The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (37 page)

Finally my eyes spotted his familiar form in the far back corner of the theatre and I really started trembling then; my pussy was pouring juices down my inner thighs as I walked over towards
him, my thighs sliding against each other making a wet slithery sound. I made my way down the aisle and then entered the long row and sidled my way to where he sat and I sat down next to him. I
said nothing, nor did I look at him yet. I simply waited, with heart pounding. Then I heard his voice say, in a low whisper, “Well, I will say this for you, Sabina, you are on time. I like
that.” I smiled and was glad that he was pleased. His hand reached over and slid under my skirt and up my leg into my pussy, where, as he stroked me for a while, he could feel how moist and
hot I was. “Yes, your eager white cunt is certainly ready for my dick,” he said, and then took his hand out of my pussy and spread his own legs apart. He told me, “Now, I want you
to kneel between my legs, bitch, unzip my pants, take out that black dick you want to suck so badly and get to it. I want you to lick and suck that cock until I tell you to stop, you nasty
cunt.”

I knelt on the floor. It was dirty and nasty and sticky down there and I could feel it on my knees but I didn’t care. I would do anything he asked me to, I wanted his dick so badly. I
unzipped his pants and pulled them back and away from his dick so they didn’t get wet and took out that beautiful black cock. It was only semi-hard as of yet but I knew just what to do to
have it as hard as a rock in no time. I knew that he loved to have my wet stiff tongue wrapping itself all around the head of his dick, flicking and tonguing right under the rim of it and then
sucking the head of it up into my mouth. So far I was just sucking hard on the head of his cock while my saliva drooled down the sides so my hand, grasping the shaft, was slick and slid up and down
easily to excite him. Then I stretched my wet lips and began to lower my face onto his dick so more and more of it entered my mouth and it went deeper into my throat. He grabbed my hair and pulled
handfuls of it hard while I sucked and gagged on his dick. It was getting so fucking hard and his head was thrown back onto the back of the seat and he was moaning in pleasure. At first he was
quiet as if not to arouse the attention of the other patrons in the front rows, but as I sucked and gagged on his cock and gave him the best blow job I knew how to, he stopped caring about the
noises we were making.

Then he pulled my hair hard and whispered, “Stop,” so I did and then he pulled his dick out of my mouth, pushed me back, partially stood and pulled his pants down his thighs a bit.
He sat down and said, “OK, you come-loving cunt, I want you to stand up and turn around facing front. Sit down slowly and lower your pussy onto my cock until I am embedded all the way inside
you. I want your pussy to fuck my black cock and my hands will guide you up and down. Follow my lead because you are gonna fuck me the way I want you to. You don’t get to control anything,
bitch.”

I did what he asked and his dick felt so fucking good inside my vagina that I almost came right then. I contracted my vagina muscles and they gripped his cock. He chuckled. “That’s
it. Your white cunt loves this black cock, can’t get enough of this dick – you’re holding on to it for dear life!” He began to guide my movements up and down on his dick.
When I came down on it, I came down on it hard and he loved that, me fucking his dick so deep and so hard with my dripping hot cunt, and I let out a pretty loud involuntary moan. I could see one of
the men in the front row look back. He knew what we were up to; I am sure he could see me bobbing up and down and it excited me even more to know that he knew that this white slut was fucking that
fine ass black man in the back corner. His dick was probably oozing come right now just thinking about it. I didn’t think those men would do anything to interfere, as they wanted to hear what
we were doing, and in fact were getting off hearing it. I moaned again and said in my normal voice, “Yes, I love your hard black dick in my cunt! Oh baby, fuck my hot, white snatch and come
in me, baby. I want your hot come all in my pussy.” By now, I didn’t care who heard me, who knew that I was a nasty, white bitch with a sexy black man fucking the shit out of me in a
public theatre and loving every second of it too. I couldn’t contain myself and I started to come all over his cock, squirming on it and moaning, saying, “Yes, yes, oh, baby, fuck me,
oh, fuck me. I’m coming, oh, I’m coming.”

