The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (20 page)

We did our best to deny it as we gasped and wailed, our knees trembling as we grabbed hold of her wrists for dear life, but being fucked so roughly by such a dominant and interrogatory figure
eventually compelled us to talk.

I must have come twice before Claire finally gave in and confessed. I can tell you now though that when Miss Johnson had finished with us, her suit sleeves were soaked with come.

I was really quite sad that it had ended so soon. It was one of the deepest, most intense and most satisfying fucks I’d ever had. But although the fisting was over, the fucking had just
begun.

For the rest of the day we took it in turns having our bums and pussies caned, strapped and paddled, being forced to kiss, suck each other’s tits or lick one another out as we were
punished.

She said that she was trying to “beat our perverse tendencies out of us” and it was exactly what we had been longing for.

The thing that I remember most is being forced to sit on Claire’s old school-type desk with my legs apart as she bent over and touched her toes with her face buried in my pussy, licking me
out as her backside was caned before we were made to swap over.

I think it must have been 3 a.m. before we finished. We’d come so much that we had stained the carpet and our arses and palms were red raw. And even then we were forced to assist Miss
Johnson as she changed into her nightie and got into bed while we just cuddled up at her feet.

As soon as we were sure she had gone to sleep though, being careful not to wake her, we fucked each other stupid until the sun came up.

We were Miss Johnson’s slaves all Saturday and Sunday. It was just like being on punishment back at boarding school, except for the relentless fucking, that is.

Reporting promptly at nine in our neat uniforms with perfect hair and make-up, we spent all day cooking, cleaning and doing any other menial task Miss Johnson could think of.

Of course, she would always stand behind us with a cane or a strap in her hand, ready to punish us for any slight misdeed, and we always did our best to make sure that she had plenty of reasons
to punish us.

Only in the evenings did Miss Johnson relax and unwind. And taking off her knickers, she would force us to take turns licking out her pussy as she watched television or listened to music with
one of us stood holding her drinks tray.

She stripped and bathed us together at the same time each night, paying close attention to our tits and pussies and turning a blind eye when we touched each other up. She would then towel us
dry, slip us into the two long girlie white nighties she had brought especially to make us feel like schoolgirls, before brushing our hair and tucking us both up in Claire’s double bed. Then
she would get ready for bed herself and go to sleep in the guest room.

We were all far too horny to sleep however, so each night at about 3 a.m. she would perform a dorm check; and woe betide us if we’d been doing anything that we shouldn’t.

Dressed in a sexy black nightie, dressing gown and slippers, she would quietly creep into our dorm, torch in hand, and reach up underneath our bedclothes to check the state of our pussies which
were invariably dripping, having fucked each other stupid since “lights out”.

We then pretended to be asleep when, throwing off the bedclothes, she knelt on the bed between us and slipped her fingers one by one up our juicy cunts.

“Wake up, darlings,” she whispered. “Auntie Paula wants to talk to you.”

I thought my look of shock and surprise was really rather well acted as I woke up to “suddenly” find my teacher on my bed with her fist inside my pussy, but Claire insisted that I
hammed it up far too much.

Once we were awake, Miss Johnson proceeded to make sure that we wouldn’t get up to any more “filthy behaviour” by making sure we had come at least five times so that we were
either satisfied, or just too knackered to do anything when she left.

I can still vividly remember lying there on the bed when Miss Johnson sat on my face, her thighs holding me securely, and urged me to lick harder as I heard her hand slap against soft flesh and
Claire whimper with pain and delight.

At the end of Sunday’s dorm inspection, she gave us each a good hard fucking with the torch, slapping our arses and shouting at us to “take it like a woman” until we collapsed
on the bed weeping tears of exhaustion and relief.

It was absolutely wonderful, but we knew that the next day would be her last day, so I think she was glad to put in the extra effort.

On the Monday morning we arrived promptly for inspection to find her stood with her car keys in her hand. She had decided that we were going to go out in the city centre for the day and there
was nothing that we could do to change her mind.

Claire told me later that my jaw dropped so far that Miss Johnson could have fitted the car in it!

