Next up was Logan. His girthy hardness was exactly what I needed, and he knew just how to use it, thrusting in and out just inside my sensitive entry to tease me before plunging into me all the way to the hilt. I groaned with gratitude as his full length was buried inside my cunt. A hot wet pressure was squirming inside me and, within moments, my third orgasm of the night burst through me like a shower of stars.
I’d never felt so deliriously satisfied. But I still had one fantasy left, and that was to experience all of their cocks at the same time.
First I pushed Logan onto his back and straddled him. He happily stretched out beneath me and played with my breasts as I took his cock in my hand and slowly slid down on top of it. When he was lodged all of the way in my tightness, I began to ride him in a steady rhythm. Leaning my hands on his chest, I twisted and turned on his thick shaft, milking him with every trick I knew. His hips worked up to meet me from the shower floor, our speed intensifying the heat and friction in my pussy.
Quickly I reversed position, so that I was riding his cock backwards in the reverse cowgirl position. I knew Logan would enjoy the sight of my ass bouncing up and down on his cock and, sure enough, he began to squeeze my firm bottom with a groan of appreciation.
I beckoned the other men forward. “I have one mouth and two hands,” I suggested. “Whose cock needs attention?”
Everyone’s did! Burke knelt before me and drove his shaft into my mouth as Colin and Robby wrapped my hands around their erections. All four men were enjoying my body with unbridled enthusiasm as I surrendered to the rare sensation of jerking off two men while sucking another, with a fourth buried in my pussy. Living out my fantasy of a cock in my mouth, cunt and each hand was incredibly exciting and not just for me – soon Logan was exploding underneath me, warm spurts of his orgasm shooting inside me.
“Me next,” begged Robby, feverishly pumping his shaft into my hand. I couldn’t believe he was hard again so soon. “Please let me fuck you again, Brianna!”
I released all of them and got on all fours. Robby drove his penis inside me with a gasp, squeezing my tits eagerly. One by one, the other men mounted me, their stiff cocks driving me senseless as I came and came again. I’d never dreamed I could really take on four guys at once, or come so many times, but my body felt delirious with excitement and I never wanted it to end.
I don’t know how much time had passed when we finally shut down the showers, dressed and left the gym. The blizzard was still in effect and the city was a fairyland of white – which meant the guys had to dig out my car before I could leave. It was a night I will never forget, that’s for sure – and I’m pretty sure that all of us are hoping to do it again sometime.
The 36 Club
Claude, Paris
Last week, much to my bemusement, my wife Alice manoeuvred a conversation towards confessions. While I don’t practise a religion, although I was born into one, I would say that I am religious by nature because I’ve got a mild temperament, love my fellow citizens and don’t do them any harm; neither do I dislike kids, set cats’ tails on fire or kick harmless dogs. And I don’t beat my wife.
I thought I was pleasing her rather well, especially when I did her favourite a couple of times a week. Often she didn’t want penetration, at which times my fingers would creep inside her panties and pull one leg to the side so that I could work on her until she orgasmed. They were tiny orgasms, but she liked them. She’s funny that way.
The only bad thing I do is allowing my mind to venture into the world of erotica without being involved. I’m a bystander with lascivious thoughts; and my surroundings don’t help much either, despite the pretty architecture where I live in one of the Parisian suburbs. It’s in the outer ring, or grande couronne, in an area named Seine-et-Marne, an old commune called Nemours that has a feudal castle and a fine church with a wooden spire, which borders the Loing River.
It all started out of the blue when Alice mentioned her dissatisfaction with my performance. I asked her how so, was it my sex drive that dissatisfied her or was she disappointed with my behaviour? She said not with sex, but generally speaking I was disappointing her. I asked for an explanation because as far as I knew I’d been a pretty loyal companion and a fair lover. She said I was missing the point and proceeded to quote a list of complaints that were too rehearsed for my taste, as though she’d been tutored to make insignificant habits seem outrageously important.
