The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (2 page)

As it was, we had our moment of sweet sin without ever setting foot in a strip joint. Our suite was on the seventeenth floor of the hotel, and when we arrived we couldn’t believe the view
we had. It was night time, when the place really comes alive, and we stood looking out of the window, over the dazzling expanse of neon night below, and wondering what adventures we might be about
to have.

The following afternoon, we got back to the bedroom after the wedding, giggly and high with excitement. Mark had ordered a bottle of champagne, which was waiting for us in an ice bucket, and he
popped the cork as I stood admiring the view of Vegas, spread out so far below us.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, taking a glass of champagne from him as he came to stand behind me.

“And so are you, Mrs Smith,” he said, pulling me into his arms and kissing me. “Especially with confetti in your hair.”

His hands moved lower, caressing my breasts through my clothing. I could feel his cock starting to stiffen and press against my buttocks, and I knew how much he wanted me. I was getting horny
for him, too, so I didn’t object when he began to unzip the short cream lace dress I had worn for the ceremony, letting it fall to the ground so I stood there in my skimpy and ultra-sexy
bridal lingerie.

My nipples peaked as he rolled them between his fingers, and I reached behind me to unzip his trousers and free his cock, then stroked the thick column of flesh to full hardness.

“Take me to bed, Mr Smith,” I murmured.

“No, let’s stay where we are,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to fuck you up against a window and, after all, it’s not like anyone can see us all the way up
here, can they?”

It sounded like a deliciously kinky idea, and I didn’t object as he shuffled me forwards until my palms were pressing against the triple glazing. I have a good head for heights, and I
stood there, gazing down, as Mark stripped me out of my bra and panties, leaving me in nothing but my wispy flesh-coloured stockings, suspender belt and three-inch heels. His hands were all over my
body, squeezing my breasts together before delving between my legs to play with my juicy pussy. My clit pulsed, eager for his attention, and when he began to gently bite my neck, I closed my eyes
and gave in to the sensation. When I opened them again, I couldn’t believe it – I was staring straight at a man who stood on a window-cleaning cradle, looking right at me.

“What the –?” I exclaimed, never expecting that someone would be riding up and down the side of the building. “Mark, stop it! We’ve got an audience.”

To my disbelief, my brand-new husband just carried on with what he was doing. “Come on, Sara. The bloke obviously wants a show. Let’s give him one.”

He had to be joking, I thought, but no. One of Mark’s hands went back to my tits while he used the other to frig me. The window cleaner, who could only have been in his early twenties,
with bleached-blond hair and a muscly body beneath the faded dungarees which appeared to be all he was wearing, just stood there with a sly smile on his face, enjoying the sight of me being so
brazenly played with. The fact that I was practically naked while my husband was still in his wedding suit made the whole thing look that little bit more dirty, and despite my initial reluctance I
suddenly found myself becoming really turned on at the thought of being fucked in front of this stranger.

I almost wished we could open the window between us, so our new friend could offer encouragement, or suggestions about what he’d like to see Mark do to me. Perhaps he could even reach
inside, to pinch my hard nipple or even stroke my pussy and discover just how wet I was.

And then Mark was bending me forward, spreading my legs apart so he had better access to my cunt. Normally, he would spend a long time touching and teasing me, making sure I was ready to take
his cock, but today we were in too much of a hurry for that and, anyway, the juices which were flooding my pussy showed I was more than ready.

As Mark’s solid length began to slide into me, I saw that the window cleaner had got his own cock out and was stroking it as he watched us. It looked huge, with a red, swollen head which
kept emerging from the tunnel formed by his fingers. I couldn’t take my eyes off it and, as Mark began to plough into me with fast, fierce strokes, I snaked a finger down to my clit and began
to rub myself, imagining what it would feel like to be filled by that monster.

All too soon, Mark’s movements started to become jerkier, and I knew he was shooting his load inside me. I cried out and gave in to an orgasm so powerful it left my knees shaking as Mark
sagged against my panting, sweating body. And then the window cleaner was coming, too, his white spunk spattering against the glass in tribute to us.

