The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (11 page)

This was better than floating on my back and flaunting the pup tent at the front of my swimsuit to all the world. I did a dead man’s prone spread-eagle, though below the waist I was
anything but dead. The subaqueous protuberance between my legs, like the keel of a sailboat, was almost enough by itself to keep me stable in the water.

Muriel positioned herself at my side and placed both hands, palms up, under my abdomen in the classic pose of a swimming instructor encouraging the confidence of a novice still uncertain of his
buoyancy in the water. The hand farthest from my head drifted in a southerly direction, as if inadvertently, until it encountered the waistband of my swimsuit. There, a pair of fingers found the
drawstring and gently tugged the front of my trunks backwards until they popped free from and slid below my raging hard-on. Fortunately, my ass was still covered.

“Now I wonder what this can be?” she said, exploring blindly by touch. “Is it a log of driftwood?”

“Not exactly,” I groaned, arching my back.

“Am I getting warm?” she asked, squeezing the shaft with exquisite pressure and pumping it ever so delicately up and down between its forty-five degree cant to my body and
perpendicularity.

My voice was a hoarse croak. “Yes, warm.”

“I’ll bet it’s a bonerfish.”

I was too preoccupied with other matters to correct the misnomer.

“Warm, very warm,” I moaned, and began to thrash in the water, compulsively imitating the frantic motions of a non-swimmer. Her fingers formed a cylinder and travelled slowly,
lingeringly, up and down my piston. I couldn’t restrain a yelp and a number of involuntary pelvic thrusts. From afar, it must have seemed that I was learning the rudiments of the butterfly
stroke.

“Third guess,” she said. “A water pipe.”

“Hot! Hot!” I cried, and came in an orgasm so violent and explosive that, though its epicentre was somewhere behind my balls, I felt it from deep in my anus right up to the nape of
my neck. The ejaculation seemed unending. I’d never experienced anything like it before, a fierce pleasure that threatened to tear my nerves apart.

Creamy-grey globules of semen popped to the surface of the water several inches in front of my head, so powerful had been the force that propelled them out the barrel of my prick like priapic
projectiles.

“I should have known,” Muriel said with a laugh, “A blow-gun.”

The droplets of my jism gleamed like pearls in the sunlight. Muriel dispersed them among the sparkling wavelets with a sweep of her hand.

“You owe me one,” she said, tidying me up with sisterly solicitude.

A gentleman always pays his debts. I made sure the rest of that summer, whenever opportunity offered, that mine were properly (you should pardon the expression) discharged.

Lilith, Toronto

I have to get something off my chest and I can’t tell anyone. When it first started, it was all in forbidden fun: a few secret encounters, a good orgasm and life as
usual. No harm, no foul. Now, a year later and not long before the wedding, I feel I must confess. Of course, the first person I would want to tell is my best friend, but she is the last person
that I can tell right now!

I met Jen at the advertising agency where we both work. She was the senior account director on the first project I was assigned to. Jen was nice to me from day one and took me under her wing.
She taught me “the ropes” and gave me the inside scoop on the office politics.

One Friday afternoon, Jen told me her boyfriend was out of town and invited me back to her place for a “girls’ night”. I was positively delighted. You see, not only had I just
started a new job, I also had just moved to the city and didn’t really know anyone. The prospect of having a new friend to hang out with and develop some sort of social life was appealing so,
of course, I accepted.

We had left a little early from work that day. Jen had some errands to run and I went to the gym. I pulled up in front of the Victorian brownstone at 7 p.m. as planned. I walked up the stairs
and rang the bell. I was surprised to see a tall well-dressed man behind the door but no sign of Jen.

He must have noticed the look of confusion on my face because he promptly introduced himself. He was John, Jen’s boyfriend, and his business trip had been cancelled. He proceeded to tell
me that Jen had called to say she had a flat tyre and was running late. It was going to be at least an hour before the tow service came to help.

He invited me in and led me to the living room where he motioned for me to sit down while he poured me a drink. I watched him walk over to the bar and noted his pants hugged his perfectly formed
bottom really well. I used the mirror over the bar to sneak a peak at his well-chiselled face; Jen had really caught herself a hottie! John smiled when he caught me looking at him and I was
embarrassed. I may as well have been drooling!

We sat across from each other on the oversized sofa and sipped our martinis. The conversation was slightly subdued at first, but as the alcohol kicked in, the conversation flowed freely. We
talked about John’s job at a competing ad firm and how he and Jen had met.

