I rose to my feet and looked at the husband. “Anything else?” I asked, not really expecting him to respond.
“There is something else,” he said, tentatively. “We were wondering if you would be interested in having sex with my wife while I watch.” He stopped, then added, almost like an afterthought although it obviously wasn’t, “We’ll pay you double your fee.”
I hadn’t expected that. I looked at him with consternation, but he seemed to be quite serious. I looked at his wife. She nodded encouragingly. How could I refuse? I didn’t want to refuse, strange as the request seemed to me at the time. I was young, and quite turned on from the photo session. She was a nice enough looking woman with good breasts, and I could certainly use the money.
“All right,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “I think we could do that.”
“I’m glad,” he said while the woman was rearranging herself on the bed.
I walked around to the other side of the bed and began to take off my clothes. I happened to look up and saw, to my further consternation, that the husband was taking off his clothes, too. I was going to say something, but then decided to let it go and wait and see what would develop. So I took off the rest of my clothes and climbed on the bed beside the woman.
She proved to be a proficient and skilful lover. She made me feel as good as I was hoping I was making her feel. Her frequent moans and cries certainly seemed to indicate that I was. The husband had faded into the background and I was hardly aware of him any more. He was sitting on a chair against the wall and just watching, as he had said he would. We completed our performance to our mutual satisfaction, and I rolled off on my back.
The husband rose from his chair and stepped up to the bed. He looked at me. “Now she has to be punished,” he said sternly. “She’s been a bad girl and I don’t tolerate that.”
What a strange development, I thought, but it was their house and their game, whatever it was, and I didn’t say anything.
He turned to his wife. “Say it!” he barked at her.
“I’ve been a bad girl,” the woman repeated her husband’s words. “Punish me now, please!”
She rolled over on her stomach, took hold of two newels in the headboard with her hands, and buried her face in the pillow. Her husband took a long whip out of a cupboard and flicked it in the air a couple of times as he walked back to the bed.
“I’d like some pictures of this, too,” he said.
I scampered off the bed and picked up my camera. He waited until I was ready, then lifted the whip over his head and let it come down on her buttocks, leaving a faint red line across her white skin. She winced, but didn’t make a sound. The whip went into the air a second time and came down on her, causing her to yelp, the sound muffled by the pillow. The husband raised the whip a third time and let it come down on her. This time she screamed, but then she lifted her head and looked at her husband over her shoulder.
“More,” she moaned. “Punish me more!”
At this point, I really wasn’t sure at all just how hard the whip came down on the wife’s buttocks, nor just how genuine her screams were. Whatever was the case, the two of them seemed to be enjoying themselves in their own ways, and I was capturing everything on film.
The husband whipped his wife for a fourth time, and again she screamed, louder and more plaintively than after the last stroke. The whip came down for a fifth time, and she screamed, this time into the pillow to muffle the sound. Her husband dropped the whip on the floor.
“That’s enough for today,” he announced. He climbed on the bed between her legs, put his hands on her hips, and lifted her up until she was on her knees. Her hands were still gripping the headboard newels, her knuckles white from the effort of holding on, her face still buried in the pillow. He mounted her from behind and began to ride her with forceful, determined strokes.
I kept shooting pictures of the two of them until my film ran out. A few moments later, the husband threw back his head and groaned with the ecstasy of his orgasm. He dismounted and flopped down on the bed. The wife turned on her back beside him, a look of deep satisfaction on her face.
I assumed that this signalled the end of my assignment. I put my clothes back on and packed my camera into my carrying case.
“Thank you,” the husband said from the bed. “We’re really very happy and grateful that you stayed.”
“You were wonderful,” the wife sighed.
When I went back to bring them the photographs a few days later, they were sitting in their living room, looking like a regular suburban couple spending a quiet evening at home. They loved the photographs. The husband handed me the balance of my fee, and I left them to their own devices. I half wished they would call me back, but I never did hear from them again.
