The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (12 page)

The covers band Derek had booked for the occasion were pretty good, belting out disco classics that were guaranteed to get people up and dancing, and I soon lost myself in the music. I
didn’t forget about Gary entirely, though; I kept glancing over to where he was sitting from time to time, and he always seemed to be watching me. So I began dancing more provocatively,
grinding my hips and running my hands over my body as I moved. And then I flung one arm out, striking a pose, and hit something. I turned to realize that I had knocked a glass out of
someone’s hand and Gary – who I assumed had come over to dance with me – had only managed to avoid it splashing all over him by stepping smartly to one side.

“Now, that wasn’t a very clever thing to do, was it, Sophie?” he said, grabbing hold of my wrist. I stammered an apology, but he continued, lowering his voice so that no one
else around us could hear, “You’re just a naughty little show-off, and I think you should be punished.”

I didn’t have a clue what he was intending to do, but the way he said “punished” made me start to grow wet between my legs. He began to lead me firmly away from the dance
floor. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“We’re going to my room. I booked it so I wouldn’t have to drive home tonight.” He smiled wickedly. “I could keep you there all night, if I wanted. After all, I
doubt we’ll be missed.”

I glanced over my shoulder at my colleagues and Derek’s friends as Gary hustled me away and realized he was right. They were all too busy drinking and dancing and having a good time to
even notice us leaving. Within moments, we were heading up the stairs to Gary’s room on the second floor. He didn’t release his grip on my arm, and I started to feel giddy with
anticipation and excitement. He was so much bigger and stronger than me, I knew that he could do whatever he wanted to me – or, rather, whatever I wanted him to do to me.

Gary appeared to have one of the nicest rooms in the hotel, with a bed that looked big enough for three people and a view out on to the golf course behind the hotel, but he didn’t give me
much of an opportunity to admire my surroundings. Instead, he sat down on his bed and calmly ordered me to get over his knees. This wasn’t quite what I had been expecting, and I just stood
there. “Do as you’re told, or you’ll only make it worse for yourself,” he said, and when I still hesitated, he lost patience and hauled me bodily over his lap.

“OK, the joke’s over,” I said, wriggling to get free, but he was holding me securely and I couldn’t move.

“Not till you’ve had the spanking you deserve,” he replied. So that was what he’d meant by punishment, I realized giddily, as I felt him raising the hem of my new sage
green dress up around my waist. When I’d first tried it on, loving the colour and the way the flimsy chiffon skimmed my curves, I’d had daydreams of Gary peeling me out of it, but not
quite like this. It was so quiet in the room, away from the noise of the band and the party downstairs, and I found myself holding my breath as Gary gazed for a moment at my bum cheeks, just about
covered by the black lacy knickers I was wearing. Then I felt his big hand come down on my upturned bottom. I gasped, partly in shock, partly in indignation – cute as he was, and as much as I
fancied him, how
dare
he do this to me? I told him, as firmly as I could, to stop, but he just carried on as though he hadn’t heard me, calmly alternating slaps on each cheek. They
weren’t particularly hard, but I felt each one, and I writhed on his lap, becoming aware as I did so that his cock was swelling and hardening beneath me.

After about a dozen spanks, he suddenly stopped. I thought that was it, and if so it hadn’t been too bad. A little bit embarrassing, a little bit uncomfortable, but no worse than that.

And then I felt him reach for the waistband of my knickers. “No!” I squealed, deciding that things had gone quite far enough.

Gary ignored me, calmly continuing with what he was doing. “Let’s see what that lovely little bottom of yours looks like, shall we?”

I was mortified at the way he was treating me, and yet the thought of being bared to him like this was making my pussy flood with juices. Surely this wasn’t me, this person who was so
incredibly turned on by being made to do as she was told, who suddenly wanted Gary to go further, to strip her naked, to make her get down before him in nothing but her heels and suck his cock? I
didn’t know how being spanked had brought me to this; I only knew that it had, and I wanted more of this shameful, thrilling pleasure.

With one sharp tug, my panties were down round my knees and off.