By the time Mark and I had recovered, the cradle had moved down to the next floor and the man was gone. We took the rest of the champagne into the bathroom and had a bath together, playing with
each other under the water as we talked about the incredible experience we’d just had.

I don’t know if there’s anyone else who has had the first fuck of their married life in front of an audience, but if they have, I hope they enjoyed it just as much as we did.

Stephanie, Wiltshire

Just looking at the dress in the shop window made me feel horny. It still comes out with me on special dates, particularly if I think I may wish to allow the guy quick and easy
access to my flesh. Made from a charcoal grey linen fabric, it has a long zip that runs all the way down the front. A small silver budgie ring hangs from below the V-neck, a budgie ring that begs
to be pulled downwards. I even gave the dress a nickname, Zippy.

At the time I was teaching at a comprehensive school in a large market town. There was a fairly large group of us who liked to meet after work on a Friday for a drink, a good old gossip and some
outrageous flirting. It was an ideal time to give Zippy her first outing. As I approached the pub entrance I lowered the budgie ring a few inches. A downward glance confirmed it was sufficiently
low to let the men know I was wearing a push-’em-high bra. The man I ended up having sex with that evening was Ronan. He worked in the technology department and he spoke with a lovely gentle
Irish accent. He was not the most muscular guy you would want between your legs, but he kept himself fit by playing squash and his skin was almost as soft as a teenage girl’s. Needless to say
I found him attractive and sometimes fantasized about him when there was no man in my bed to satisfy my needs.

This particular Friday I had caught Ronan looking down my cleavage and up my dress much more than usual. Not that I was complaining, you understand. During one conversation about women’s
knickers he even went as far as asking if I wore thongs to work. He was definitely getting frisky. I started to get interested in his interest in me.

“Of course,” I replied as casually as I could muster. Everyone laughed loudly.

The topic of conversation eventually turned to prostitution. One thing led to another and us ladies enjoyed backing the men into a corner by forcing them to deny ever having paid for sex. A
couple of them appeared to be lying, but Ronan’s negative response seemed to be genuine. It was payback time.

“Why not?” I asked. “I bet you’ve happily bought women drinks in an attempt to get your hand down their knickers, what’s the difference?”

He blushed and took a gulp of his beer.

I mirrored his action, smiled and looked into his eyes over the top of my glass.

As the clock approached the time when people usually started to drift away I noticed Ronan was only sipping his beer. Aye, aye, I thought, is he trying to be the last to leave? I slowed down my
own consumption to ensure we were the last two sitting. It worked a treat.

“Can I get you a drink?” Ronan’s soft voice betrayed a little nervousness.

I leaned forward and whispered, “Does this mean you’re hoping to put your hand in my knickers?”

“I’ve always wanted to do that, but no, I’m just going to buy you a drink.”

“Shame,” I said, “but I’ll have a pineapple juice anyway.”

I think that was the moment I decided to take this as far as I could. I had no real plan but the little whore inside me wanted to continue down the “paying for sex” road. I shuffled
my bum to raise the hem and expose a bit more thigh.

After Ronan got back I leaned forwards to take a sip of my drink, knowing his eyes would be able to see my tits bulging above my bra. “So how many drinks would you buy me to get a rummage
up this dress?” I asked.

He gulped but then perked up and became noticeably braver. “Five,” he said firmly and then grinned.

“Mmm . . .” Still leaning forwards I could just about see the crotch of his black trousers. I was unsure if the bulge was a natural fold or if he was stiffening up down there.

He leaned forwards so close my nostrils were almost overpowered by the smell of his freshly applied aftershave. “Do you want to do it?” he asked quietly.

Yearning to keep this going I got even bolder. “Let’s say twenty pounds then. We could both stop at that large lay-by on the way home.” My intention was to turn him on, but
whatever effect it was having on him, it was definitely getting my juices flowing.

“Let’s go one better,” he whispered. “How about me getting a room at that new budget hotel by the motorway junction?”

I nodded and gulped down two large mouthfuls of my drink.