COCKSUCKER
Drew, Winston-Salem
“Do you like it?” Sabrina used to ask.
“You know I do,” I’d lie as I tried to ignore her incisors, her uselessly shallow insertion, and tried to convince myself she was every bit the fellatrix I told her she was. I’d close my eyes and imagine Sabrina acting as if she was starving for my cock and in my mind she was feeding on me, trying her best to consume my cock, wanting nothing more than to be rewarded with my come.
The feel of my cock in her mouth would fill her senses; the smoothness of the head as it slipped into her open throat, the hard shaft, sliding in and out of her wet lips. With concupiscent eyes and breathless moans she would show me just how much she loved it, how she was there only to please.
But she didn’t love it. Not really. She didn’t even like it. Giving me head was just another chore to her. Another inconvenience she had to endure to keep me from complaining. Like going to visit my mom. Or watching horror movies with me.
“Is this good?” Sabrina would ask when she’d pull my cock from her mouth to catch her breath, using her hands for twice as long as she did her mouth before finally going back down. But in my mind, she knew it was good, staring into my eyes as she begged me to call her my filthy whore, my dirty little cocksucker. She’d gaze at my cock, amazed at its size and its perfect shape, and she’d tell me so as she’d rub it all over her upturned face, inhaling its raw, wet scent as she ran its length under her nose, like it was some fine cigar. It would smell like the ocean to her, and she’d plunge her mouth down over it again and simply devour me. And I’d tell her, over and over again, how good she was, how beautiful she was.
And then she’d make me come. And I’d watch her face as she went through all the motions, swallowing it as if it were some kind of nectar, as if finishing a blow job any other way would be utterly wrong, a waste of a precious gift. And then she’d look up at me, her eyes narrowing as she smiled around my cock, and I’d try to tell her “Thank you” but I’d be unable to speak.
But Sabrina, quite simply, is not good at sucking cock. And Sabrina is not here right now. And I’m a firm believer that if you want something done right you have to do it yourself. So I lie back, raise my knees to chest, pull myself tight and coil up, shoulders pressing into the mattress with the full weight of my body, until the room is upside down before me. For a moment I have no weight, no equilibrium, I can see only my thighs, and between them, my inverted cock, pointing down at my face. With both hands, I cling to my buttocks, pulling myself in until I’m almost straddling my own face. I can smell the stains on the sheets from this morning, where Sabrina, not realizing at first I was coming, gagged and ejected my still-spurting cock from her mouth, spilling a mouthful of semen onto our bed.
My cock hovers above my face, just inches from my mouth. I strain my neck to reach it, but can’t yet. The bed creaks and sinks as I condense my body further, my bare toes clutching and curling under the headboard, like fulcrum and lever, and the tip of my cock suddenly brushes my lips. I extend my tongue, use it to guide my cock towards the opening of my mouth. I seal my lips around the plump head and I feel my cock begin to stiffen, responding immediately to my attentions. I kiss it, lap
at it, causing it to harden further, lengthening and straightening until it juts purposefully from my groin, straining towards my face.
My body sinks onto itself, my abdomen pressing onto my chest, my stomach crushing against my ribcage. My hands clutch at the backs of my thighs, my knees bending as my body folds. My cock seems to leap at me from between my legs, as if trying to reach my mouth of its own will. I take it in my hands and wrestle it into my empty mouth, its width stretching my lips to a familiar shape. I moan as I taste myself again at last. An eternity has seemingly passed since I last had my cock in my mouth. Immediately I begin to move my head back and forth on it, feeling it fatten and strengthen, growing harder yet between my lips. I clamp my toes under the headboard and use the big muscles in my thighs to tighten my body in on itself, pushing my cock deeper into my mouth so I can suck on it.
