The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (74 page)

“Dominatrix,” Robert explained, while Alan waved at me to be quiet. “Nothing terribly wrong about her practices, if you’re into that sort of thing, except she was mixing
in a spot of blackmail too.”

For the next hour Robert kept Alan busy and me intrigued with his tales. The first bottle of wine was emptied, then a second. When I went through to the kitchen to open a third, and make coffee,
I realized that I was perspiring heavily, my cheeks were burning and my whole body tingling as I thought of the depraved women and dominated men Robert had described.

I held the bottle of wine to my cheek, felt its surface smooth, cooler than my fevered flesh, then lowered it, held it between my thighs, pressed it against my knickers.

I was wet down there, incredibly wet, the fine silk was sopping, so I took off the knickers and tossed them into the laundry basket.

“Many men are weak, or want to be made to feel that way,” Robert was saying, when I returned to the table. I topped up their glasses and then resumed my seat.

“Only some, surely not many?” said Alan, as if weakness was a concept that was alien to him.

“You’d be surprised, these women are skilled, they have their ways.”

“And men too?” I slyly suggested.

“Sorry?” said Robert, turning to me.

“The roles can be reversed? There are men in whose presence a woman can be made to feel weak?”

“Oh yes, but of course,” Robert agreed, and one anecdote flowed seamlessly into another.

We were sprawled around the table now, our chairs pushed back, the meal finished and our bellies full.

Finally Alan had stopped scribbling in that damned notepad, was slumped in his seat, his cheek propped against his fist and his eyes closed.

“He’s cogitating; the artist deliberating?” Robert supposed, speaking in a whisper.

“He’s sleeping; the piss artist dozing,” I said derisively, my voice not as soft, knowing that it would take a sharp nudge in the ribs or a slap across the head to rouse my
husband.

Robert smiled, reached out to touch his hand to my bare arm, as if someone should apologize for Alan.

“Oh fuck
him
!” I hissed, before grinning, and turned to Robert to gauge his reaction.

He was smiling still, no doubt used to much stronger language, and I got slowly to my feet, stepped around the table to stand in front of him.

I had kicked off my shoes earlier, so stood before him in my stockinged feet, reached down to take the hem of my dress and lifted it. Black silk legs were bared for his appreciation, dimpled
knees, the soft swell of my thighs and then the milky flesh where the lace tops gripped. Drawing the dress higher, I bared my naked groin to him, the neatly trimmed bush of blond hair, the slight
protuberance of my belly.

“Your presence has me weak already,” I said, my fingers spreading between my thighs, opening like the petals of a flower responding to the warmth of the sun.

“And wet too, I see.” Robert smiled up at me, reaching out to touch me.

Just the tip of a single finger touched the lips of my cunt but it delighted me more than any of Alan’s barely remembered caresses, had the muscles in my thighs spasming with pleasure.

With no more than a cursory glance at my dozing husband, Robert rested his other hand on my hip, exerted a gentle pressure, and said, “Turn for me, Kathleen.”

Making a slow pirouette, I presented my back to him, felt both his hands move to my groin, kneading my mound, stroking my labia, scratching through the soft fuzz of pubic hair.

One hand fell, the other pulled, I was drawn back a step towards him.

“You’re sure about this, Kathleen?” he asked softly, and it was not for fear of waking my husband that my only response was to nod silently.

At that moment I couldn’t give a fuck for my husband, had only one thing on my mind.

Inch by inch I was lowered into Robert’s lap, he had his cock out ready for me and it was harder than I could remember a cock ever being, his fingers were splaying to part the lips of my
cunt and let it nudge inside me.

“Oh my!” I gasped, as the first inch slipped inside me.

“Slowly, so you enjoy it, so you savour it,” Robert told me, his hands on my waist to direct me, and gradually I felt him fill me, until my bare buttocks were settled on the soft
wool of his trousers and he was buried deep inside me.

I wanted him to fuck me there and then, wildly and with passion, but he would not permit it, not yet.

Instead, his cock hard but motionless inside me, he crept his hands up my belly, beneath my dress, climbed up my ribcage to work inside my bra and cup my breasts. Fingertips caught my nipples
between them, squeezed, making me squirm in his lap, my body stirring on his cock.

“Yes, that’s it, Kathleen, slowly,” he said, licking between my shoulder blades where the back of my dress left my skin bare, planting the gentlest of kisses which felt for all
the world like moths beating their wings against me.

His body lifting a little in his chair, driving his cock just a little deeper inside me, he craned his head to lick at my neck, ran his tongue across my ear and then blew gently into it, making
my arms break out in a series of goosebumps.

So long since that had happened, so long since Alan had been able to provoke that reaction in me, and I clamped my hands over Robert’s, pressed them hard against my breasts until I thought
I might scream with the pain.

“So long!” I sobbed. “So long!”

“You flatter me,” Robert said, with a low chuckle.

My head rested back against Robert’s shoulder, my eyes were closed as I savoured the sensation, as he had told me to; but now it was not the sensation of him growing ever
harder inside me, then coming in a blistering orgasm at the same moment that I did, but of his cock wilting and shrinking from me like a shy meek creature.

And the wonderful thing was that it was as delightful as anything else I had experienced. There was none of the frustration I felt when Alan – on those rare occasions he could be bothered
to try – came too quickly and shrank so alarmingly, as if out of shame. Now I felt a euphoric sense of power, a joy with the intensity of my orgasm and of Robert’s too.