One half-hour later and the start of a second martini, I thought that John’s attentiveness towards me was a little calculated. It seemed as if he was flirting with me. That’s when I
realized that perhaps I should slow down on the alcohol. What was I thinking? Not only had I just met him, but also he was my co-worker’s (hopefully soon to be my good friend) boyfriend! Jen
never gave me any reason to believe that she and John were having problems so there was no way that John was flirting with me.

No sooner had I convinced myself that I was overreacting than John was sitting beside me on the couch. He was close, really close. So close that I could smell the scent of his aftershave coupled
with the muskiness of a long hard day at work.

Before I could speak he was kissing me. His lips were soft and gentle as his tongue found mine. We sat there and kissed, passionately. Deliberately.

Without any words, his fingers found their way up my skirt to my increasingly wet mound. He skilfully pushed my panties aside and entered me with his fingers. I was swollen and soaked. With a
primal grunt, John grabbed me and pulled me on top of him. He pulled my skirt up around my thighs, pushed my panties aside for the second time, and entered me. I let myself be driven up and down on
John’s throbbing cock as if on autopilot.

A few hard thrusts were all it took before my muscles tightened around his member and I rode the wave of a taboo orgasm. Feeling my pussy grip his cock must have pushed John to the edge, because
he blew his sticky juice.

It all happened so fast. Fifteen minutes or so. We had just finished cleaning up and I was beginning to realize what I had done, when Jen walked in. I wondered if the smell of sex still lingered
in the air.

She kissed John hello and waved at me, all the while apologizing for being so late.

Guilt was starting to sink in and I thought about leaving, but I was paranoid that it might look suspicious and that Jen would wonder why I bolted without having our “girls’
night”.

I decided it was best to stay. I did, however, accept the offer of what was now my third martini. John’s presence began to make me very uncomfortable. The pheromones still hung in the air.
John must have sensed it too because he excused himself and said something about a conference call with Japan and late-night work.

The fourth drink was finished and I barely remembered the third. I started to look at Jen in a different light. I had never been with a woman, but I couldn’t help but find Jen attractive.
Her five-foot frame, long brown hair and big blue eyes gave her an endearing impish quality.

I relaxed and talked to Jen as if she were an old friend. We sat side by side and giggled like schoolgirls. We shared secrets, most embarrassing tales and our goals for the future. We were
having a great time when suddenly I got that familiar feeling that now
she
was flirting.

Jen ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass and looked at me lasciviously. She leaned in closer and, with the same stealthy skill as her boyfriend, Jen started to kiss me. Unlike
John’s soft gentle probing, Jen’s kiss was full of lust and desire. Her tongue enveloped mine as she pulled me close. She stopped kissing me long enough to look at me coyly, brought her
finger to her mouth and said, “Shh.”

Jen kissed my neck and worked her way down to my breasts. She undid my buttons and exposed my black lacy push-up bra. Jen’s touch was hungry and her eyes drank me in. She wasted no time
and yanked down my bra so she could suck on my nipples. I wanted to moan but I was scared that John would hear us.

Once she was satisfied that my nipples were hard enough to cut glass, Jen began to move down my body with a purpose. I was still wet from my previous encounter and I was scared that Jen would
smell the sex emanating from between my legs.

If she noticed, she didn’t care. Jen looked at me and smiled before she buried her face in my pussy.

I felt powerless. Lost in fear and paralysed by pleasure.

I threw my head back and enjoyed as Jen’s tongue touched every fold and licked every inch of my swollen lips.

When she thrust herself into my quivering hole, I exploded in ecstasy. I had to grab the pillow and bite down on it to keep from making any noise. For the second time that night, I had a
forbidden orgasm, and those were the most powerful kind.

Jen worked her way back up my body and kissed me again. Deeply and passionately. I tasted myself on her lips and it was hot.

I felt like I should return the favour. I mean, I’d gotten off twice already, well once officially, but I felt like I should do something for Jen.

I was nervous; as I said, I’d never been with a woman and the only pussy I’d touched was my own. While Jen kissed me, I timidly placed my hand up her skirt and on the inside of her
thigh. I noticed that her panties were soggy and I was a little flattered that I had been the cause of that. Now it was my turn to push her underwear aside and find my way around. It was quite
slippery and my finger slid inside her almost immediately. Jen grabbed my hand and showed me how to finger-fuck her. She found her rhythm and rode my hand like a pro. It wasn’t long before
Jen released all over my hand and down my arm. Her vaginal muscles tightened around my fingers like my cunt had held John’s cock only a few hours before.

