The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (69 page)

She nodded, then sat up wordlessly, mask still in place.

“Do you realize your door was unlocked? Anyone could come in here and find you like this.”

Again, she nodded then bowed her head as if in contrition. We paused in awkward silence. This wasn’t going at all as I’d imagined, I was at a loss as to how to proceed. She had yet
to say a word. After the silence had stretched too long she took matters into her own hands. She knelt down by the lounge chair and bent across its width, presenting her bottom to me.

I was shocked and grinning all at the same time. How could she know? Certainly the saner part of me was a little leery, but this wasn’t something I was about to pass up. I debated a
moment, palm or strap? Then with a tug, I pulled my belt free of its loops. The first firm slap of leather on flesh brought a gasp of surprise but she snuggled her belly down and pushed her bottom
back towards me. That was all the encouragement I needed. I slapped and smacked away with enthusiasm feeling myself grow harder with each blow. I wasn’t counting but it must have taken about
forty smacks to brighten her arse to my tastes. I was careful to lay the leather on the meaty portion of her bottom, but if she planned to wear her bikini that day, some stripes were going to
show.

She was moaning when I finished up but I couldn’t say for sure if that was from pain. I waited a moment, admiring the warm glow of her bottom, but I was ready to walk away. She sensed
that, I suspect. Her knees parted further as she rolled her hips towards me. I licked my lips.

“Please,” she said.

That was the only word she ever said to me, but it spoke volumes. I was on my knees behind her in a flash. She was wet and eager. I sank into her with a leisurely arrogance that made her twitch
with anticipation. She tried to press back towards me. My hands gripped her hips and pushed her down into the seat cushion. I steadily pressed forwards and, once I’d fully impaled her, I
curled my belly against the curve of her welted bottom. Her contented sigh only served to annoy me.

We hung motionless for an endless moment, and then I gave free rein to my lust. I reared back and slammed into her; I held nothing back, pummelling her body as it shuddered under my assault. I
didn’t last long; I didn’t care. Usually I try to please the lady I’m with, but this time that just wasn’t important. When I was finished with her, I pulled away, releasing
my grip and letting her collapse.

“I hope you’ve learned to lock your door,” I muttered, not knowing what else to say.

She may have nodded; I didn’t look back. I made my way across her suite and hurried back to my own. Once there, I couldn’t help but go out to my balcony and check. She was inside. I
spent most of the day fretting, half expecting the police to show up. In the afternoon, I went to the beach but she was nowhere to be found. By evening, I was breathing a bit easier, so I headed
out for a night on the town.

I got in late and didn’t set the alarm yet somehow I was wide awake when the sun peeked over the horizon. Shaking my head, I walked out onto the balcony and looked down. There she was,
waiting for me. Her mask was in place and she lay belly down. The telephoto lens confirmed her bottom still bore the marks from yesterday’s encounter. I didn’t rush right over; after
all, I’d ordered her to lock her door. I figured she was just taunting me. She only rolled over with an effort and didn’t stay on her back for long. By eight thirty, I had to know. I
stood before her door for a full minute before I turned the knob. Sure enough, it opened for me.

This time the light in the kitchen was on. A key sat on the counter on top of a note. “Please drop this off Saturday morning,” it said. I grinned, pocketed the key and headed out to
the balcony. She never did give me her name.

Peter, London

I used to work as a freelance portrait photographer, advertising my services in the newspaper. I took pictures of whoever wanted to have a portrait: men, women, children,
couples, families, pets. I didn’t exactly get rich from it, but I did make a decent enough living.

One day, a man called me and said he wanted some photographs of his wife. That suited me just fine. They lived in a stylish split-level home on a quiet street in the suburbs. The man answered
the door and ushered me inside. His wife was standing in the hallway, looking at me expectantly.

“We’ll do it in the bedroom,” the woman said, and led the way down the hall, her husband bringing up the rear. To my considerable surprise, the woman started to get undressed
as soon as we were in the bedroom.