His hands still fondled my breasts, but gently now, with a tenderness I had forgotten could exist, and my body felt molten as it was cradled in his lap.

And still, through all this, my husband dozed, lost in a drunken stupor, perhaps creating dramas in his mind which would only ever be enacted on paper.

“Tell me, do you have your handcuffs?” I finally asked Robert, posing the question my husband had cautioned me against.

“Eh?” asked Robert.

“Your handcuffs,” I repeated, turning awkwardly to kiss his cheek. “Do you have them with you?”

“Of course not!” he laughed. “Why on earth do you ask?”

“I’ve tried weak and enjoyed it, but now I want more. I want to experience the other side of the coin.”

“Meaning?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, taking his arms from around me and rising from his lap.

I looked around the room for a moment, at the dining table littered with the last of the meal, the empty coffee cups, the dregs of wine in the glasses. Then I nodded, as if I had come to a
decision, raised my hands and began to pull off my dress.

“Kathleen? What
are
you doing?” Robert asked.

“Ssh!” I told him, a finger to my lips as I bent to remove my stockings.

With a light step, like a villain on a pantomime stage, I crept up on my husband, gently lifted his head and rested it back. Then, laying his hands on the arms of the chair, I bound him to it,
wrapping a stocking around each wrist.

“There, as good as any handcuffs.” I smiled, returning to Robert’s side and sitting on his knee.

“Effective enough,” he agreed. “And now what?”

“Now we wake him,” I said, to his great surprise. I picked up my glass of wine and dipped my fingers in, then flicked a few drops in Alan’s face.

The first time he didn’t stir; the second time he tossed his head slightly; on the third occasion his tongue came out and he lazily licked his lips.

“Come on, you fucker, wake up,” I muttered, flicking more wine at him, and he gave a low murmur of appreciation as he lapped up the liquid from around his mouth.

“He’s waking. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” said Robert, and in answer I set down the glass of wine, curled my fingers around his cock and began to stroke
him.

More incoherent noises came from Alan, his head tossed, his mouth gaped, his eyes fluttered slowly open, blinking a time or two, then seemed to pop as he finally focused on me sitting naked on
the policeman’s knee.

“What –?” he began, then tried to rise, found himself tied and so thrashed about in the chair. “What the hell is going on?”

“Be quiet and be still, Alan,” I calmly told him, not looking down at Robert’s cock but feeling it growing ever larger in my hand, knowing that its state would be obvious to
him.

“I demand –” Alan tried, but I cut him off sharply.

“No, Alan, you do
not
demand! Ever! That’s the whole fucking point! You neither make demands nor satisfy them.”

“What
are
you going on about, Kathleen?” he asked. “And you, get your fucking hands off my wife!” he snarled at Robert.

“I think you’ll find it’s she who has her hands on me,” Robert answered back, smiling.

“You are the weak man Robert described, Alan,” I continued. “That being the case, it is left to me to make the demands, which I shall do. I am going to show you what I will
demand of you. Pay attention, Alan. Watch and learn.”

Slipping from Robert’s knee, I slid to the floor, resting my body against his chair. Regarding his swollen cock for a moment, bending it at a delightful angle, to bring a gasp from him and
the better for my husband to see, I then raised my free hand to my face.

“Remember when I used to do this for you, Alan?” I said, and, looking directly into his eyes, I licked the palm of my hand, lapped the flat of my tongue slowly across it. “You
used to love me doing this, didn’t you?”

When I stroked my moist palm over the head of Robert’s cock I heard a low groan. It could have been either man or it could have been both, but I didn’t bother to check, simply
lowered my mouth onto the erection, fastened my lips onto it, took it between my teeth.

One thing I
was
aware of, though, was that there were no longer any protests from my husband. Perhaps he was, indeed, watching and learning, and I revelled in the power I now had over
both these men. I could make Robert come at any moment I chose, of that I was certain, and just as sure that afterwards I could do whatever I liked with my husband.

Slipping Robert’s cock from my mouth, rising on my knees, I grinned as I folded my breasts around it, trapping it between them, then ground my body against him.

“Come for me, Robert, show Alan how it’s done,” I said, my eyes fixed on his, insisting, and he gave a loud sob as he spurted between my breasts.

I kept his cock trapped between my breasts for long seconds, a minute, more, holding it there until I was sure every last spasm of his orgasm had subsided, down to the very slightest twitch.
Then I leaned back, turned slowly to face my husband, to let him see the spunk glistening between my breasts, then dipped a finger into it and wiped it across my mouth, moistening my lips.

On my knees I began to move towards Alan, my hands caressing my breasts as I inched closer, smearing them with Robert’s milky emission.

“Now you’re going to lick my breasts clean, Alan, and keep your eyes fixed on mine as you do it,” I told him, and though he made no reply he was unable to look away from
me.

I laughed softly, then got to my feet and stood before him, above him. I bent to plant a sticky kiss on his mouth and then offered my breasts to his lips.

“You have the right to remain silent,” I told him, “but I must warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used against you.”

(
¹
I was worried I’d crossed the line with her, that I damaged her flesh beyond $100 and a $50 tip. I emailed her about it and she
replied: “Not at all. If you had gone too far I would have TOLD YOU. Oh, my ass is really black and blue, YOU. It’s beyond my skin and muscle, it’s a bruise right down to the
bone. It hurts to sit. That’s so COOL-IO!)