First, it was my so-called inability to do things for her the way she desired. I asked her what; she told me not to interrupt. Second, it was my laziness in our garden, which I tended with care but neglected to pull out all the weeds. What weeds? I asked. Third, that I neglected my mind because I only read smutty newspapers and magazines, which were a waste of money in her opinion. I couldn’t deny that one. Fourth, that I was lax with personal hygiene. Excuse me? How was I lax? I asked, because I shaved and showered every day. She said, don’t interrupt. Fifth, it was impolite to interrupt her when she was talking; but not when she did the same to me. Lastly, that I’d not been honest and told her the whole truth of my life. Again, I questioned her, which she ignored.
“Claude,” she said. “Everyone has something to confess.” I asked if she meant sins or sexual encounters, but she wouldn’t define it and said it was up to me. I have to be careful with Alice, because her thoughts become too involved and complicated, and she gets carried away with her fantasies that are all talk and no action – like my lascivious thoughts. Consequently, we talk much about things we don’t, or won’t do, because it makes us horny.
So I asked her, what about masturbation and she replied, no, it wasn’t sinful, only naughty; and I said OK, then, what if you stick a vibrator up my arse, which she pondered. Hmm, she murmured, that would be terribly sinful but she wasn’t sure if it was naughty. I told her I didn’t understand what the hell she was getting at and she became irritable, which is another of her traits I have to be wary of, because she makes threats. Many French women make threats and it seems the most typical is a warning to behave or get a spanking or, better still, a traditional whipping with a martinet, bending over a stool butt naked to the world. None of that ever happened; it was all talk.
Anyway, obviously she got a turn-on forcing me to admit my fantasies of fucking the local teacher or the robust lady with an enormous derrière who ran the Post Office in a dépanneur, which is a term for a convenience store. She did this with encouragement, by grabbing my cock and slowly manipulating it while she tried to coax something out of me or get me to do something for which I wasn’t too enthusiastic.
But my admitting such mild things was of small interest to her and she asked me the same question again: ‘What did I have to confess?’ As my life flashed before my eyes, it occurred to me that, yes, maybe there were one or two errors I’d made in my youth that she didn’t know about and I decided to tell her, which was foolish because it gave her an opportunity to berate me verbally and, possibly, hold the knowledge against me as a weapon for later use.
Between times, she continued playing with my now rigid cock.
So I admitted that when I was twentyish a guy spanked and fucked me. Oh, she reacted immediately, but that’s disgusting, she said, and proceeded to wheedle out the circumstances in all its almost forgotten details. It’d happened after a game of rugby. All the lads had left except me and this other guy – I don’t even remember his name – but he was a strong fellow with a peculiar left eye that squinted towards his nose. As I was drying myself, he’d sidled up to me with evil intent and grabbed me around the waist. I’d lost my balance from his sudden attack and it gave him the advantage of quickly smacking my butt and sticking his dong forcefully into my arse. I’d struggled, but as I tried to move my buttocks out of the way, rather than putting him off, it encouraged him to stick his cock deeper into me, which hurt.
Another time, before we got together, I told her, an older housewife living next door was hanging up the laundry outside wearing a flimsy dress made damp from
washing water that’d splashed on her, so it clung to her shapely body like a glove. She sensed I was spying on her and, I think, purposely bent over. It made me gulp and an erection forced an impatient bulge in my pants. I’d walked towards her cautiously, but she’d pretended to be sorting some pegs and didn’t move. I lifted her dress to discover nothing under it and her bare buttocks mooned at me with great temptation. So I stuck my cock in her hot cunt and, I guess because of my youth, squirted into her with rapid thrusts. Afterwards, she stood up, turned and smiled and went back to hanging up the laundry as if nothing important had happened.