“I wanted some nude photographs of my wife,” the husband explained, rather unnecessarily, I thought. “I just didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

I had done some nude photography before, so I knew pretty well what kind of poses worked. While I took my camera out of my carrying bag and readied myself for the task, I watched the woman
stripping down to her panties and sit down on the bed. She didn’t seem to mind at all that I was watching her. She was completely relaxed and at ease with herself and her body. I was glad; it
would make my job a lot easier.

I stepped up to her, aimed my camera at her, and looked at her through my viewfinder to see what she looked like in the frame. It didn’t take me long to figure out the best ways to
photograph her. She was an easy model, as I had suspected. She followed my instructions with ease, moved where and when I wanted her to move, struck the poses I suggested to her, and even added a
few of her own. When I felt I had enough different pictures to make a good selection, I went to put my camera away.

“Just a minute,” her husband stopped me. “I want some pictures of her pussy, too.”

The woman peeled off her panties, looking directly at me, and spread out on the bed, parting her legs and pulling up her knees to allow me the best view. I knelt down beside the bed, aimed my
camera at her again, and began my work. It was amazing, the details I was able to see through my lens. I took several long shots, then moved in to shoot some close-ups. I was getting close to
finishing when she reached down and parted her labia with her fingers to reveal her clit and the insides of her pussy, so I kept shooting until my roll of film was full.

I rose to my feet and looked at the husband. “Anything else?” I asked, not really expecting him to respond.

“There is something else,” he said, tentatively. “We were wondering if you would be interested in having sex with my wife while I watch.” He stopped, then added, almost
like an afterthought although it obviously wasn’t, “We’ll pay you double your fee.”

I hadn’t expected that. I looked at him with consternation, but he seemed to be quite serious. I looked at his wife. She nodded encouragingly. How could I refuse? I didn’t want to
refuse, strange as the request seemed to me at the time. I was young, and quite turned on from the photo session. She was a nice enough looking woman with good breasts, and I could certainly use
the money.

“All right,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “I think we could do that.”

“I’m glad,” he said while the woman was rearranging herself on the bed.

I walked around to the other side of the bed and began to take off my clothes. I happened to look up and saw, to my further consternation, that the husband was taking off his clothes, too. I was
going to say something, but then decided to let it go and wait and see what would develop. So I took off the rest of my clothes and climbed on the bed beside the woman.

She proved to be a proficient and skilful lover. She made me feel as good as I was hoping I was making her feel. Her frequent moans and cries certainly seemed to indicate that I was. The husband
had faded into the background and I was hardly aware of him any more. He was sitting on a chair against the wall and just watching, as he had said he would. We completed our performance to our
mutual satisfaction, and I rolled off on my back.

The husband rose from his chair and stepped up to the bed. He looked at me. “Now she has to be punished,” he said sternly. “She’s been a bad girl and I don’t
tolerate that.”

What a strange development, I thought, but it was their house and their game, whatever it was, and I didn’t say anything.

He turned to his wife. “Say it!” he barked at her.

“I’ve been a bad girl,” the woman repeated her husband’s words. “Punish me now, please!”

She rolled over on her stomach, took hold of two newels in the headboard with her hands, and buried her face in the pillow. Her husband took a long whip out of a cupboard and flicked it in the
air a couple of times as he walked back to the bed.

“I’d like some pictures of this, too,” he said.

I scampered off the bed and picked up my camera. He waited until I was ready, then lifted the whip over his head and let it come down on her buttocks, leaving a faint red line across her white
skin. She winced, but didn’t make a sound. The whip went into the air a second time and came down on her, causing her to yelp, the sound muffled by the pillow. The husband raised the whip a
third time and let it come down on her. This time she screamed, but then she lifted her head and looked at her husband over her shoulder.

“More,” she moaned. “Punish me more!”

At this point, I really wasn’t sure at all just how hard the whip came down on the wife’s buttocks, nor just how genuine her screams were. Whatever was the case, the two of them
seemed to be enjoying themselves in their own ways, and I was capturing everything on film.

The husband whipped his wife for a fourth time, and again she screamed, louder and more plaintively than after the last stroke. The whip came down for a fifth time, and she screamed, this time
into the pillow to muffle the sound. Her husband dropped the whip on the floor.

