The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (47 page)

David moved between my legs, lifting them until my calves rested on his shoulders. He grabbed a bottle of lubricant from the dresser. A little dribble covered my slit, cold and arousing. I could
feel his latex-clad cock as it slid over my clitoris, making me shiver with desire.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked softly, and I wanted it so badly I almost wept.

Instead I nodded, unsure I could speak.

“Tell me. Beg me to fuck you.”

“Please.” It came out a broken whisper, my voice cracking slightly. “Please, David, fuck me. I need to feel your cock inside me, so badly … so, so badly …”
I was getting wetter with every word. I’ve always loved talking dirty; how did he know that?

“That’s good enough,” he said, kindly, and then Roberta’s pussy, no longer trapped behind the lace knickers, suddenly smothered my mouth. She smelled musky and warm; her
secretions were like fresh cream, thick and delicious. I let my nose rub against her clitoris as my tongue flicked over her opening, teasingly. My teeth lightly slid across her clit, then the tip
of my tongue. I alternated between the two sensations, listening to her whimpers and trying to guess which she liked better.

I groaned into her labia lips as David entered me.

He had a short, thick cock, slightly curved at the tip, perfectly made to hook the edge of my G-spot with each slow thrust. When he slid out of my pussy and plunged back in, I cried out, the
vibrations of my whimpers making her wriggle with delight. As he fucked me faster and deeper, my tongue grew wilder, plunging in and out of Roberta with abandon. She cried out, a deep, musical
sound, and in between my moans I watched as David grabbed Roberta’s hair and pulled her head back as she ground herself against my lips.

Her sandy pubic hair rubbed my lips raw, but I barely noticed. My feet hooked around his neck as he pushed me forwards a little, resting his weight on my thighs as he ripped Roberta’s bra
off, releasing her breasts. They were heavy, just over a handful each, bouncing in rhythm as he thrusted and she pushed her pussy into my tongue. I reached up and she let me capture her nipple
between my fingers. I rolled each one around, lightly tugging as I lapped at her wetness. I came first, the squeezing of my cunt setting off David who groaned loudly as he shot into the condom. I
shook my head back and forth quickly, my nose and tongue flickering over her pussy and clitoris until Roberta orgasmed with a contented sigh, my lips and cheeks covered with her cream.

We all sagged for a moment, spent. Then it was time for showers and dinner; they asked me to stay the night, and I gladly complied. I curled up between them, still throbbing, heart still racing.
I could hardly believe any of it had happened to me. I was happy it had.

It may have been the first time, but luckily for me, it wasn’t the last.

Alexander, Horsham

Mistress Catherine and I, both of us naked, were in her living room that balmy evening. The gentlest of winds was pushing the curtain in slightly, revealing the dark of a
starless, moonless sky outside. Catherine was seated on a black leather easy chair, one hand languorously caressing her sex, the other holding the handle of the rattan cane with which she’d
just beaten me. I was kneeling on the floor by her side, gazing up at her adoringly. My backside was covered in smarting welts, my cock stiffly erect.

“Confess to me something wicked you’ve done in the past,” my Mistress demanded. “I will then punish you for it.”

“What sort of punishment, Mistress?” I asked nervously.

“I don’t know yet,” she replied, giving a slight flick of the shiny dark fringe that hung over her forehead. “It depends what you confess. I’ll make the punishment
fit the crime.”

“I see, Mistress,” I said, my voice hesitant.

“Come on, slave,” Catherine pressed, a little impatient now. “There must be something you did in your guilt-ridden Catholic past you felt was particularly wicked, something
that’s contributed to those occasional bouts of angst that I have to beat out of you. Get it off your chest.”

Thinking for a brief moment before replying, I said, “It goes back to when I was a teenager, Mistress. At the time in question I had hardly any experience of the opposite sex. I was also
years away from recognizing my submissive and masochistic nature.

“I was a real late developer sexually and had only recently discovered masturbation. But I found it a guilty pleasure because, as you say, I’d been raised as a Catholic, a religion
that teaches that self-pleasuring is sinful. What I’m about to confess would certainly be regarded as wicked by the Catholic Church. In fact they would call it a mortal sin.”