They’re good confessions, she said after I’d finished; and added, but terribly bad sins and exceptionally naughty – both deserving punishment. Yes, she mused, appropriate discipline was certainly in order. It astonished me, because while she’d made threats, she’d never actually mentioned the words “punishment” or “discipline” before in a positive way. Therefore I told her to abandon her weird ideas and that I was fed up with this confession game. She sniggered and said, never you mind, you’ll see. I didn’t know what she was implying and demanded an explanation. I told her it was time for her to confess.
She finished handling my cock by sucking it off in her mouth, then kissing me and transferring the sperm into mine. I told her it tasted like salt. She said it was yummy. She didn’t like salt.
She sighed. Fair enough, she answered, and said she’d joined a club. What club? I pressed. She said, smiling slyly: “It’s called the 36 Club.” I’d never heard of it. Tell me, I insisted.
Well, she told me, it was for women only and the sole purpose was gaining the truth and that the real name was “36 of the Best for Husbands Club”. I was perplexed and asked her thirty-six of what and to which husbands did it refer. Instead of a direct answer, she giggled and suggested how wonderful it’d be to have an obedient husband who would serve his woman and do everything she asked without question, especially getting an erection when she whistled. I said she was a nutcase. She said it wasn’t a nice thing to say and hinted I’d learn to be more compliant and polite soon.
I was still curious and asked her how many members were in the club, which irritated her again. Then she accused me of being stupid because I hadn’t twigged the reality of it yet and that it consisted of thirty-six dedicated women whose sole interest was obedience. She said it was the means to an end with anything she chose to hold in her hand; “the end” meaning my backside.
I never thought my home town of some 12,500 inhabitants had an ounce of kink in it, let alone a secret club for women, so I told her she had to be kidding. Then the doorbell rang and she jumped up, full of excitement, and opened it. She came back into our spacious lounge followed by thirty-five assorted women. I realized she hadn’t been fooling around.
I was greeted by a stout lady with a loud commanding voice who announced she was the Grande Dame and a woman of importance. I thought, yeah, full of self-importance more likely. She continued to explain that the main purpose of the club was to teach husbands and/or boyfriends correct behaviour, which meant treating them like errant schoolboys; and, furthermore, as I could see, there were too many of them to disagree with. Each week one man was chosen for their games until all thirty-six had gone through the routine, which was then repeated by rote.
At that point, a black woman who I assumed was from Tunisia approached me with ropes in her hand along with the local teacher and the robust lady with an enormous derrière who ran the Post Office, who was referred to as “Maîtresse de discipline”. The malevolent Grande Dame ordered the women to strip me, which they did, and then the three began to tie my hands behind my back and my ankles together with the ropes. I spluttered my protests and proclaimed it was a preposterous act and to get the fuck out of my house. They paused and looked at Alice quizzically, who nodded her consent for them to proceed. I shouted she was crazy. All the women tut-tutted and one of them said I really was a bad case. The Grande Dame formalized the situation by reading out my delinquencies from the list Alice had made, plus the sins that I’d confessed. Thus, I was a condemned man.
To my horror, which in different circumstances I’d probably have thought comical or lucky, they stripped themselves and gathered in a circle around a chair that my traitorous partner had placed in the middle of the room. They were all shapes and sizes: big ones, small ones; a few with titchy figures and boobs and others with copious butts and swelled bosoms big enough to suffocate a man who was bound hand and foot. The Maîtresse de discipline physically carried me to stand in front of the chair – and I lie not, for her body consisted of brutal-looking arm muscles that she couldn’t have got from simply sorting the mail.
Then, to confound my predicament, Alice produced a cloth gag and tied it around my mouth. At that moment, I sure as hell didn’t love her. From then on I was unable to speak and it would certainly muffle my screams if they succeeded in dishing out insufferable pain.
The Grande Dame announced the next stage of the procedure: each woman was to give me twelve slaps over their knees until the finale, the order to be decided by drawing names from a hat. The old battleaxe had the honour to go first and I have to say she was a woman with experience who could apply slaps effectively, because my bottom felt reddened from her tingling stings. But she was only the first of many and already I began to feel the embarrassing arousal of my cock.
