The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  But after that I looked. I saw how her hips curved around mine to lock her thighs around me. I saw how the rosy flesh between her legs swelled like a stormy pink sea under my fingers, and how it became like a handful of wet silk, slippery with pleasure and ripe with the insistence of near orgasm. I saw how the sweep of my long hair could shudder her small nipples into tightness, and how, when she was sated afterwards, they relaxed again to gentle halos crowning her sweet breasts. I saw how her face darkened with excitement, how she bit her lips to hold back from coming. And I saw how she came.

  She could do me in ten seconds, I swear. Her hand, her tongue, even the blade of her thigh could bring me off so fast I wouldn’t have time to protest. But when I watched her, I saw I couldn’t do what she did. When she was ready to come, she would gather herself up, like a predator and then she would use me, use whatever I was doing to her, to make it happen. I couldn’t do it to her – I was an instrument of pleasure, not a conductor. At some point in that hot summer, it started to matter.

  I wanted to make her melt like I did. I wanted to possess her and hold her on the point of orgasm and watch eyes unfocus and turn inwards on the moment of absolute pleasure when her face would go slack and her toes would point away and her calves would bunch, bring the coral heart of her sex up to my hand as though magnetized, begging, demanding, pleading without words. I wanted to make her come without her orchestrating it – and I couldn’t.

  I began to plan. First I took her along the river, to a place I knew where an old punt lay half-hidden. I led her to the boat and showed her how we could strip off and rest on the wide wooden planks of the ancient craft, in the blood-warm water of the river, surrounded by the scent of bulrushes and the thrum of insects. For an hour we lazed, and then I moved my fingers to enter her, like the river entered her, warm and insinuating, secret and languid. And she came of course, but there was still that moment where she gathered herself around my hand, and I saw the calculation as she lifted her spine and pressed down with her shoulders and rocked her hips to get me just “there”, where she needed me, and I knew I hadn’t given her the orgasm. She’d taken it – again.

  I tried a moonlit evening in the park. The two of us lay entwined on a bench, knowing that nearby a young man was watching us with the strained delight of someone who couldn’t believe his luck.

  I tried the top of a double-decker bus, with a hot wind blowing through the open windows and the seats scorching her thighs as I knelt and lapped at her clit – one eye trying to peer round her to see any passengers who might be climbing the stairs to surprise us. But each time I felt the way she organized herself around her needs and shaped what I was doing to deliver what she wanted. It began to drive me crazy.

  Then I brought her to my parents’ house one day when they were both out. I stole a bottle of champagne from them, telling myself that they’d promised me a magnum when I graduated and this was a kind of graduation. It was going to be the day I made Jen lose control. I took care that she drank most of it while we sat in the garden, feeling the sun pressing down on us like a physical being, an insistent lover. The heat burned along the partings in our hair, slipped inside our ears, curled itself into the whorls of our navels – exposed by our bikinis – and even found its way to the root of every pubic hair, striking so hard on our tight bikini pants that we could feel the sunshine trapped there.

  When I led her upstairs she had a wonderful smell, like baked bread, and she was vaguely drunk. For a while we just lay tangled on my bed, listening to the sound of lawnmowers outside, and then I remembered I had a task, a grail to find. I began to please her, moving down her body, peeling the bikini away and anointing every inch of the flesh it had covered with kisses. She sighed. I used my fingers to bring her nipples to tight buds, pinching gently so that she shuddered with pleasure-pain. I straddled her and began to sweep my fingers from her neck to her thighs and, as I did, I heard a wasp, trapped against the window, trying to get out. As I hypnotized Jen with my hands, I watched the wasp, quietly murmuring its way up the glass and then falling back to the window sill in a bad-tempered crescendo of loud buzzes. Instinctively I timed my movements to the wasp’s, travelling slowly and easily around the contours beneath me, then cupping my hand over her sex and pushing hard against her pubic bone in time with the insect’s irritable descent.

