were brushing hair from my eyes. I groaned into the hand and eased my hips back onto his, forcing his thick cock
deeper, the stinging pleasure of it bringing tears to my eyes. I wanted him to know how much I wanted this crazy, dangerous fuck to happen. He began to pull in and out, rocking slowly against me,
chugging that big, middle-aged cock of his in a gentle rhythm. The sensation was indescribable, nothing like Peter’s clumsy stabbing. He was much harder for one thing, and the sensation had
an itchy, slippery friction which made my eyes roll back in my head. My hand stole once more to my tacky clit and I rubbed and rubbed, panting into his large, warm hand, breathing through my nose.
My lover responded to my fingering by further nudging apart my thighs with his own and picking up the pace of his thrusts.

My orgasm wasn’t long in coming. The expert pumping of my cunt from behind and the lightning-fast clit-flicking in front tipped me over. As he felt the tremors in my body, Peter’s
father reached under me with his other big strong arm and lifted me off the floor. One of my shoes fell off, I think. I gripped the marble counter-top with my free hand, the black stone freezing
cold on my throbbing nipples, and came, really, really hard. It was ten times the climax I’d ever had with my hand and, jerking on his amazing dick, I bit hard into his fingers until I tasted
bone, just to keep from howling in ecstasy. He came too with a small grunt, deep inside me, squirting at least four times, his come hot and prodigious. He pulled out of my raw vagina with a slurp
and kissed me on the bum. He then deliberately broke a glass, right in front of me, picking up the shattered pieces as an explanation of the blood dripping from the passionate bite on his hand. How
he explained the tooth marks I never found out. He will have had them for years. I hauled up my sticky knot of knickers and tights and returned, a little breathless and pink, to the game of
Scrabble. I couldn’t look Peter in the eye and we never made love again; in fact, I finished with him a week later. I never forgot the stolen minutes bent over the counter by a real man,
gasping senselessly into his big, strong, whisky-scented hand.

Anna, USA

Brandon bought me the silly little skirt. It wasn’t something I would have picked out for myself but he was so happy with his choice, I took it happily and thanked him.
It hit me mid-thigh and had flirty little pleats. Green and blue plaid very much like the uniform skirts I had to wear in school. Not my idea of sexy but I kept that to myself.

On the phone one day, Brandon said, “Will you wear the skirt for me?”

At first I was at a loss. What skirt? Then I remembered the lonely little schoolgirl skirt hanging in my closet. I laughed but said I would and hung up.

I wore the skirt for the rest of the day. I topped it off with a plain white T-shirt and some flip-flops. Plain white panties were underneath. I thought that was a nice touch.

When Brandon got home, he took me in. He smiled and then kissed me and thanked me. “Can you bring me a beer on the deck? I’m beat.” Then he wandered outside leaving me
confused. Why was I wearing the skirt if he was beat?

I played along. I brought him a beer and found him in one of the deckchairs. Tie pulled loose, sleeves rolled up, newspaper in his lap.

“Your beer,” I said and waited. What was this?

“Sir.”

“What?” Now I was really confused. Maybe the heat had gotten to my husband. It was a very warm day.

“Your beer,
sir
,” Brandon corrected me.

I went from confused to angry to somewhat turned on. Apparently, the heat was getting to me too.

“Sir?”

“Say it,” my husband commanded.

“Here’s your beer,
sir
.” I really had to force the words past my lips. I view myself in all ways as Brandon’s equal. He does too.

“Are you giving me a hard time?” His eyes were harsh but I saw the familiar humorous twinkle buried under the intense stare.

“I . . . I . . .” I was flustered but turned on. I decided to go with it. “No, sir.”

“I think you are and that skirt is too short. Turn around, young lady.”

I turned on my heels so fast I had to grab the deck railing for support. I waited and tried to breathe. It was suddenly hard to draw air.

