The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (63 page)

After what seemed an eternity but was probably no longer than thirty seconds or so, his cock stopped pulsing and he began to withdraw, accompanied by a loud plop as it came free from my
arsehole. His hand came away from my back. I lay, eyes closed on the bonnet of the car, both frustrated that he hadn’t finished me off and glad it was all over and I hadn’t been
discovered like this.

I opened my eyes and turned to say to him I hoped he’d finished but the man was gone. I was all alone, legs apart, with knickers between my knees, my skirt up and a cold wind on my exposed
rump. Hurriedly I stood and dragged my pants up and straightened my skirt, not caring if there was yoghurt on it.

I leaped into my car, my backside buzzing with the aftereffects of the invasion and feeling wet and sore, and drove off as quickly as I could. The strawberry yoghurt pot on the bonnet slid off
and no doubt splattered on the tarmac but I didn’t care.

I got home in good time, rushed upstairs to get changed and despite feeling guilty spent a few minutes bringing myself off in the peace and quiet of the en suite. I felt both ashamed and
relieved it was over. Thankful I had got away with it, I resolved never to go back to that store, nor do anything like that ever again. I have so far kept to my word.

But I can’t look at another strawberry yoghurt without blushing, and I can never tell anyone why I just don’t eat it any more.

Liz, Edmonton

When my boss told me to fly to Vancouver to help a colleague with a sales call, I was more than a little pissed, for a couple of reasons. First, my associate in Vancouver was a
total prick – and I don’t mean that in the good, long, hard, stick-in-your-twat-and-gyrate sense of the word – and second, the guy we were calling on, Archibald Stevenson, was a
notorious nutball. The entire Stevenson family was more eccentric than a Howard Hughes-Michael Jackson wedding.

But, as usual, I answered the bell. I packed a bag, a vibrator and an umbrella, and winged it for the Wet Coast. Stan, the inept B.C. rep for the large furniture manufacturer we both work for,
met me at the airport, then drove directly to the offices of Stevenson Enterprises. S.E. Inc. was a family-run business octopus with a sticky tentacle in just about every type of financial
endeavour, from fish farms to furniture stores.

“Be careful what you say, Liz,” Stan told me as we flew up the executive elevator to the penthouse floor of the Stevenson Building. “This guy and his clan chew up and spit out
salespeople like sunflower seeds.”

I glanced at my overweight, middle-aged compatriot. His off-the-back-rack suit was two sizes too small, and his red-veined nose two sizes too large, but he could still dream big – he was
ogling my voluptuous physique like it was an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord.

Fortunately, when we exited the nose-bleed express and walked up to the reception desk, the receptionist told my partner to take a seat – apparently Mr Stevenson wanted to deal exclusively
with me. That was good; it meant that Stan couldn’t screw things up, and I’d get whatever commission was coming.

The receptionist buzzed me through a thick, oak-panelled door, and I came face to face with another door – this one looking like it had been stripped off a bank vault. Eventually, this
portal swung open, as well, revealing a stunning, statuesque brunette in a sapphire-blue dress, who claimed to be Mr Stevenson’s private secretary. She used her long, silver-tipped fingers to
punch a code into yet another hermetically sealed, bombproof door, and just when I thought we’d step onto the set of
Get Smart
, we finally entered a football field-sized office that
housed reclusive tightwad Archibald Stevenson.

The supermodel secretary with the silky, black-stockinged legs and I traipsed 100 paces or so to the front of Stevenson’s gigantic, mahogany desk, and the shrivelled tycoon pushed back his
throne on wheels and stood up. His pants were down around his ankles, and he had his cock in his hand – stroking dick like the evil genius in an
Austin Powers
movie strokes fleshy
cat!

My eyes bugged out and my jaw temporarily unhinged, both as a result of the unexpected greeting, and the incredible size of the tiny geezer’s prick. He was hoisting an eight-inch tool in
his right hand, and his practised stroke told me that he’d had a lot of experience in the meat-handling business.

“You and Claire are gonna fuck,” the diminutive, well-endowed businessman growled, indicating his secretary with his prick. “Then maybe we’ll sign some new
contracts.”

I glanced at the picturesque beauty standing next to me, and her exquisite face registered neither a hint of shock nor dismay. Business as usual on the funny farm, I concluded.