“Go on,” said Catherine. “You’re beginning to interest me.” She put the cane to the side of the chair and started to pleasure herself in earnest, working her
fingers rhythmically between the lips of her sex.

“It all started on a Sunday, Mistress,” I continued. “I was looking forward to the week ahead as it was a half-term holiday. I was attending Mass as usual, but instead of
worshipping God I was on my knees worshipping the pretty blond altar server who was assisting the priest with the service.

“His name was Jerry and he was a year older than me. He lived nearby with his widowed mother. She and my mother were friendly through their involvement with the Church but Jerry and I were
only passing acquaintances. On this occasion, though, as our mothers talked to one another after the service, Jerry and I also got into conversation and were getting on really well.

“‘What are you doing this week?’ I asked.

“‘I’ve nothing planned,’ he replied. ‘How about the two of us going swimming tomorrow afternoon?’

“I said I thought this was a good idea and we made arrangements to meet.

“That night I couldn’t resist the temptation to masturbate as I imagined what Jerry might look like without clothes – I was about to find that out, and a hell of a lot more
besides.

“We got together the next day and made our way to the nearby open-air swimming pool. As we walked along, chatting about this and that, I allowed my gaze to wander up and down his body. I
couldn’t help thinking how good he looked in his tight jeans. I admired the perfect shape of his rear moulded into the denim and the impressive bulge at the front.

“Although the weather was reasonably mild that day, there were a lot of dark-looking clouds in the sky, and when we arrived we found that the pool was only sparsely attended. There was a
slight breeze that ruffled the water, which looked downright cold. We went into the changing rooms and, at Jerry’s suggestion, shared a cubicle. As he stripped off, I was surprised, and
turned on, to notice that he hadn’t been wearing any underwear beneath those tight jeans. I was aware that my cock was starting to swell when I slipped into my swimming trunks, and found it a
decided relief – an embarrassment averted – to run on ahead and plunge into the chilly water of the swimming pool.

“Jerry and I stayed in the pool for about an hour, splashing about, and it gradually warmed up. Every once in a while the sun even deigned to reveal itself through a break in the clouds,
allowing reflected light to dance on the rippling blue water. Jerry and I swam and played in the pool – and, OK, maybe we did make physical contact a bit more than was strictly necessary in
our games there.

“When we got out of the water the changing room was empty apart from ourselves. We dried off in the same cubicle, still in our swimming costumes. However, our bulges were becoming
increasingly pronounced and when I took off my swimming trunks my cock sprang out erect.

“‘Mmm, that looks very nice,’ said Jerry, who pulled down his trunks to reveal his own lengthening erection. ‘Come on,’ he said, his member now as full and stiff as
my own. ‘Let’s jerk off together.’

“Feeling light-headed and extremely excited, I encircled my erect cock with my fingers as I watched Jerry bring a hand to his own erection. We both rubbed our cocks up and down vigorously,
climaxing at pretty much the same time. And equally lavishly too, spraying out streams of sticky wetness onto each other with great force. It was an amazing feeling, it truly was – my first
time masturbating with anyone else, and the most intense sexual experience that I’d so far had in my young life.

“We showered, dried ourselves, dressed and headed for home, both of us more than a little subdued. We said very little as we strode along, lost in our own guilty thoughts. Just as we were
about to part, however, Jerry brightened. ‘Fancy coming round to my house tomorrow?’ he said. He told me that his mother would be at work so we’d have the place to ourselves.

“‘That’d be great,’ I replied.

‘“It’s a date, then. See you around eleven.’ Jerry’s face suddenly broadened into a grin. ‘Hey and no more jerking off until then.’

“That proved easier said than done. I tossed and turned uneasily in my bed that night. My mind was in a whirl going over and over what Jerry and I had done together and what might happen
tomorrow. According to my Church, all these ‘impure thoughts’ were a sin but the feelings of guilt this caused just seemed to make my cock harder. I was excited as much as anything by
the intoxicating shame of my own arousal. Even so, although it took a deal of will power, I didn’t touch myself that night.