Ronan flipped open his mobile and tapped a few keys. “Enter your mobile number in there.”

I took the phone and Ronan continued with his on-the-hoof plan. “You park up next to me and I’ll go and see if they’ve got a room. If they have, I’ll call you when I want
you.”

I didn’t speak; I don’t think I knew what to say. I just passed his phone back to him and then watched him get up to leave. It seemed like he was deliberately giving me enough time
to back out if I wanted.

Twenty minutes later I was parked up in the hotel car park waiting for his call. I felt so nervous my stomach was threatening to call a halt to the proceedings. I also felt excited. In my
fantasies I had often imagined walking through a swanky hotel lobby, catching a lift and gently tapping on a stranger’s hotel room door. My make-believe client was always stinking rich and I
always negotiated extra for anything more than a blow job. Somehow I also always ended up doing a striptease routine for the gentleman while he lay naked on the bed stroking his thick cock. This
was not quite that dream scenario, but as I sat there, I definitely felt like a whore. It was time to apply some lipgloss; men like glistening lips.

My mobile rang. An unnamed mobile number appeared on the screen.

“Hello, Stephanie Escorts,” I said cheerfully.

“How much for a fuck?” said a soft Irish voice.

The vulgarity heightened my excitement. “One hundred,” I answered.

“How about anal?”

“Not with this girl, but I can give you the number of a tart who does.” I hoped that negotiating over my arse was all part of the game, but I have to know a guy really well before I
allow him to push it into my delicate back passage.

“Not to worry, room two-one-five.” He hung up.

It was hard, very hard to walk through the small modern reception area without making guilty laden eye contact with the middle-aged woman at reception. Though to my credit, I did play the game;
I courageously fought back the urge to raise my budgie ring up from the low position it had descended to back at the pub. I desperately tried to look like I knew where I was going. I was so pleased
to see the lift sitting there with its doors open. As nonchalantly as I could, I stepped inside and pressed button two.

Ronan was sitting on a chair with five twenty-pound notes in a pile on the desk to his left.

“I like the dress,” he said.

“I hope you like what’s inside it more,” I quipped as I leaned over to take the money.

His hand went straight up my dress and planted itself firmly on my crotch. This was not the way I usually liked sex, but then again, I had never got laid like this before. It felt scary and it
felt exhilarating at the same time. As I stuffed the notes into my handbag I parted my legs a bit. The side of one finger pressed into my slit taking the thin strip of fabric with it. Now he knew I
was not lying about wearing thongs for work; he also now knew how aroused I was. Suddenly two fingers hooked into the gusset and tugged them down to my ankles. He clearly felt he had bought the
right to treat me badly. As long as he did not push it too far, that was fine with me. I had not gone there to be a good girl.

With my thong stretched out between my ankles his right hand went back between my legs and his left forefinger hooked itself through the budgie ring. He tugged it all the way down to my navel.
Quickly he opened up the resulting long gash to expose my chest. He then started to take a bit more time. He gently caressed my pussy, occasionally moving up to stroke the carefully trimmed strip
of pubic hair. I like to keep a neat but substantial bush above my slit. Ronan’s fingers continued to caress and gently probe between my labia. His eyes drilled through my bra. I knew he
wanted me to remove it but now we were moving into the stage where I took control. I made him wait; I wanted to be even wetter.

When I was sure his fingers would be almost dripping with my juices I unhooked my bra and pulled it under my tits. I dropped my eyes to check my nipples. I always like to know how I’m
looking. They were nicely gorged. Ronan displayed his appreciation by slipping one finger deep inside me. While I was still standing there with my underwear displaced and my dress still on, he
inserted a second finger and started to smoothly finger-fuck me. I indulged my client. Rarely did finger-fucking do much for me, I like to be fucked by cock, but I enjoyed the look of shear lust on
Ronan’s face. After all, he was paying, so if he wanted to squelch his fingers in and out of my hole, I had to let him.

I cajoled him into giving me what I love. “Why don’t you bury your face in my wet pussy?”

“Get your kit off, lie on the bed and let me see it,” he commanded.