“Shall we, Ms Marsten?” Claire said, smoothly stripping off her dress before I could even say anything.

“Let’s go, ladies,” Stevenson grunted impatiently. “I’ve got a meeting with the Premier at noon.”

Claire lifted her black, silver-tipped high heels out of her puddled dress, her lean, creamy-white body completely nude except for her shoes, her stockings and some expensive-looking silver
jewellery. The sophisticated business slut was almost as blessed in the breast department as I was, her chew-toy nipples pink and jutting, and her brown, downy pussy fur was neatly shaved into a
dollar sign, just above her slit. Her body was a hell of a lot sleeker than mine, but I bow down before no tart with my overripe femininity.

“Let’s get it on, girls!” Stevenson urged, swirling his liver-spotted hand up and down his handsome prong.

Claire unclasped a couple of tortoise-shell barrettes, and her long, shimmering, chestnut hair tumbled down her buff shoulders, her arched back. She sashayed over to where I stood rooted and
kissed me gently on the lips, began expertly unfastening my skirt and unbuttoning my blouse. And before my Chanel No. 5-dizzy brain could even fully fathom the sexual depth of this naughty business
deal, I was down to my shiny lavender panties and bra.

“Lots of kissin’ and titty-suckin’, then sixty-nine ‘er,” Stevenson croaked, pulling hard on his smooth, pink-shafted dong.

That finally woke me up. I popped my bulging bra, shed my damp panties and took control of the heated meeting, grabbing Claire’s bountiful boobs in my hands and tonguing her swollen
nipples. She gasped, her full, crimson lips breaking apart as she clasped my shoulders and sighed. I twirled my thick, wet tongue all over and around one of her engorged, bite-sized buds, then the
other, excitedly painting the luxurious babe’s inflamed nipples with my hot saliva.

“Hungry, eh, Liz?” Stevenson cracked, jacking his studly cock like he was pumping oil out of his Tar Sands property.

I greedily licked Claire’s heaving tits and nipples, as it had, indeed, been a rather long spell between breast-feedings for me. I popped one of the trembling girl’s blossomed nips
into my mouth and pulled on it, tugging it almost off her tit before letting it snap back. Claire closed her ice-blue eyes and moaned, as I sucked and bit and licked her lush, round mounds.

“Kiss her on the mouth, Liz!” Stevenson roared, his withered hand travelling at light speed on his rock-hard cock.

I spat one of Claire’s slobbered boobs out of my mouth and brought my flushed face up to her face, mashed my lips against her velvety lips and hard-kissed her. I kept on squeezing and
kneading her slickened breasts, as I urgently sucked face with the posh secretary.

“Stick out your tongue,” she murmured, when I pulled my mouth away to catch my breath.

I stuck it out, and she quickly vacuum-sealed her plush lips around my long tongue and started sucking up and down on it like it was a hardened cock. I groped her tits, she blew my tongue, and
Stevenson fisted his dick, the three of us lost in the overwhelming eroticism of it all.

Claire eventually let go of my tongue, and me, and cleared away a spot for us on Stevenson’s massive desk. We eagerly scaled the polished wood and climbed into the girly sixty-nine
position. I was bottom and she top, and I gripped her round, taut butt cheeks and pulled her dripping pussy down to my mouth. Her rosy-red folds glistened with moisture, and I quickly spread her
puffy lips apart with my fingers and pushed my tongue inside her, thrashed it around, lashing at her soft, wet love-tunnel walls.

She buried her face in between my fleshy thighs and groaned, and then expertly spread my own slick lips and speared my tingling clit with her warm tongue. I quivered like I was plugged into a
wall socket, my body flushing with a heavy, languid heat as the sultry executive assistant tongue-tickled my button.

“Go for it, girls!” Stevenson exhorted, hovering close to us, his hand a blur on his joystick.

I jammed my tongue deep into Claire’s tangy sex hole, ploughed in and out for a while, fucking her with my rigid, pink blade. Then I started lapping up and down on her slit, licking her
from swollen clit to puckered bum hole in long, slow, sensual strokes. She panted like a rich bitch in heat, her hot, damp breath steaming against my pussy. Then she shoved two of her fingers into
my cunt, started fucking me with her slender digits while she tongued my clit.