Starving, I swallow it whole, the trained muscles in my stomach contracting, helping me move the fat head in and out of my lips. My cock is the connection, the link that joins me to my own body. It’s at its hardest now, perfectly erect, and I brace myself against the headboard and begin to buck up from the bed, fucking my own face, my head pressing into the mattress. I suck hungrily on my cock as it fills my mouth, draw it in until my throat contracts around it, squeeze my lips around it until I can feel the blood pulsing through it.
With a gasp I free my cock and let it rest against my face while I breathe again for just a moment. It smells like sweat and bleach and I close my mouth around it again, as deeply as I want now, my head pinned between my thighs. My weight forces my cock into my throat, the penetration deeper than before. I focus alternately on my mouth and my cock and try to decide which is giving and which is receiving. Does the mouth pleasure the cock or does the cock please the mouth? I think of Sabrina for a moment and I wonder what she thinks of when she is sucking my cock, and then realize I probably don’t want to know.
I’m going to come. I’m ready; I can feel it – something that Sabrina, I’m sure, can never quite do. I listen to my breath bursting out of my nostrils as I go all the way down on myself, as far as I can, until my lips sink into my groin. I can feel the vibrations of my moans through my cock. My thighs tremble on either side of my head and, helplessly, I begin to come, the thick, swimming mass sliding down my throat. It’s warm and briny and it pulses into my mouth in a series of clinching spasms and I think about the long journey it’s made from deep inside my body, through my sucked cock and into my mouth, back within my body, where it had came from, never once leaving me.
I release myself, my body snapping open like a spring, and collapse on the bed. The knotted muscles in my back and thighs slowly soften and I take a few deep breaths when I finally think to. I lie there for a long time and watch my cock as it rests on my left thigh and slowly begins to deflate.
I don’t want to think about Sabrina, but just for the first few minutes after I come, I do. I am so much better than Sabrina.
PAINFUL PLEASURES
Debra, Doncaster
I have to admit here and now to having a pain fetish. It is a strange quirk in my nature. It has always been there; well, it has since I discovered sex. That fine line between pain and pleasure does exist; it is not simply a cliche. But I must take you back in time to demonstrate this fine balance.
I met Gary, blond and bold, when I was in my early twenties. He was the first man to understand my need for pain. He could tie me to the bed and whip me for a good twenty minutes without ejaculating all over the place. Most men come in seconds if a woman allows them a dominant role. Not Gary. With him I moved on a stage. Whipping my arse didn’t really create that much pain, so I turned over. I loved to spread my legs and catch my breath as the whip crashed down between them. My pussy would jerk at the harsh attention but grow wet with the thought of the next stroke of stinging leather. However, the problem with pain is you have to keep upping the ante. You soon become used to pain and when you do the pleasure stops. This was happening to me, so Gary looked on the internet and found an interesting place.
Walking into the club was like walking onto the set of an old-fashioned horror movie. It was dark, very dark. Low lighting and weird music almost gave a sense of threat. I could feel excitement and tension in the air. Gary went off to find the bar, while I soaked up the atmosphere.
Suddenly someone grabbed my hand and I was being dragged to the back of the room. The guy had a mask on, the type like a balaclava, but made of leather. I could see blond hair curling at his neck. I knew it was Gary.
I was pulled through a set of huge doors and dragged down a short flight of stairs. Then I was pushed through a black painted door. I landed on the floor, panting. I got up and went to fondle Gary but he shoved me away and gestured to me to undress. I got the message: pain first, pleasure second. I couldn’t get my clothes off quick enough; I was so wet.
My hands were placed in metal handcuffs that were attached to the wall by chains. I was naked apart from my leather thong. Gary still didn’t speak but he came over and stood in front of me. He grabbed a nipple in each hand and squeezed hard. He rubbed his thumb and finger together and ground away at my nipples. It was fantastically painful. I could feel how wet my pussy was, it was starting to drip out onto my thigh. I waited to see what he would do next.