“That’s enough for today,” he announced. He climbed on the bed between her legs, put his hands on her hips, and lifted her up until she was on her knees. Her hands were still
gripping the headboard newels, her knuckles white from the effort of holding on, her face still buried in the pillow. He mounted her from behind and began to ride her with forceful, determined
strokes.

I kept shooting pictures of the two of them until my film ran out. A few moments later, the husband threw back his head and groaned with the ecstasy of his orgasm. He dismounted and flopped down
on the bed. The wife turned on her back beside him, a look of deep satisfaction on her face.

I assumed that this signalled the end of my assignment. I put my clothes back on and packed my camera into my carrying case.

“Thank you,” the husband said from the bed. “We’re really very happy and grateful that you stayed.”

“You were wonderful,” the wife sighed.

When I went back to bring them the photographs a few days later, they were sitting in their living room, looking like a regular suburban couple spending a quiet evening at home. They loved the
photographs. The husband handed me the balance of my fee, and I left them to their own devices. I half wished they would call me back, but I never did hear from them again.

Drew, Winston-Salem

“Do you like it?” Sabrina used to ask.

“You know I do,” I’d lie as I tried to ignore her incisors, her uselessly shallow insertion, and tried to convince myself she was every bit the fellatrix I told her she was.
I’d close my eyes and imagine Sabrina acting as if she was starving for my cock and in my mind she was feeding on me, trying her best to consume my cock, wanting nothing more than to be
rewarded with my come.

The feel of my cock in her mouth would fill her senses; the smoothness of the head as it slipped into her open throat, the hard shaft, sliding in and out of her wet lips. With concupiscent eyes
and breathless moans she would show me just how much she loved it, how she was there only to please.

But she didn’t love it. Not really. She didn’t even like it. Giving me head was just another chore to her. Another inconvenience she had to endure to keep me from complaining. Like
going to visit my mom. Or watching horror movies with me.

“Is this good?” Sabrina would ask when she’d pull my cock from her mouth to catch her breath, using her hands for twice as long as she did her mouth before finally going back
down. But in my mind, she knew it was good, staring into my eyes as she begged me to call her my filthy whore, my dirty little cocksucker. She’d gaze at my cock, amazed at its size and its
perfect shape, and she’d tell me so as she’d rub it all over her upturned face, inhaling its raw, wet scent as she ran its length under her nose, like it was some fine cigar. It would
smell like the ocean to her, and she’d plunge her mouth down over it again and simply devour me. And I’d tell her, over and over again, how good she was, how beautiful she was.

And then she’d make me come. And I’d watch her face as she went through all the motions, swallowing it as if it were some kind of nectar, as if finishing a blow job any other way
would be utterly wrong, a waste of a precious gift. And then she’d look up at me, her eyes narrowing as she smiled around my cock, and I’d try to tell her “Thank you” but
I’d be unable to speak.

But Sabrina, quite simply, is not good at sucking cock. And Sabrina is not here right now. And I’m a firm believer that if you want something done right you have to do it yourself. So I
lie back, raise my knees to chest, pull myself tight and coil up, shoulders pressing into the mattress with the full weight of my body, until the room is upside down before me. For a moment I have
no weight, no equilibrium, I can see only my thighs, and between them, my inverted cock, pointing down at my face. With both hands, I cling to my buttocks, pulling myself in until I’m almost
straddling my own face. I can smell the stains on the sheets from this morning, where Sabrina, not realizing at first I was coming, gagged and ejected my still-spurting cock from her mouth,
spilling a mouthful of semen onto our bed.

My cock hovers above my face, just inches from my mouth. I strain my neck to reach it, but can’t yet. The bed creaks and sinks as I condense my body further, my bare toes clutching and
curling under the headboard, like fulcrum and lever, and the tip of my cock suddenly brushes my lips. I extend my tongue, use it to guide my cock towards the opening of my mouth. I seal my lips
around the plump head and I feel my cock begin to stiffen, responding immediately to my attentions. I kiss it, lap at it, causing it to harden further, lengthening and straightening until it juts
purposefully from my groin, straining towards my face.