“I’m coming!” I squealed, after only an ultra-erotic minute or so of Claire’s sensational finger and tongue-loving. I jerked up and down on the high-gloss desktop like a
Mexican jumping bean, as multiple orgasms ripped me apart. I screamed into Claire’s luscious puss, and was rewarded with a juicy facial, as the undulating babe gushed all over me.

And just as us two sexed-up girls were being rocked by pussy-pulsing ecstasy, old man Stevenson let out a triumphant bellow and sprayed spurt after spurt of thick, sticky, white-hot semen into a
strategically placed wastepaper basket. The three of us were racked by joyous orgasm for what seemed a blissful eternity, until we at last were still.

“You and Claire can sign the contracts, Liz,” Stevenson stated brusquely, as I gently tongued his assistant’s gooey snatch. “Her signature’s as good as mine; she is
my granddaughter, after all.”

I choked on Claire’s juices. Eccentric really didn’t do this business family justice.

Amaris, Dunsborough

On the whole, a convenience-store clerk can’t generally say they have the best night of their life during work hours but I did.

I do the eight-to-eight shift in a convenience store pretty much the same as every other store across the country. Being a woman means that people tend to raise an eyebrow when I say this but I
figure we’re all going to die sometime so if I’m due to go via a bullet from a masked assailant, well that’s the way it is.

Anyway this night, the best one of my life, was a Wednesday night. This means it was slow, very slow. It was the kind of night where I had to read all the magazines in the stand to keep my eyes
open. In fact, before about 1 a.m. it was so slow that I almost
wished
for an armed hold-up to distract me.

We have security guards and cops who come in for coffee and snacks. The company who owns the convenience store is too cheap to pay a company to do security so us clerks buddy up to the cops and
guards that work the area by giving them free coffee and sometimes muffins. This means they come in at regular intervals and might feel honour bound to assist you, should you be in trouble.

I’ve always flirted with them, mainly because I was bored. It’s the uniform though. I’m pretty sure even bus drivers get lucky because of the uniform. I have this thing about
them, the police in particular. I am especially lucky with the eye candy because we were in the metro area and all new cops had to serve an amount of time there as probation when they first
graduated from the academy. So each night I worked I saw a new pair of young, hot cops.

I felt I probably wasn’t making quite the impression a girl would like to make, seeing as I was wearing my work uniform. The work uniform is something similar to those school dresses or
nurses’ dresses with the zip down the front. Pretty frumpy, I thought, and bright red to boot. We always wear them short and tight to try to combat the fact they haven’t changed in a
good twenty years. The only good thing about them is that if you wear a good bra, the neck is low cut enough to push your boobs into quite an attractive display.

Serving my young coppers each night I would watch them try to remain professional while their eyes wandered down and gazed hungrily at the rounded flesh peeking out of my neckline. This always
gave me a thrill and I could go for hours thinking about what they might have been considering doing to me, should they have had the opportunity.

The best night of my life, I found out.

So there I was, bored out of my skull, beyond bored. I was honestly starting to go a little nuts working those night shifts. I was flicking through a magazine and in walks a young cop. I was a
bit surprised because he was by himself and they almost always travel in pairs. He went and got two cups of coffee and two muffins. As he came up to the counter I can remember mentally growling
with desire.

Hot was not the word. Seriously, if you were going to shoot a cover photo for a bad boy cop erotic book, this guy was your man. Average height, average build (as much as cops are ever average
straight out of academy) but these gorgeous brown eyes that met my startled gaze without flinching. I had the uncanny sensation of being gazed into, as if he could read my mind, and I blushed
hotly. This pretty much gave him the undeniable idea that I was perving and he cracked a stunner of a grin.

He put the coffee mugs on the counter with the muffins and crossed his arms, truly a cop stance. Obviously I’d lost my mind because instead of looking away and keeping my thoughts to
myself I let my eyes slowly work over him from feet to head, meeting his eyes again. He watched me with an amused look and then started talking to me, telling me he and his partner were parked out
front with the speed gun.

This explained why he was in there by himself and also planted an absurd thought in my mind. He wouldn’t be missed if he took a little longer to return to the car. His partner was just
sitting, listening to the radio, watching the speed numbers bleep up.