The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  I gave the guy a $100 bill and Caroline took me to the equipment room, where I had the choice of dozens of whips, paddles, leather masks and so on. I had no idea what to do so I went for the obvious: handcuffs. Then I grabbed some clothespins because I remembered a blog post of Caroline’s about how she liked them clamped on her nipples. Then I randomly grabbed a paddle. “Ohhh,” said Caroline, “that one’s the worst. It’s so hard.”

  It was a pretty heavy paddle and looked like it was made of walnut.

  In the room, I said, “OK, look, I told you I’m pretty chary of all this, so I have to say I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, it’s all about fantasy,” Caroline said.

  “But what are the dos and don’ts?”

  “There’s no nudity, you can’t touch me on my private parts underneath my bra and panties, and there’s no exchange of bodily fluids.”

  “Let’s keep it simple,” I said. “What if I gave you a spanking?”

  “OK. Where?”

  “The couch.”

  I sat on the couch and she stood in front of me, looking quite demure.

  “And I want you to call me Daddy the whole time,” I told her.

  “Daddy,” she said, “lift up my skirt.”

  I did. She was wearing white thongs. She lay down across my lap. Her hair smelled like shampoo and I could also smell her pussy.

  “Daddy, I’ve been so bad.”

  “Yes,” I said, “you have,” and I began to spank her, first on the left ass cheek and then on the right; back and forth like that, soft at first because I knew enough that you did this lightly and built your way up. Her ass was big and round and pink and her flesh jiggled.

  I’ve had plenty of girlfriends who liked the occasional spanking – a smack on the rear while I fucked them in the ass or some playful stuff to get them excited, but I’d never done a “session” like this before.

  As I spanked her harder, my hand began to hurt so I switched to the paddle. The hard wood against her butt made a reverberating sound in the de Sade Room. When I took my first hard swing, she tensed up and hissed and I saw that her ass cheek was bright red.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “too hard?”

  “Not at all, Daddy.”

  “Harder?”

  “If you wish, Daddy. Hurt me good, Daddy.”

  So I did . . . and I got into it. It took me maybe fifteen minutes to get into what this was all about, and when I did, I loved it. Her butt was turning black and blue and she was crying out and squealing and sometimes her body went completely stiff and she’d shudder. But in my mind, she was no longer a woman I knew from the internet whom I was paying to do this to; she was Tara, my ex-girlfriend who had walked out of my life four months ago, who’d abandoned me and our cats and left me with the full rent and utilities to pay, who’d left me alone and never wanted to see or talk to me. Yes, she was Tara and I was punishing Caroline (Tara) for what Tara had done, for hurting me: I was hurting her back. “You bitch,” I said (in my mind, not out loud) as I slammed the paddle down, “you cunt, you piece of worthless shit,” and I guess I got too carried away because Caroline said, “OK, OK, that’s too hard, not that hard, Daddy.”

  Her ass was completely red with several black and blue spots. Her body was shaking and covered in sweat. I was hot and sweating too. I felt bad that maybe I’d gone too far, so I rubbed her back and stroked her hair and ran my fingers up and down her legs; my hand moved between her legs, keeping above the thong panties, and she was wet – I could feel it, see it and smell it. She was enjoying this, I guess. She said, “Give me some more, Daddy.”

  So I did, but not too hard.

  “You are bad,” I said and began to use the paddle harder to keep my mind off the hard-on I had that was pressing against my stomach – one that she knew was there because she began to grind her torso into my crotch.

  The buzzer went off, our half an hour was up. I could have gone for another thirty minutes but this was good enough. Caroline stood up; her make-up was smeared and there were tears down her bright pink face.

  “OK?” I asked.

  She smiled. “I would’ve been more verbal but I was just trying to survive that paddle. Oh man –” she lifted her skirt and looked at her backside in the mirror on the wall “– my ass is gonna be a mess tomorrow.”

  I got up and we both grabbed some cheap motel-style towels to wipe off sweat and tears. We stopped and looked at each other and then hugged.