“The next day I killed time earlier in the morning trying to decide what to wear for my ‘date’. A clean white T-shirt and one of my pairs of jeans, I thought. On a whim, I
removed my underwear, taking a leaf out of Jerry’s book, and squeezed into the tightest pair of jeans I possessed.

“I set off, slightly nervous but very excited, the knot in my stomach no competition for the throbbing of my shaft. My growing sense of anticipation and the rough feel of the tight denim
against my cock meant that I was in a high state of sexual arousal by the time I arrived at Jerry’s house.

“When he answered the door I was struck anew by how devastatingly attractive he was, with his blond hair falling over his forehead, that pretty face and lithe, athletic body. He was
wearing nothing but the jeans he’d worn the day before, which clung to his form like a second skin.

“‘Hi there, you’re looking good,’ he said, reaching over and squeezing the bulge in my jeans. I did the same to him, feeling the warmth of his cock beneath the skin-tight
denim.

“‘Would you like a coffee or anything else to drink?’ he asked.

“‘No thanks, I’m fine,’ I replied.

“‘You sure are,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Follow me, we’ll go up to my room and fool around.’

“Once in his bedroom we hastily stripped and were soon on his bed mutually masturbating, our excitement growing and growing. We climaxed simultaneously in great bursting spurts, and then
lay together in the afterglow, the come on our bellies intermingling.

“We washed ourselves and put on our jeans, then went and had a snack and just hung out for a while. But it wasn’t long before our lust erupted again and our swelling members were
straining once more against the tight denim that covered them. We were soon naked and erect again, masturbating each other feverishly. And for most of the rest of that afternoon we simply
couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

“‘How about tomorrow?’ asked Jerry, as I was about to leave.

“‘You bet,’ I replied eagerly.

“It seemed like an eternity to me until we met the next day. I reckon Jerry must have felt much the same way because as soon as he’d let me into the house he pulled me towards him
and kissed me hard. I kissed him right back, savouring the slick, demanding feel of his lips and frantic tongue, and reciprocating for all I was worth. Jerry and I carried on kissing passionately
while rubbing our bulging cocks together, getting more and more turned on. We then went up to his room, stripped naked again and began mutually masturbating once more. Then the mood changed . .
.

“‘Kneel down,’ he said all of a sudden, his tone chilly with command. I obeyed in an instant. ‘Now suck me off,’ he added, ‘and make a good job of
it.’

“I was determined to do just that. I engulfed his stiff cock with my lips (it tasted
so
good, I can’t tell you) and swirled my tongue around its swollen head. My tongue laved
his cock, licking the thickness, my lips kissing and rubbing against it so that it flexed and strained against my mouth. Next I began sucking on his shaft with slow regular movements, then faster,
then slower, then faster still. I felt as if I was born to give blow jobs. It made me feel deliriously wicked, thoroughly debauched and perverted and
sinful.

“After I’d been blowing him for a while he announced, ‘I’m going to climax real soon now.’ His voice was full of sexual tension but just as commanding as before.
‘When I do,’ he added, ‘I want you to swallow my come, every last drop.’

“I wanted to do that too, craved it. I could taste the beads of liquid seeping constantly from the slit of his cock and knew that there would soon be a gushing torrent. Then it happened.
He emitted a strangled moan and erupted to a shuddering orgasm, his cock gushing wad after wad of creamy come deep into my mouth. And I did exactly as I’d been told. My head still furiously
pumping, I drew down every ounce of the semen that spurted onto the back of my tongue, taking it deep into my throat.

“There’s not a lot to add, Mistress. We carried on meeting in the same way for the rest of that week, and the following Sunday saw me at Mass on my knees again, my cock pulsing
constantly as I worshipped that beautiful blond altar server. As a devout Roman Catholic I knew what I was feeling and what I’d done was sinful and wicked in the extreme, utterly depraved,
but I just couldn’t help myself. That, Mistress, is my shameful confession.”

Mistress Catherine had been pleasuring herself constantly throughout my account, her fingers making an increasingly liquid sound. She now removed those fingers, wet with love juice, from between
her swollen pussy lips and stood up. “That certainly was
extremely
wicked, slave,” she said, her eyes shining. “Now remain on your knees and prepare to receive your
punishment.”