  Her breathing became laboured. Next time the wasp fell, I slid my index finger inside her, and pressed my thumb down hard on her pubis as if trying to join it to my finger. Her back arched. I pulled back and stroked her labia, as dark and ripe as plums, as the wasp industriously climbed the window again. Jen’s eyes searched mine, looking for something that I’d never been able to give her before. I looked away, watching the wasp.

  For a second it hung at the top of the window, and then began to tumble. I closed my eyes and listened to the bittersweet note of its descent as I thrust three fingers into Jen and felt her explode around my hand.

  We stayed together all summer, but it was never the same again. I could never forget the moment I took her, and she could never forgive me for doing it.

  THE SECRET TO A CLEAN HOME

  Di, Barnsley

  It’s no secret that I’m a lazy bitch. I hate housework with a passion. Unfortunately, it is one of the evils of life and has to be faced.

  A few months ago, I developed a strategy, which has made housework bearable. More than bearable in fact. My friends and family have commented on the previously unknown order that now reigns in the house. Cupboards are tidy, dust no longer coats the surfaces and rather than the lingering odour of last night’s takeaway assailing the nostrils of visitors, the fresh aroma of furniture polish now greets them.

  My secret? I am the proud owner of a cylinder vacuum cleaner. So what? I hear you cry. Well, the truth is I have discovered that my vacuum cleaner is useful for more than picking up dust. Now I actually enjoy cleaning.

  I am not sure where the inspiration came from, but I am so pleased the idea occurred to me. Maybe it was the purchase of a new vibrator that triggered it. If I get pleasure from the vibration of a nine-inch piece of plastic with the power of two AA batteries, then what would the vibrations of a 2,000-watt motor do for me?

  The first time I plugged the vacuum cleaner into the wall socket, I got turned on too. The vibrations began to spread from the hardwood floor, through the soles of my feet. They rapidly moved up my calves to my thighs where they hit their target with exquisite perfection.

  The powerful motor caused my pussy to quiver. I pulled out the extendable pipe. The metal felt cool in my hot palm. I slowly prised the shiny chrome to its full length, sliding my sweaty hand along the shaft.

  I closed my eyes momentarily, relishing the smell of the heat from the motor. I moved the cleaner across the floor, removing any offending particles of detritus, relishing the vibrations emanating from the machine, spreading up my arms, sending tingles to my breasts where the nipples had now formed tight, hard buds.

  I cleaned the living room last. By the time I reached this room my thighs were slick with my juices and I was eager now to finish the cleaning. My aching pussy needed attention.

  I left the vacuum cleaner running and sat on the leather sofa. The smell of the leather added to my arousal. The soft material was cool to my bare buttocks. (Did I mention I was naked?)

  I pulled the body of the vacuum cleaner to within reach of my left hand, which hung languidly over the side of the sofa. With my right hand I began to pay attention to my tight nipples. I started gently, rubbing my palm over the hard, pointy bud. My fingers almost formed a claw as the sensation tickled my hand as well as my breasts.

  Tweaking and pulling at the tight tip, my toes curled. I cupped my breast in my hand, forcefully kneading the soft mound of flesh. My breathing became increasingly shallow as my arousal level grew.

  The vibrations from the throbbing motor shot from my left hand, through my arms, across my shoulders to the tips of my right hand. My juices were trickling continuously
now, forming a puddle on the smooth black leather.

  With practised skill I ran my red-painted fingernail down the length of my tanned torso. I stopped momentarily at my navel toying with the pool of sweat that had collected in the wrinkled hollow. Slowly I moved to the tight dark curls covering my mound. I stroked the smooth freshly shaved crevice of my groin. I teased myself; my swollen clit was screaming for attention and the folds of my sex ached for my touch.

  Unable to resist any longer I pulled at my lips before sliding my finger up my sopping slit to my swollen clit. As I rubbed the sensitive nub yet more liquid oozed from my depths.

  Unable to restrain myself any further, I inserted a finger into my wet opening. I moaned softly as I felt my muscles contract. I explored my centre further, inserting my digit to the first knuckle. A spasm of pleasure swept through me and I plunged a second finger deep inside myself.