  I gave her a $50 bill as a tip, hoping it was a good tip.

  I then gave her a kiss and she closed her eyes and smiled.

  “Thanks for the new experience,” I said.

  “Come back again when you’re in LA.”

  “I will.”

  “Maybe get a second girl, double your fun.”

  The other girl was asleep on the couch in the lobby. The fat man nodded at me. I walked out of the dungeon like I was being released from county jail and the sun was very bright. I didn’t feel dirty like I thought I would. I felt – fuck if I know – cleansed in a way. I felt less angry. I may have even been a little happy.1

  IN PLAIN SIGHT

  M.G., Enfield

  First, let me assure you, I am not some sort of creepy peeper. I do not make a habit of skulking around spying on young ladies, nothing like this ever happened to me before. It really was an accident that I discovered her sunbathing habits, and I only approached her because I was sure she had no idea how exposed she was out on her balcony. From there things just sort of spiralled downhill.

  I had best start at the beginning. A friend of mine had offered me her condominium for the week. It was right on the beach with a great view of the sunrises. The “Salida Del Sol” complex was five high-rise buildings facing the ocean in a giant U shape, the four buildings on the wings were six storeys high and the one at the base stood one floor taller. My friend Cindy bought into the top floor of the tallest one, just her nature, I suppose.

  It was late February, a little early for the college kids’ spring break and still too cold for the oldsters. They tended to migrate further south this time of year. That meant the place wasn’t crowded and those of us there didn’t hit the beach until midday when it really started to warm up.

  Now I tend to be up late and sleep in later so I never expected to catch one of the sunrises that gave this place its name. Best laid plans and all; Sunday night I went out drinking, found a friendly native and followed her home, I didn’t stumble back to my place until just before six in the a.m.

  I stepped out onto the balcony hoping some fresh air would revive me and realized the sun was just about to pop over the horizon. I wasn’t that tired so I went and got my camera equipment and set up the Nikon on a tripod. The sun rose with all the splendour and majesty the place advertised and I snapped maybe a dozen photos. I was just about to take down my equipment when something out there caught my eye. A Northern Right whale and her calf were heading north just about 400 yards off the beach. That’s not something you see every day so I quickly flipped on my 500mm telephoto zoom lens and started following the pair as they headed up the coast. Before I’d focused and snapped five frames, they were disappearing behind the northernmost building of the complex; that’s when I spotted her.

  She was cute, a thirtyish body that was not fat or thin but curvy. A short mop of coppery red hair, a sharp little nose and lips a tad too thick, she wasn’t beautiful, not in the classic sense, but she was enough of an eyeful to give me pause. The fact that she was stark naked may have lengthened that pause a bit.

  Well, she was almost naked; she was lying out on her flattened lounge chair with one of those sleeping masks covering her eyes while she soaked up the early morning sunshine. It was barely seventy degrees and that seemed somewhat cool to be outside in the altogether. With my big lens, I zoomed in and, sure enough, her nipples were tight little nubs. Yeah, I suspect I could have counted the hairs on her pubes with that lens; I didn’t try though, she’d shaved. I could almost ma
ke out goosebumps on her arms. I only checked because it had to be rather cold out there. Still I guess someone coming down from Canada or New England might think seventy was warm.

  I refrained from snapping the picture; after all, I’m a gentleman, am I not? In fact, after taking inventory for a few seconds I walked away. I was up now so I went in and made my breakfast. Taking my coffee out to the balcony I casually glanced over. Even without the help of my camera lens, I could see she’d rolled over onto her belly. I went to check her at full zoom and admired her firm little bottom. No visible tattoos is always a good sign. I tried reading out there on the balcony and checked on her a few more times before I dozed off. When I woke up around two, she was gone.

  The next morning I set my alarm for six. Once again, she was outside before seven catching the early morning sun. I checked on her at regular intervals, not spying on her really, just concerned that she not be disturbed. She did seem to be sleeping but rolled over several times. Right around noon she got up, slipped on a pink bikini, and headed off to the beach.