Brandon’s hand slid up the inside of my thigh. His touch so light I felt goosebumps break out on my skin. Then he flipped up the back of my skirt and exposed my bottom and panties. I
waited.

I felt his familiar hands on the white cotton panties. He smoothed his palms over the fabric and then I heard a crack before I felt the pain. I yelped and grabbed harder at the railing. He was
spanking me!

“Six swats for being difficult.”

He alternated smacks on my bottom until it was tingling and hot. I could feel how wet my panties had become. My breath wouldn’t come. I was surprised and thrilled at the same time. I had
no idea that Brandon had this in mind when he bought the skirt. If I had known, I might have worn it ages ago.

I heard him stand and felt my nipples peak beneath my T-shirt. He stood close behind me and pulled my panties down with a tug. When they hit the deck he growled in my ear, “Kick them
off.”

I did. I kicked them to the side and tried not to push back against him. I knew by the sound of his voice he would be hard and ready. Brandon pushed his fingers into me and they slid in with
ease.

“You’re so bad. Look how wet you are from being bad.” Then he flipped up the back of my skirt and I felt the soft breeze on my naked ass. “Lean forwards,” he
commanded and I did. I pressed my belly against the railing and felt my pussy open to him.

Brandon’s zipper sounded loud to me and made the wetness between my thighs worse. I felt his cock probe at me and glanced around through the various trees that shaded our deck. The thought
that someone could be watching this display made me even wetter. Then he slid into me and I forgot all about the neighbours. His big hands pulled at my waist and forced me back against him. He
drove into me hard and fast. Pushing deeply as I clutched the railing.

“Rub your clit, bad girl,” he growled and I obeyed. Caught up in the fantasy and the moment and his command over me.

I rubbed circles with my fingers. My clit so swollen and sensitive I knew it wouldn’t take much. I held on tight to the deck railing as he fucked me harder. Brandon made that sound he
always makes right before he came. I rubbed my clit a little harder. Suddenly it was very important that we come together. That would make this scenario that much better for me.

“Next time I ask for a beer you give it to me properly,” my husband grunted and then he smacked my bottom hard again. I yelped from the sudden pain but then my orgasm was flowing
through me. He spanked my other cheek as I continued to come. Rubbing my clit and moaning. Hanging over the deck rail praying that no one was watching. Or maybe praying they were.

Brandon pulled me back tight. “Baby,” he sighed and emptied into me.

We stood frozen for a moment before getting ourselves together. I sighed, my body loose from the orgasm and tingly from the excitement of it all.

“Want another beer?” I asked and then giggled.

“Sure, babe. And get one for yourself.” He winked and settled back in the deck chair.

“Yes,
sir
,” I trilled over my shoulder as I went into the house. I smoothed my hands over my new favourite skirt.

Richard, Melbourne

I have a confession to make. Last week I came home early and caught my wife having sex with the guy next door. It was her high-pitch laugh that made me look across the road.
They were at his house, in the lounge room with the curtains open, fucking their brains out. I was speechless, couldn’t believe my eyes. Every instinct told me to go over there, knock down
the door and smash the guy in the face but as I watched something happened, something I’d never tell any of my mates.

I snuck over to the window and peeked in. I’ve seen plenty of pornos but never actually seen a couple having sex, live that is, and I was intrigued. Watching Brad’s arse fucking her
rhythmically had me wondering what it would be like to have sex with another guy. Just watching his cheeks clench and contract had me wanting to grab hold of them, to rub my hands over his skin,
pull apart his cheeks and run my cock up and down his hole.

I was shocked I could think of something like that at a time when I should have been furious. I’m not gay or anything, never even thought about it, honestly. I don’t have any gay
tendencies, really I don’t.

I moved away from the window, tried to get a hold on my feelings, but I wanted to see more: more of Brad, his thighs, the muscles in his calves and more importantly his cock. I sidled back to
the window. They’d changed positions. He was lying on his back and she was riding him, her hot cunt sliding up and down his shaft.