Once my head cleared a little, I saw that he had not come yet. He said to me, “Stand up a minute. Now I want you to bend, raise up your skirt, that’s it – let me see that fine
white Irish ass that I’m gonna fuck right now,” and he bent me forwards, supported me with his arm around my waist and I held myself in place with my hands on the seat backs in front of
me. I felt his slick, wet dick slide into my tight, puckered asshole and he grunted with pleasure as he forced it deeper and deeper into me and it felt so big and so tight in my ass and I loved the
feeling, so full of his fine black dick. I realized that I lived for that moment in our relationship, that moment when his hard black cock rammed into my ass and he was fucking me until I saw
stars. And he did fuck my tight ass, bent over me and pumping his hips as he thrust into me as deep as he could go. I could see that the guys down front were sneaking glances over their shoulders.
I could see one man’s shoulder moving, as his hand stroked his own inflamed dick. I knew he was listening and watching my man fucking me in the ass. I loved the fact that not only would he
come in my ass but that jerk was gonna come all over his hand wishing it was his dick in my ass too.

I heard my man grunting and panting and fucking me hard. “Take all my come, you beautiful nasty white bitch – your ass is all mine, to fuck anytime I want and I
love
fucking
your ass too. I am gonna come in your ass now, baby, now, take it all now,” and he groaned loudly as his hot sperm shot into my bowels. He jerked over and over again and then slumped over me,
spent for a few seconds. As this was happening behind me, I could see that man in the front moving faster and faster and throwing his head back and coming also; a slight groan came from the front.
I smiled a wicked smile and loved the power of our session to so arouse the spectators too.

As he slid his cock out of me and wiped it off with some tissues he said, “OK, Sabina, I want to you to tighten up your ass and hold onto all that come as we walk out of the theatre.
Don’t you let a drop escape until I let you go to the bathroom.” I lowered my skirt, smoothed it and adjusted my dress as he pulled up his pants and buckled the belt. And then we slowly
exited the dark theatre with me holding my sphincter muscle so tight to keep all his hot come inside me. You see I will always do anything he asks of me.

Well, this was the beginning of the new me and perhaps in my next letter, I will tell you more about my strange, new life.

Leanne, Stockport

I call it my hopeless secret because I just can’t fight it. It’s something I have to do, like eating and sleeping, but a lot more fun than either. Actually, fun
isn’t the best word, because without doubt I suffer for it, my partners see to that.

Put simply, I crave being tied up. There doesn’t have to be anything else, because it’s just the inability to move that gets me. You can leave me like that for hours and I get into a
euphoric, trancelike state that’s difficult to put into words if you don’t have similar urges.

I tried tying myself up, particularly when I was a teenager, but it never really quite gets there. You always have to leave yourself a get-out, so it’s never totally complete, though I did
have a couple of mishaps. The first was when I was about eighteen and my parents had gone away for a weekend in the Lakes, leaving me alone in the house for most of Saturday and Sunday, including
the whole of Saturday night. I’d actually been invited out to a mate’s house for a party, but having the house to myself was far too good an opportunity to miss, so I feigned a stomach
upset – that wasn’t hard to do because the ideas I had made my insides churn up with anticipation.

I left a decent amount of time after they left, just to make sure they wouldn’t come back for something they’d forgotten, but sitting there waiting wasn’t easy. Finally I set
my plan in motion, going out to the garage where I knew I’d hidden a new rope washing line I’d bought a few days before, then stripping naked in my bedroom in readiness. I cut the line
into a few lengths and got a few other things I needed, then moved to the stairs, where I attached one length of the rope to the top banister rail and moved down a few steps. I sat and tied my
ankles and knees tightly together, then put my knickers (the ones I’d taken off) over my head, cutting off my vision and covering my nose and mouth with the part that had got rather wet from
my previous excitement. Maybe that idea would disgust people, but I guess I was trying to add to my self-humiliation by being forced to inhale my own secret scents and taste my own secret fluids.
To add to the sensation I tied a rope around my face, making sure it pressed the knickers into my eyes, blindfolding me, and into my open mouth, acting as a very effective gag and keeping the
fabric tight over my nose.