“Beautiful,” Gary murmured, stroking the tender flesh of my newly exposed bottom.

I wondered how it looked to him, blushing red from his slaps. I wanted him to order me to go and look at my reflection in the mirror, but he had other ideas. Almost immediately, he returned to
the job of spanking me. Now there was nothing at all shielding me from the full force of his palm as it landed again and again. I kicked and squirmed on Gary’s lap, begging him to have mercy,
but it didn’t have any effect on him. Occasionally, however, he would run his fingers down to my cleft, insinuating them between the damp, slippery folds of my pussy and distracting me from
the burning sensations in my arse cheeks.

He seemed to delight in tormenting me like this, alternating between the rough slaps that were making my bum sting and the soft little rubs which were causing my clit to tingle and my body to
move towards orgasm. I was still aware of the stiffness of his cock, pushing up at me through layers of clothing, and at that moment I would have given anything to feel him inside me. But Gary was
in charge here; he was the one who decided if and when I came and whether or not I would be filled with his length.

And still the relentless spanking continued. I wanted him to stop, and yet I needed him to continue, grinding my body against the thick fabric of his trousers and the throbbing cock beneath
them, trying to give myself that last, vital little bit of stimulation.

At last, he seemed to feel he had punished me enough, and his fingers suddenly plunged into my hole. With two fingers plunging in and out of my wetness and his thumb rubbing my clit, he swiftly
had me moaning and thrashing around, no longer caring how humiliating it was to be lying, bottom bare and bright crimson, over his knees. My pleasure peaked sharply and I was coming, gasping and
calling out how good it felt. Finally, I lay limp on Gary’s lap.

“So have you learned your lesson, Sophie?” he asked.

“I think so,” I replied. But, of course, I hadn’t. I still seem to find ways of misbehaving which mean Gary has to punish me as a result, and I just can’t get enough of
the way he keeps me in line with a good, hard spanking. I hope I never do.

Steve, Australia

A guilty secret? OK, here goes. The first time I was in a threesome was with my wife, Chloe, and a young woman I’ll call Jessie. I can’t use her real name because
last I heard she was calling herself a lesbian and denying that she’d ever been anything else. Which is a little strange, because when I first met her, she was nominally het. It took Chloe,
oh, all of about five seconds to convert her to bi, and another woman about the same length of time to turn her again . . . but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Jessie was a co-ed of Chloe’s, and she was one of those women whose body language and conversation are euphemistically described as “inappropriate”, the sort who will casually
describe the exact colour of her nipples to you in culinary terms, or stand close to you while massaging her breasts but slap your face if you interpret this as an invitation. Anyway, one night
while I was away in the US, Chloe was feeling horny, so she called Jessie and asked her if she wanted to come around and have sex. Jessie was a little flustered, and replied, “I don’t
know what to say.”

“Say yes,” Chloe suggested, so Jessie said, “Yes,” and drove over. As I said, about five seconds to change gender preferences. After that, they had sex a couple of times
a week until I came back home and things went back to normal – well, normal for us, anyway.

I’d known since our first date that Chloe was bi – no problem, nearly all of my lovers have been either active or latent bi women – and that both of us had tried strict
monogamy and decided that we didn’t like it. We hadn’t been together long before we started talking about threesomes and trying to choose a likely candidate from our friends. But that
didn’t prepare me for the time I came home from work early and saw two women sixty-nining on our futon, so tightly wrapped in each other like yin and yang, their thighs clamped over the
other’s ears, that they didn’t even hear me walk in. In the near darkness, I couldn’t tell who was who, where one began and the other ended, but it was a wonderful sight, as
magical as the first time I saw Saturn’s rings through a telescope or the first time I saw a woman I loved naked and wanting me. And the smell of sex was as thick as incense; you could have
bottled it and sold it as an expensive perfume, or an aphrodisiac that actually worked.