The same woman lifted me up and another sat down on the chair. That one had firm thighs and proved to have a firm hand to go with them, because she didn’t hold back and thumped me to an uncomfortable level that made my buttocks burn. By that time I was wondering what state I’d be in by the end of it all and I’d defy any man who proclaimed that 432 smacks on the bare bottom weren’t painful.
By the sixth woman I began to grunt from the pain and after the tenth I’d had enough. But they didn’t stop until they were halfway through the team of thirty-six and allowed me a brief rest. I noticed some of them massaging their clits when they spied my rigid cock. I couldn’t help it, neither could I help any of them; not that I wanted to – the fucking maniacs! But I had been able to assess the difference between each one of them, because some smacked with force while others were not too harsh. Alice hadn’t been very kind when it was her turn.
Needless to say they got me crying eventually and I’ll admit it had all become excruciating and even more so when the strong-armed Maîtresse de discipline had the last bash on my sore cheeks. She was the worst of all and gave her spanking to me slow and hard – so hard that by the finish she had me wailing for mercy.
I was made to stand in the middle of the circle as I watched the crowd licking their lips preparing for the finale. Again, the keepers of my person approached. The Tunisian lady stood in front of me while the other two grasped each of my arms. The rest slowly clapped as Alice walked into the circle holding a long cane that I recognized as rattan, which must’ve been soaked in water because the end of it was dripping. It disturbed me that she was breathing hard with a flushed face and a wild look in her eyes like she was on drugs.
My wrists and legs were freed but the gag remained in my mouth. There was no way I could escape, so I stayed placidly in place. They all roared with approval when she took my cock and squeezed it while pulling me forward to face the back of the naked Tunisian, who’d bent over to form what I later learnt was called a “horse”, onto which I was hoisted and each arm was held in place by the wicked tormentors, while two more grasped my ankles and spread my legs, forcing my backside muscles to be raised into hard mounds of flesh.
The Grande Dame solemnized the ceremony. “Alice, my dear,” she said. “Apply thirty-six in the manner you were taught.”
Taught? I thought. Mon Dieu – the putain has been practising!
I realized then that the entire scene was a premeditated onslaught upon the innocent male species that they considered to be their possessions and toys to be moulded into their idea of perfect husbands. And I was suddenly filled with fear.
Ali
ce read my thoughts. “Yes, Claude,” she said in a steely voice I didn’t recognize. “The Maîtresse trained all of us to a level of great competence, as you’re about to discover.”
I was angry with her. She’d got confessions out of me and here she was, full of selfish falsehoods and surprises by having denied me a righteous confession from herself, waiting for this terrible moment with obvious passion to teach me to be obedient. But, securely held and gagged, I couldn’t complain to tell her she was a cruel bitch and insufferable wife who’d broken my trust in her. How dare she put me through all this? Why, when I hadn’t done anything that could be construed as evilly sinful or exceptionally bad? Why?
While I was thinking that, the room hushed. I heard my wife shuffle her feet to the side and shuddered when she flexed the cane several times and I felt the breeze from it lightly pass my rear. Then they really started to have some fun at my expense, when they shouted in unison: “One!”
I listened with trepidation as the slender rod cut sharply through the air; and scrunched my entire body when it landed on me with vicious intent. The length of it had caught my left buttock as its end whipped down upon my right, so that both were painfully welted. Jeez – it hurt! I yelled in agony and bit into the gag as another and another lashed me unmercifully. I was crying from the cruelty of the discipline and after eighteen strokes I was determined that – yes, indeed – I’d try very hard to be obedient in future, whatever that meant.
But the gathering of strange women showed only contempt for my snivelling and Alice seemed to have the strength of a titan as she continued to turn me into a blubbering mess of a defeated man, my butt excruciatingly sore from the grossly abusive punishment and my heart full of contrition for my past sins.
The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions Page 11