Of course it meant I couldn’t see any more, and that, looking back, was stupid. But I wasn’t thinking straight. I put my hands up above my head to find the end of the rope that was
dangling from the top. I’d already made a loop in it using a slip knot, so it was relatively easy to slip my hands in the loop and pull tight, securing my hands high above my head. God knows
what I looked like, but it felt great, even knowing that I could pull my hands wide at any time and get out of the loop.

Except it didn’t quite work out that way. After an hour or so I seriously needed to masturbate, so I pulled. But the rope wouldn’t budge at all. The curls of the plastic, added to my
weight keeping it taut, wouldn’t let the slip knot slide open. I tried climbing up a step, but I couldn’t see and I couldn’t get my feet far enough apart to make a step, and
jumping would have been too risky. With mounting panic I realized I was stuck there. I kept tugging at the rope but it was hopeless, and I started to cry; not because I was afraid or anything, I
was just having to face up to the fact my parents would arrive home – eventually – to find me naked, tied up and with a pair of my knickers tied tight across my face. Time slowed right
down and it felt like an age. I could just about make out light and dark round the ropes and material across my eyes, so I knew when night came, and I even managed to sleep a bit, standing up and
letting the rope support me, but after a while the rope would cut my circulation off and wake me up.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the time, but I can still remember my dread when I heard their car draw up outside. I’d been desperately trying to think of some way to explain why
I was like this, the most obvious being that someone had broken into the house and left me like it. But thinking that through made it totally implausible – there were no signs of any
break-in, and there would be nothing missing. And besides, if someone had broken in and done this to me, my parents would call the police and it would all result in a whole web of lies that I
couldn’t back out of.

I still didn’t know what to say when I heard the door open. Luckily Mum had come in on her own, having dropped Dad off at the pub to meet his friend on the way. She obviously didn’t
see me at first – I heard her take her coat off and put the keys on the hook. Then I heard her: “Leanne? My God, what the hell’s happened?” She was coming up the stairs to
me. I just started to cry uncontrollably with the shame of it all.

She untied me without saying much else. I guess we all think of our parents as staid and ignorant of sexual things, but she realized straight away that what I’d done was sexual, and that
made her back off saying too much once I’d answered her question that I was all right. After I was free she told me she didn’t know what I’d been up to and wasn’t going to
pry, but if I did it again I should be much more careful in case I had an accident. I was so tired by then I just wanted to go to bed and sleep. As she closed the door, she finished by telling me
she’d tell my dad I wasn’t feeling well and then added something that floored me. She said to keep a pair of scissors handy next time. Somehow she knew what I’d done, and she
understood it. Maybe, just maybe, it was hereditary.

It certainly took away some of the shame I felt, so I was able to drift off to sleep. But before I did I remembered back to the feeling of genuinely being unable to escape. My previous clumsy
attempts at self-bondage had never gone that far, and I was totally hooked. OK, I admit it, I didn’t go straight to sleep – I used my fingers first. Mum never mentioned it after that,
and nor did Dad, so I guess she never told him.

Malcolm, Sioux Falls

When I hit fifty and flabby, I made a resolution to get back in shape before it was too late. I did not want to end up like a lot of my middle-aged insurance colleagues –
nursing hernias and heart conditions and heavy loads over their belts that meant cock sightings only with mirrors and sex on the pay-away plan. I’d run the actuarial charts, so I knew where I
was headed unless I took action.

And I took action. Along with a programme of early-morning weightlifting and walking, I test-drove a number of recreational sports: golf (too slow), basketball (too exhausting), racquetball (too
claustrophobic), curling (don’t know why I tried curling), before finally settling on softball; slo-pitch softball, to be exact. I’d played some hardball way back when, and I figured I
could maybe work my way back up the horsehide ladder, and into better shape, via the slo route.

My secretary told me about a mixed league that was looking for players, and I signed up and met my teammates the following Tuesday on a gopher-holed field on the windy outskirts of the city. The
Bronx Bombers they weren’t, but neither were they the Bad News Bears. They were just a mixed bag of guys and gals used to fielding phone calls and inter-office memos rather than
line-drives.