  Hot liquid was expelled forcefully from my body, adding to the pool spreading underneath me; my buttocks were sticky and wet. The smell of my fluids mingled erotically with that of the leather. The motor of the vacuum cleaner still hummed, covering the sound of my throaty moans.

  As the heat in my core built, I thrust my fingers deeper inside myself. With increasing speed, I pushed them in and out, all the while my other hand continued to stroke my twitching clit.

  My breath was now coming in short sharp gasps as my climax built. My hips had risen off the sofa without any conscious effort on my part, allowing deeper penetration.

  As my juices were flowing liberally I decide to treat myself.

  I brought my heels up to my buttocks and allowed my knees to fall to the sides. I now had access to my most sacred hole.

  My tight bum hole was already wet, but I lubricated it more with juice from my pussy. I licked my index finger before running it around the dark rim of my anus. More fluid squirted from my pussy as I began to insert my finger.

  I gasped loudly as the muscles in my bum hole objected to the initial intrusion. Slowly and carefully I worked my finger deeper into the reluctant opening. The exquisite pain made me slightly dizzy, until suddenly the screaming muscles relaxed and I sank my finger into the smooth tunnel.

  It never fails to amaze me how two holes so close to each other can feel so different and provide such pleasure.

  As I added a second finger, I continued to roll my clit between the thumb and forefinger of my other hand. I fought to control my breathing. Lights flashed behind my tightly closed eyelids. My heart thumped against my ribs and I knew I was close to a massive orgasm.

  The muscles in my thighs contracted almost painfully as my orgasm swept through my entire body. Hot sweet liquid spewed from my cunt as the muscles in both holes spasmed delightfully. My clit throbbed and I began to shake uncontrollably.

  I lay there for a moment or two revelling in my post-orgasmic haze. As I came down slightly and my breathing became less ragged, I began to contemplate the joy of what was to follow.

  I would need to clean the sofa. The smell of the leather polish would, I knew, turn me on once again. The act of wiping up my fluids with a soft damp cloth before spraying the supple leather with the aromatic polish was suddenly very appealing.

  I groaned softly again as an orgasmic aftershock shuddered through my body. I turned off the vacuum cleaner; the sudden silence was almost deafening. I sighed contentedly.

  It has taken me many years to find the motivation to keep a tidy house. Now I have the motivation, the house is spotless, cleaned every day. A friend has asked me to do her cleaning. I have considered it.

  The added excitement of masturbating on someone else’s sofa is tempting, and she does have a leather sofa. Unlike my soft black leather one, hers is an ox-blood red Chesterfield couch with firm seats and brass buttons adorning the back. I have wondered whether the difference in style will add to my pleasure. Maybe I will take her up on the suggestion. Of course the reason for my new-found enthusiasm would remain my secret!

  MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

  Alex, Wales

  I suppose going out with a girl as posh as Amy was the turn-on to begin with, but she was gorgeous anyway. That long black hair, down to her shoulders, that golden skin and those big dark eyes, almost black really, would have got any bloke going. The first time I saw her stripped was even better than all my fantasies. She had small, beautifully shaped tits, her belly button was decorated with that expensive-looking bit of jewellery and that pussy! Just the vertical strip of sleek black hair, tantalizing me, making me want to run the fingers of one hand through it while the other hand was opening up, parting those luscious lips so I could slide inside her and explore her fully. And I did.

  When she asked me to come to her parents’ house (Vanessa and Richard) for the weekend, I knew it wouldn’t be a little terrace house or on a council estate, but I still wasn’t prepared for the mansion as the car swung onto the drive that was longer than my street.

  Her dad was a very senior judge apparently, nice enough I guess, but I just knew he was measuring me, weighing up his offspring’s latest. Her mother? Well, you could tell she would have been tasty once, the same colouring and features as Amy, but a good bit heavier all over the place, particularly what I could see of her boobs pushing against that blouse. So what? she was thinking. You’re just my daughter’s bit of rough, it won’t last. She’ll end up with the nice rich son of this friend or that one.