He stood in front of me again. He had a large candle on his hand. He lifted one of my legs and I watched as he poured the hot candle wax onto my thigh. I whimpered with the pain. This was different. This really hurt. I could feel the heat sinking into my leg; it seemed to last for ages. Then it cooled to leave a steady tingle under my skin. I wanted it again. This time he lifted my leg higher and pushed my thong to one side. He dropped the hot wax in my groin and it trickled slowly towards my pussy, stopping just short. I had my head bent forwards to watch but the pain forced my head back and I screamed. For the first time I lost my breath and my knees buckled. The first of the heat diminished and the steady tingle toyed with my soaking pussy.
I was sweating with pain and excitement. Would he do anything else? He came forwards again. He took hold of one breast and squeezed it so that the nipple was almost facing the ceiling. Then he poured the hot candle wax over my nipple. I almost climaxed before the wax hit me, such was my fervour. The wax sent arrows of pain down my body and my hips started to jerk as my pussy demanded some kind of release. Then I felt my thong being ripped off and Gary pushing me back against the wall. He rammed into me and I bucked against him, delirious with sexual excitement. The combination of hot burning wax on my nipples and a huge cock surging in to me was beyond anything. I was so wet he was almost slipping out of me and I had to bring my legs up to anchor him to me. I climaxed again and again, but as I came back down to earth I was aware that I might never match this experience.
Afterwards, Gary released me and left me to clean myself up. I looked at the pink marks left on my skin from the wax. I could still feel the tingle. I got dressed and left the room.
Gary spotted me straight away. “Here’s your drink. I’ve found out where we go and what the carry on is. So when you’re ready.”
I knew then that I had just had sex with a stranger. Perfect sex. Lots of pain and lots of pleasure. I am still with Gary and we still go to the club but what Gary doesn’t know is that I go to the club on my own sometimes. Not often, just sometimes. I never know who the guy is, maybe it is always a different guy. But it is exciting because I never know how far they’ll go or how much I can take. It will be my downfall one day but not yet. No, not yet.
THE WASP VICTORY
Carmel, Hove
It was already hot that summer, and it got hotter after Jen arrived. The grass was crisp under our feet by June and the boys pulled off their shirts as soon as we left college, exposing lean torsos already burned matt brown by the sun until they were the colour of chocolate ice cream. I thought about licking that dark smoothness and the thought made me hotter than hot, until I was certain I would melt to the pavement and gloop there – a puddle of longing.
Until Jen.
She was older than us and if she hadn’t been ill she wouldn’t have hung around with a bunch of teenagers. But glandular fever had made her value simple pleasures – she reached back a few years to her own late teens as though they were a comfort blanket and joined in our lives, sharing again the things that seemed so complicated and important to us but were probably infantile to her.
Like me. From the first time she gave me her “lazy” glance I knew. I walked back with her to her aunt’s house where she was recuperating. Jen led me up to her room, talking calmly, sat me on her bed, lit a cigarette and then braced one hand on the bedside table and the other on the mattress beside me as she pressed her mouth to mine and offered her mouthful of tobacco to me like a grey prayer. I knew women did this stuff, I knew what lesbians were. But they weren’t sexy, orchid-lipped, hip-swinging girls like Jen, or I didn’t think they were.
Every boy in my class was crazy about her – the kind of crazy that made them crumple their discarded shirts and hold them over their crotches to hide the way she made them swell inside their trousers. And she was giving me the slowest kiss in the history of the universe. I felt my spine melt, just the way I had feared it would when I thought about the chocolate boys, and I rolled slowly down to lie on her bed and she rolled down too, fitting her body against mine.
As soon as I felt the softness of her body, like mine, unlike mine, I realized I couldn’t stop. All I could feel was the sensation of giving way to her, her thigh between my legs, her breast softer than clouds against mine, her mouth as gentle as moonshine, making its way from mine, still trailing its tobacco cloud, down my neck. I didn’t look, that first time. I didn’t want to spoil the magic.
The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions Page 54