Going out in public in a tiny pleated skirt, white knickers and knee socks? She had to be joking! Then Miss Johnson said something about it being all right as it was a bank holiday so there were
bound to be fewer people about. And the next thing I knew, Claire and I were in the back seat of the car being driven to the shopping centre in Newcastle under Lyme – a place that I’ve
never been before or since.

For the rest of the day we were dragged around all the shops that were open. But while Miss Johnson was very relaxed, I spent most of the time pulling my skirt hem down as far as I could and
feeling people’s stares all over me.

It was obvious that Claire felt the same, but we were betting that Miss Johnson would have no problem making a scene, or perhaps even punishing us in public, so we decided to keep up the
act.

Miss Johnson had it all worked out. If anyone asked, and a few did, she was a teacher from a boarding school near somewhere out of town and as a reward for our good conduct, she was taking us
shopping.

It was the most humiliating experience of my life, but I just can’t help getting wet thinking about it.

I was dripping like a tap then too, so when we stopped at the big kind of seating area surrounded by cafes and restaurants, I’m sure that I must have left a puddle on the plastic seat.

Miss Johnson had all the money, we didn’t even have any pockets, so she went over and ordered a coffee and a garibaldi for herself and two Pepsis and sticky buns for us.

Having finished, with the icing from my bun all over my fingers, she took me by the hand and walked me to the toilet complaining about what a mess I was and how she couldn’t take me
anywhere for all to hear, before pushing me into a cubicle, pulling off my knickers, sitting me down on the toilet and giving me the deepest, most satisfying fist-fuck of my life.

Lifting her skirt to reveal that she didn’t have any knickers on either, Miss Johnson then pushed my face into her cunt and ordered me to eat her out. The danger of getting caught made it
so good you wouldn’t believe it.

Having smartened back up, I was led back out and made to sit alone as she obliged Claire the same way. And then we walked back to the car park where Miss Johnson said her goodbyes.

She had packed her bags the night before. And only when she got in the car and started the engine did reality kick in.

She was going to drive off without us!

“How the fuck are we going to get home?” I screamed after her.

“Hitch-hike!” she replied. And that was the last word she ever said to me, because to this day, I haven’t seen her since.

For the next hour, with no money, no mobile and no way of getting home, we both hung around the car park not knowing what the hell to do. And so when a nice older woman came and asked if we were
all right, convinced that we were both lost little schoolgirls, we both played along and did our best not to touch each other’s pussies as she kindly drove us home.

Despite being left in the car park like that, however, we were both still so horny when we got back to Claire’s house that we spent the rest of the day in her bed reliving the whole
experience. And even though I don’t see Claire any more, I do think about this little incident quite often, and it always makes my pussy wet every time.

Amanda, Ottawa

When did I know I was submissive? Actually, not until my mid-thirties. I didn’t even realize there was a term for the way I was. It never seemed unusual to me to feel
this way.

As a child I would save the plastic wrap from my sandwich at lunchtime for a windy day. I would let that wrap fly into the air and marvel as the wind shaped it, filled it full of air, tossed it
high, then swept it low over the tarmac playground, then scraped it against the brick walls. Sometimes that wrap came back to me, but more often than not it soared free. The wind released it.

Do you remember those games you played as a child? Red light, green light? What Time Is It, Mr Wolf? They all revolved around the same principle. There was a commander and those who followed
commands. I followed.

In the business world, I had to be a leader. Take charge. Make decisions. And I did so, every day for decades. But at night in the dark I read fantasy stories of women being told what to do in
bed. I imagined letting go. I imagined flying through the wind. I yearned to fly, yearned to let go. I yearned for something I didn’t understand.

So when did I learn there was something to this, something real? I never had orgasms all through my marriage. My husband did what many men did; perhaps some still do: lick and stick fingers
inside the cunt for a few minutes. They call it foreplay. Then stuck his dick inside. That’s what the real thing is, apparently. I just lay there mostly. He asked me if it was good for me,
and of course it was. It was what I was taught was good for me. Mostly I thought of other things during sex. When he came, I cried out. Was I faking? I didn’t know I was.