  Let’s face it, I thought, she could be right. Amy and I are in our mid-twenties, lots of time left to sleep with lots more people. Just enjoy it while you can.

  I had the guided tour from Amy. The house had quite a history, but I was disappointed to learn there was no resident ghost. The evening meal was a bit of a trial though. The butler (yes, I know!) served us everything, the courses lasted for ever, and I struggled to cope with what knife, fork, God knows what to use, but I was kept going by the promise of the night to come. Amy had made it clear that, even though my room was discreetly way down the corridor from hers, she was going to pay me a very physical visit once it was late enough for her parents to be deep in sleep. I made sure I didn’t overdo the drink, partly because I didn’t want to let her down in front of Mummy and Daddy but, all right, I admit it, more because I wanted to be fully fit to perform. I’d seen that bed, huge for a single guest, and those silky sheets were going to see plenty of action if things went well.

  Half past two, dead on time, the door opened and there she stood. The nightdress was more substantial that I would have liked but I guessed she had to have some insurance in case she was seen; “Just going to the loo, Mummy, go back to bed And it wasn’t as if it stayed on long. I was hard in seconds and then she was on all fours on the bed with my fingers fondling, stroking, massaging those lips as she tilted that pert bum up towards me. Then, I drove into her, reaching forwards to cup those boobs in both hands, relishing her gasps as she adjusted her body position to allow me further inside her. We were both facing the door and so I guess we froze at exactly the same time as it swung open to reveal a very angry-looking Mummy. I was rock hard when the look on her face hit me but I’d never got so soft so quickly. Amy fell forwards out of me, sitting up and saying, stupidly, “Oh, Mummy, we were just . . .”

  “I can see what you were just, Amy. I’ve told you before: when you’re in our house, you obey our rules. If you want to roll around with these men you pick up, I can’t stop you, but not here.”

  Conscious that Vanessa was staring at my naked body and now embarrassingly limp cock, I grabbed a sheet and just waited for her next comment. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “Right, young woman, back to your room. I really should call your father this minute . . .”

  “No please, don’t do that, it won’t happen again.”

  “Just go. I want a stern word with this young man.”

  Amy seemed quite happy to let me face her mother’s wrath on my own but I couldn’t blame her. I thought I just needed to grovel a bit, talk about respect and how much I cared for Amy. I
hoped I would just get thrown out in the morning as opposed to the judge bringing out his black cap and sentencing me to death.

  Then, for the first time really, I saw that Vanessa was wearing a pretty revealing nightdress herself. Dark blue, classy and frilly, it was giving me a tantalizing glimpse of those impressive boobs and enough hint of bush to tell me she wasn’t into shaving neat patterns like her daughter. I must have been too obvious with it though.

  “Christ, not content with screwing my daughter under our own roof, you lie there gawping at me as well. That sheet isn’t a lot of good just now, is it?” I looked down and saw, as she had done, the return of my erection, rising up from the silk sheet, standing to attention. Natural reaction or not, God was I in trouble now.

  Well, maybe not actually because Vanessa was talking again.

  “If you really can’t take your eyes off me, you might as well get a proper look.”

  And with that, she ripped off the nightdress, so roughly that her boobs bounced for a few seconds, only confirming my earlier impressions of a woman very well blessed in that area. It wasn’t just the breasts; the nipples were huge, very dark and, best of all, very hard. My eyes (of course) travelled down further and I gasped involuntarily at the sight of that thick, jet-black triangle of hair between her legs and, even from where I lay, I could see that the lips of her pussy were swollen and bloated. Vanessa gave me a smile that was like the smile on the face of a tiger before he eats his prey and sprang forwards, pulling off the sheet and exposing my by now very hard shaft. Grabbing it with her left hand, she began yanking it backwards and forwards.

  “At least my stupid daughter has picked somebody well hung for a change.”

  The implication that Vanessa had tried out all of Amy’s previous men in bed flashed into my head but I was too turned on to care.

  “I’ll make you a deal, Alex. You make sure I leave this room happy, and I won’t feel the need to tell Richard how you repay his hospitality. But we do things my way, OK?”