Feeling Jen come on my hand was exhilarating. I felt self-assured and even a little powerful.

Out of breath, Jen got up and pulled her skirt down. She kissed my cheek and sat back down on the couch.

The rest of the evening carried on as if nothing happened. We drank some more, we laughed some more and we talked a lot more. John eventually came out of his meeting and joined us. At first I
thought they planned this but John didn’t seem to have any clue what had happened between Jen and me, and Jen didn’t know about John.

I was their secret.

This became an ongoing thing. Once a month or so, I’d get an email for a secret rendezvous with John or another “girls’ night” invite when John was out of town.

Each and every time, there were barely any words spoken. When we were finished, we’d get dressed and return to our day, or carry on our “girlish gossiping” like nothing
happened.

It was good. I got to enjoy the best of both worlds.

But now they are getting married and I have been asked to visit each of them in their quarters before the wedding. I wonder if they are going to tell me that these encounters can no longer carry
on. Who knows, maybe they’ll suggest the three of us get together sometime.

Sophie, Darlington

If you’d ever told me that one day I would willingly let a man strip me and spank my arse, I would have said you were mad. I had never seen the attraction of a firm hand
to bring me into line, or understood the pleasure in pain. But that was before my boss’s wedding reception.

I had been working at the leisure centre for a little over a year, and almost as long as I had been there, I had been lusting over Gary, one of the pool area supervisors. He was gorgeous: well
over six feet tall, with a lean, swimmer’s body and a permanent growth of dark stubble on his chin. He was ten years younger than me, but we liked the same kind of music, and we would spend
most of our lunchtimes talking about gigs we were planning to get tickets for or the latest songs we’d downloaded to our iPods. Even though we were always flirting with each other, I drooled
over him from a distance because he had a serious girlfriend and that rendered him strictly off limits.

And then Derek, the centre’s manager, announced that he was getting married. Only a handful of the people who worked there were going to be attending the actual ceremony, but the rest of
us were invited to the evening do. I accepted without hesitation – after all, it would give me the chance to splash out on a new outfit and drink my favourite tipple, champagne – but I
became even more keen to go after Gary’s girlfriend left him for her driving instructor a couple of weeks before the event. When he told me about the split, I made plenty of suitably
sympathetic noises, and I did genuinely feel sorry for him, because he’d had no idea that she had been cheating on him and he was too nice a bloke to deserve that kind of treatment. Inside,
however, I was secretly excited about the fact I might now have a chance with him.

The reception was being held in a country hotel on the outskirts of town on a swelteringly hot evening in August. The taxi I had booked to take me there turned up a little early, so I was one of
the first to arrive. I stood for a moment in the entrance hall, fluffing up my hair and checking that my lipstick wasn’t smudged, just in case the first person I bumped into was Gary.
Instead, I was greeted by a white-jacketed waiter who offered me a glass of pink champagne. I took it and made my way over to congratulate Derek and his new bride. When I decided it was time to
mingle, my glass having been topped up a couple of times almost without me being aware of it, I realized that Gary was sitting at a table to one side of the dance floor. I almost couldn’t
believe the transformation in him. I was so used to seeing him in his work outfit of dark-blue polo shirt and tracksuit bottoms – which, admittedly, clung deliriously to his absolutely
outstanding arse – but tonight he was formally dressed in a well-cut suit and black shirt. Unlike some of the other men there, he didn’t look uncomfortable or strangely bulky out of his
leisurewear. Instead, he had an air of assurance that was not only very horny but also a little bit dangerous. Just looking at him as he sat there, fingers toying with the stem of his champagne
flute, made me think of stripping him out of that suit and doing all kinds of dirty things to him. I was imagining how it might feel to go down on his cock with a mouthful of champagne when I
realized that he was watching me with an amused smirk on his face, almost as if he had read my mind. I blushed and smiled, feeling my pussy twitch with lust as he continued to gaze at me. I was
about to go over and speak to him, even though I wasn’t sure I could spit out a sentence at that moment without sounding like a lust-crazed idiot, and then Julia, one of the aerobics
instructors, took my arm and insisted on dragging me onto the dance floor.