  I followed along shortly; she seemed to be alone. She flirted with some of the wanna-be surfers and laughed gently when they tried to pick her up. She retreated into one of the condo association’s striped cabanas, seeking shelter from the midday sun. Stretching out on a beach chair, she seemed to be reading. Around two in the afternoon, she took a brief dip in the ocean and then went back up to her condominium. To be honest, I’d been working myself up to approach her, but I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do or say.

  Wednesday morning I finally did decide to do something. I was concerned about sunburn, and was quite sure she had no idea how many people could be watching her morning ritual. After several false starts and running an opening speech through my head a couple of times, I set off for her building. I took the elevator up to the top floor and turned left down the corridor. Hers was the outermost flat, closest to the ocean.

  I politely knocked on the door, feeling a bit awkward and imagining how badly she might react to my news.

  There was no answer. I tried the bell but heard nothing; I supposed it was broken. I knocked louder but still no response. Just as I was turning to head back to my place, I checked the doorknob. It turned easily.

  That gave me pause. If this was like every other morning, the lady was asleep out on her balcony, quite naked, with her flat wide open. Anyone could walk in on her. I pushed the door open and gave a tentative “Hello.”

  No answer.

  Cautiously I let myself in, I didn’t want to startle her, but clearly, she wasn’t aware of just how vulnerable she was. I quietly threaded my way through the suite. The layout was identical to the one I was staying at and I made my way quickly through the kitchen area and living room. The sliding glass doors to the balcony stood open and I could hear soft snoring coming from outside.

  I stepped onto the balcony and took in the sight of her. She lay face down on the lounge chair, her chin turned away from me, her perky little bottom uncomfortably close. From a distance she had been a cute eyeful, here in the flesh she was achingly real. I could smell her fresh shampoo, hear her rasping breath, and I reached a trembling hand towards her. I knew in some deep recess that if I touched her, if I woke her, she’d scream. Then all hell would break loose. Who knew, I could end this vacation at the police station trying to explain what I was doing here. The trouble was I wasn’t quite sure myself.

  In the end, my hand decided for me. I simply couldn’t resist. First, my fingertips touched, and then my full palm stroked that delicate little rump. She tensed, her breath caught at mid-snore. Belatedly I thought I should have put a hand over her mouth, just to buy a moment before she started yelling. That wasn’t what happened. Without a word, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. While I ogled her newly exposed breasts, she reached towards her sleeping mask.

  “Don’t do that,” I snapped, my voice a little harsher than I intended.

  She nodded, then sat up wordlessly, mask still in place.

  “Do you realize your door was unlocked? Anyone could come in here and find you like this.”

  Again, she nodded then bowed her head as if in contrition. We paused in awkward silence. This wasn’t going at all as I’d imagined, I was at a loss as to how to proceed. She had yet to say a word. After the silence had stretched too long she took matters into her own hands. She knelt down by the lounge chair and bent across its width, presenting her bottom to me.

  I was shocked and grinning all at the same time. How could she know? Certainly the saner part of me was a little leery, but this wasn’t something I was about to pass up. I debated a moment, palm or strap? Then with a tug, I pulled my belt free of its loops. The first firm slap of leather on flesh brought a gasp of surprise but she snuggled her belly down and pushed her bottom back towards me. That was all the encouragement I needed. I slapped and smacked away with enthusiasm feeling myself grow harder with each blow. I wasn’t counting but it must have taken about forty smacks to brighten her arse to my tastes. I was careful to lay the leather on the meaty portion of her bottom, but if she planned to wear her bikini that day, some stripes were going to show.

  She was moaning when I finished up but I couldn’t say for sure if that was from pain. I waited a moment, admiring the warm glow of her bottom, but I was ready to walk away. She sensed that, I suspect. Her knees parted further as she rolled her hips towards me. I licked my lips.

  “Please,” she said.