Did I masturbate? Yes. I zipped back to those stories. It wasn’t intentional; my brain just took me there. I was on the floor at a masked man’s feet. He told me what to do and I did
it. Of course it was really me, telling myself what to do. But the thought of being told not to think, just to act, just to obey. Someone strong would be able to override my thoughts and fears. It
freed me.

Flash forward to my mid-thirties. A lover wanted to engage in some soft-core BDSM. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but he was very experienced. He pointed me towards some books and websites,
and we discussed it. He was a gentle, intelligent man, very rational, very controlled and also very patient. He didn’t rush me into anything I didn’t want. When I was ready, he tied my
arms and wrists with silk scarves, gently so as not to cut off circulation points or nerve endings. He put a blindfold around me. It felt good, incredibly so. I wasn’t me. I was just a
flying, floating being. This lover, he showed me. Commanded me. I respected him and trusted him. Wasn’t like I could do that with any man. No, it took months before I was ready to give that
trust to him, and I never gave it all the way. We were just casual lovers. But it awakened something in me.

He liked role play. We’d set up scenes ahead of time to try. His fantasy was to come to my door, to find me tied up and blindfolded, and then to use my mouth with his cock. The plan was
set up carefully, ensuring that I was very comfortable with the idea. Neither one of us was supposed to talk and I wasn’t supposed to peak, that was all part of the fantasy.

The day arrived. My telephone intercom rang and I saw him arrive through my apartment’s security video camera. I unlocked the door and put a scarf around my eyes, then attached my legs to
the table with two soft, silk scarves, then tied my hands, loosely because it’s hard to work with one hand and with not that much time. It was fun, and kind of silly too. But it was also
arousing. I remember lying there and slipping in to the fantasy. The door opened. My heartbeats quickened and I felt an adrenaline rush like I’d been running. I heard a set of footsteps, then
a shushing of material as the stranger walked towards me. I smelled a mixture of cigarette smoke, fresh cold air and cologne. At first I wondered if this was really my lover. I didn’t
remember that cologne. My heart raced and my body tingled. My cunt was wet with excitement. This man was going to fuck my mouth, just use me.

I’d had fantasies like this all my life and now it was coming true. I was still a bit scared, then he reached down and stroked my cheek with his thumb. His hand felt familiar to me. He
always did that during our lovemaking. It meant so much to me that he cared enough to reassure me, reminded me that this was all fantasy. I heard the sound of a zipper going down. My tits hardened
as I felt the draught of his body moving over mine. He ran his hands over my breasts and I heard his unmistakable moan. My pulse quickened as I realized he was as turned on as me and I felt so good
to be giving him his fantasy. I felt his warm cock rub over my face and along my body, then back up again, seeking my mouth. I held it there. When you can’t see there are so many sensations
you are suddenly awakened to. I never really noticed the texture of a cock before, how soft the head was, how much like a nipple. He pushed it in further.

Ahead of time, we’d talked about whether it would be OK to be a bit rough or whether I would prefer gentle. I told him that I didn’t think I wanted rough when I was tied up and
blindfolded, not without being held afterwards. So he was gentle. He respected my wishes. I felt sexy and tender all at once. He started to pump in and out of my mouth, and I was all mouth and he
was all cock. Meditative. Sexy. Primal feelings coursed through me. My cunt tightened. All the motion made my blindfold, which was very loosely tied, turn up a bit, and I got a sneak peak of my
lover. I closed my eyes, but smiled against his cock. The come started to seep out—hot and salty on my tongue. I heard his breathing grow heavier and smelled the musky scent of his balls.
Soon he was coming and I received it, felt like my mouth was my cunt. I didn’t orgasm, but felt so exhilarated and happy. I heard him zip up and felt a tissue rubbing against my face, wiping
off his come. He told me it was amazing and we both laughed a bit. So much for our anonymity fantasy. But he couldn’t help himself and that was both sexy and charming and loving all at once.
He left then, and I untied myself and went to bed, using my vibe to reach orgasm while reliving every sensation. Later we chatted and he told me how ravishing and exuberant I looked and how
wonderful I was for giving him this fantasy. I felt good, powerful and satisfied.