I’m not sure how long I stood there and watched, with them oblivious to me, but it was long enough for my eyes to adjust to the dim light and recognize Jessie’s dark blond hair at
one end of this beauty with two backs, Chloe’s auburn curls at the other. Minutes, certainly, before Chloe’s face emerged; she smiled encouragingly, and I started undressing. Chloe
changed position so that I could see more of Jessie, including her face and her breasts. Her nipples were the colour of musk candy, just as she’d described them, swollen and erect, though her
areolae were so small and pale that they were hardly there at all. She opened her eyes a moment later, obviously surprised to find me there, but feeling much too good to be worried by anything. I
knelt beside the bed, my lips millimetres from her nipple, and asked, “May I?”

She nodded, and I ran my tongue around the already-swollen nipple, then gently closed my lips around it and began sucking on her breast while Chloe continued licking her clit. Jessie just closed
her eyes again and luxuriated; Chloe and I both pride ourselves on our technique, and maybe Jessie had been fantasizing about this too. I moved my head to Jessie’s other breast and began
sucking on that; it was firmer and a little larger than Chloe’s, but the best thing about it was knowing that I was pleasing two women as well as myself, that Chloe was getting off on
watching me feasting on this sweet white flesh.

I kissed my way down Jessie’s belly until Chloe and I were almost cheek to cheek. She turned her head and gave me a quick kiss, her mouth wet and delicious. Then she moved aside, stroking
Jessie’s labia with her fingers while I began circling her clit with my tongue. Jessie looked at us, gave us a slow and slightly dazed smile, and closed her eyes again. I applied a little
more pressure to her clit, a little suction with my lips, easing the pace along from languid to leisurely, watching and listening for her reaction. She remained silent, almost as though she were in
a trance. I licked and sucked more vigorously, my beard rubbing against her cleft and her thighs; still not a sound. I continued until my neck was sore, and looked up uncertainly at Chloe,
wondering whether I should stop. She shook her head slightly, and I resumed tongue-lashing Jessie’s clit until suddenly she began shaking her head, flailing her arms about and drumming her
heels on the bed. I moved my head out of harm’s way and rubbed her clit with my thumb as she arched her back and writhed. It was like holding an earthquake in my hand, and I watched in awe as
she subsided back into her trance. Chloe kissed me, then bent over and began sucking my cock. I lay down next to Jessie, sitting up against the bedhead, and Chloe straddled me; I kissed her lips,
her neck, and sucked her breasts as we fucked. With Jessie’s orgasm and afterglow as an aphrodisiac, a catalyst, we were so aroused, so intent, so overwhelmed by all the sex that had happened
on that bed, so absorbed in each other and oblivious to anything else, that we barely noticed as Jessie opened her eyes and watched us, then climbed off the bed and staggered towards the shower. I
don’t know how often Chloe came, but we were still fucking when Jessie returned and began picking up her clothes, still fucking when she dressed and walked to the kitchen to put the kettle
on. Even after I came, we just held on to each other, basking in the afterglow that filled the room.

I do feel slightly ashamed about our having lied to Jessie. You see, Chloe had told her I’d be home
late,
not early.

But my
real
guilty secret is that I’m sitting here at the office, reminiscing and writing erotica on the computer, while my boss thinks I’m working.
Please
don’t
send him a copy of this book!

Mariah, Bellvue

Two of my friends and I were drinking one night and got talking about the best cock we ever had. I would never have told them this if I hadn’t been half smashed but they
loved it.

Patrick was the most delicious man I’d ever known, pure porn. With black curly hair, blue eyes like jewels, big powerful arms, he was a burly beautiful Irishman.

His wife, my first cousin, had passed away after a two-year illness during which time I watched that man work himself to distraction doing everything he possibly could for the woman he
loved.

I couldn’t help but be aware that this was an extremely virile man who had not had sex in at least a year and a half. Sometimes I would see him looking at me in a way that was pure sexual
hunger. But then he would quickly look away and I felt sorry for him that he was feeling unnecessary shame.

For weeks after she passed I saw that he was always being careful to keep his eyes off me and I was beginning to see that this man’s suffering had gone on far too long. Something had to be
done.

Sometimes he would drink too much and fall into his bed in a deep sleep. This particular night I slipped into his room, took out the handcuffs I’d bought that day and deftly cuffed his
wrists to the rungs of the headboard.