  That was the only word she ever said to me, but it spoke volumes. I was on my knees behind her in a flash. She was wet and eager. I sank into her with a leisurely arrogance that made her twitch with anticipation. She tried to press back towards me. My hands gripped her hips and pushed her down into the seat cushion. I steadily pressed forwards and, once I’d fully impaled her, I curled my belly against the curve of her welted bottom. Her contented sigh only served to annoy me.

  We hung motionless for an endless moment, and then I gave free rein to my lust. I reared back and slammed into her; I held nothing back, pummelling her body as it shuddered under my assault. I didn’t last long; I didn’t care. Usually I try to please the lady I’m with, but this time that just wasn’t important. When I was finished with her, I pulled away, releasing my grip and letting her collapse.

  “I hope you’ve learned to lock your door,” I muttered, not knowing what else to say.

  She may have nodded; I didn’t look back. I made my way across her suite and hurried back to my own. Once there, I couldn’t help but go out to my balcony and check. She was inside. I spent most of the day fretting, half expecting the police to show up. In the afternoon, I went to the beach but she was nowhere to be found. By evening, I was breathing a bit easier, so I headed out for a night on the town.

  I got in late and didn’t set the alarm yet somehow I was wide awake when the sun peeked over the horizon. Shaking my head, I walked out onto the balcony and looked down. There she was, waiting for me. Her mask was in place and she lay belly down. The telephoto lens confirmed her bottom still bore the marks from yesterday’s encounter. I didn’t rush right over; after all, I’d ordered her to lock her door. I figured she was just taunting me. She only rolled over with an effort and didn’t stay on her back for long. By eight thirty, I had to know. I stood before her door for a full minute before I turned the knob. Sure enough, it opened for me.

  This time the light in the kitchen was on. A key sat on the counter on top of a note. “Please drop this off Saturday morning,” it said. I grinned, pocketed the key and headed out to the balcony. She never did give me her name.

  THE MODEL

  Peter, London

  I used to work as a freelance portrait photographer, advertising my services in the newspaper. I took pictures of whoever wanted to have a portrait: men, women, children, couples, families, pets. I didn’t exactly get rich from it, but I did make a decent enough living.

  One day, a man called me and said he wanted some photographs of his wife. That suited me just fi
ne. They lived in a stylish split-level home on a quiet street in the suburbs. The man answered the door and ushered me inside. His wife was standing in the hallway, looking at me expectantly.

  “We’ll do it in the bedroom,” the woman said, and led the way down the hall, her husband bringing up the rear. To my considerable surprise, the woman started to get undressed as soon as we were in the bedroom.

  “I wanted some nude photographs of my wife,” the husband explained, rather unnecessarily, I thought. “I just didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

  I had done some nude photography before, so I knew pretty well what kind of poses worked. While I took my camera out of my carrying bag and readied myself for the task, I watched the woman stripping down to her panties and sit down on the bed. She didn’t seem to mind at all that I was watching her. She was completely relaxed and at ease with herself and her body. I was glad; it would make my job a lot easier.

  I stepped up to her, aimed my camera at her, and looked at her through my viewfinder to see what she looked like in the frame. It didn’t take me long to figure out the best ways to photograph her. She was an easy model, as I had suspected. She followed my instructions with ease, moved where and when I wanted her to move, struck the poses I suggested to her, and even added a few of her own. When I felt I had enough different pictures to make a good selection, I went to put my camera away.

  “Just a minute,” her husband stopped me. “I want some pictures of her pussy, too.”

  The woman peeled off her panties, looking directly at me, and spread out on the bed, parting her legs and pulling up her knees to allow me the best view. I knelt down beside the bed, aimed my camera at her again, and began my work. It was amazing, the details I was able to see through my lens. I took several long shots, then moved in to shoot some close-ups. I was getting close to finishing when she reached down and parted her labia with her fingers to reveal her clit and the insides of her pussy, so I kept shooting until my roll of film was full.