It was over at last and the crowd applauded; but I don’t know if it was for my wife’s efforts or due to my resilience, which was zilch; therefore probably for my wife. They let me down. I was shaking and as my legs began to buckle, the Maîtresse de discipline held me steady and the teacher took off the gag. How thoughtful!
But it wasn’t the end. My cock rose rigidly to attention, which made a few of those present gasp and giggle as they pointed to it.
The crowd formed another circle as the Grande Dame produced a crown of laurel leaves and placed it proudly on my wife’s head. Again, there was rapturous applause. Then she took her hand and mine and led us to the centre of the circle, motioning Alice to the floor on her back.
The Maîtresse stood with folded arms nodding her head at me. I didn’t move until I was persuaded with a shove from the Tunisian lady. Fuck my wife in front of you bitches? No way! But the Maîtresse was handed the dreaded cane and flicked it menacingly. There’s always a way, I thought, and knelt down between my wife’s legs.
I fucked her with an outrageous energy, as though I was getting my revenge; and she orgasmed before I did, which was followed by thunderous applause. It spurred me on to finish quickly. It was a relief, I’ll say that; but it had nothing to do with love, because at that moment love was the last thing I had on my mind. I hated her.
The 36 Club departed and I was left seething with my wife, who looked at me petulantly. What now? I asked. Well, she said, you didn’t fuck me to my satisfaction; it was too quick and you didn’t take my feelings into account. I asked her what the hell she expected surrounded by a crowd of perverts and what about my feelings – it was awful! She reminded me about obedience. My arse was suddenly bothered by a twinge of memory.
So I, still heated from my blistering suffering, slobbered into her cunt and chewed her clit until she couldn’t take anymore. Then I fucked her again until she begged me to stop.
Now, whatever you might say, that’s a punishment to be enjoyed.
I coldly reviewed the scene later on and when I’d given it considerable thought I asked her future intentions. Her answer shouldn’t have surprised me, though; there wasn’t going to be a reprieve. The Club was a necessary passion – as it was for all the members – and she saw nothing wrong with being an avid devotee of discipline, which, she said, was obviously good for me, all things considered. Furthermore, waiting thirty-six weeks for another dose would be good for my soul; but I can’t see the logic of that.
It sounds silly, but I can neither disagree nor leave her because I love her. And it sounds equally preposterous that I am rather looking forward to a repeat performance of 432 over the knees of all those fearsome, delightfully naked women.
And while I’m not enthusiastic about my wife wielding the cane again – which I know will fill her cunt with sadistic slipperiness – I must admit the extra hard fucking I intend to give her afterwards will be another sweet revenge.
I Pee Freely
Moira, Chicago
If nobody drives downtown, then why is it so damn difficult to find a parking spot?
Most people say you’d have to be an idiot to navigate the city by car, but I do it five days a week and I’ve never had a problem – aside from all the crazy drivers and a spot of road rage here and there.
Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. I did have a bit of an issue one time, but that didn’t have much to do with driving. It was the underground parking lot beneath my building that got me in trouble.
I’d worked late that night. It must have been almost eleven by the time I tramped down the dingy concrete staircase. There were only five or six other cars left on my level. The place felt creepy at the best of times, but late at night it gave me chills. You can never be too careful in the city. You hear about guys hiding out, waiting for women behind parked cars. I always got my keys out of my purse before I left the office.
That night, just as I reached my car, that dark and lonely lot got a whole lot darker. There was a great big boom and all the humming fluorescents went out, just like that. For a few seconds, the underground parking lot went pitch black. My whole body grew stiff with panic until the emergency lighting system kicked in.
I stood beside my car for a second, wanting to throw myself in the driver’s seat and get the hell out of there, but a thought occurred to me: if the power was out, how was I going to escape the garage? All the gate arms were run by electric key cards. I rushed over to the card reader, and sure enough the lights were out and pressing my card to it didn’t do a thing. I raced to the stairwell entrance, but the door was locked and my key card wouldn’t open that, either.
Panic set in fast. My only salvation was my car, but I didn’t feel safe for long. There was something about fear that made my bladder scream. I had to pee, and I couldn’t hold it in.
It’s not like there was a bathroom in the parking garage. I couldn’t get back up to my office. What other option did I have? It was pee on the concrete, or pee my pants.
Pants. The funny thing is, I almost always wore pants. I never wore short skirts anymore – my calves were too porky to pull off that look – but I’d put on a long dress that morning, one with buttons down the front. It was so rare for me to wear a dress, but that one did a good job of masking my big tummy and my fat ass.
With extreme trepidation, I opened the door, slipped out of my car, and hiked up my skirts. But then there was my underwear! I thought, “Oh, what the hell?” and yanked those off, tossing them in the car. All I could hope was that nobody else was around.
I’d parked in my usual spot, three from the corner. The other cars had left, giving me a nice bit of space to myself. I walked on my tiptoes all the way to the wall, because I didn’t want my heels click-clacking against the ground. The last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself.
Leaning back against the cold concrete wall, I squirmed down into a squatting position. A gush of cool air breezed over my bare pussy as I cradled the fabric of my long dress. I used to keep it shaved down there, back when my husband was still around, because I liked how clean and smooth it felt. And I loved that he craved me like that, with not so much as a wisp of hair hiding the juicy pink. But my bush had grown back in the years since he’d left. It had been so long since I’d felt dirty, or vulnerable. In that moment, getting ready to piss on the floor, I felt both those things again.
Even with the emergency lights on, the parking lot seemed creepy and dark. Despite the pressure from my screaming bladder, it was really hard to start peeing. The stream felt trapped inside me. My whole pelvis felt itchy. It must have been my embarrassment, and the fear of getting caught.
But finally the pressure won out and a glistening stream shot between my legs. I felt the splash against my thighs. When it hit the concrete, pee sprayed back against my ankles. I should have felt disgusted, but I didn’t. Not at all. There was something weirdly exciting about peeing out in the open and feeling that liquid gold spritzing my thighs. A thrill ran through me as my pee travelled down toward the drain.
Just as I was starting to feel proud of myself for trying something a little daring, a pair of boots stomped across the parking lot. Somebody called out, “What do you think you’re doing?”
My organs turned to ice. I stopped peeing even though I felt like I still had to go a little. My legs locked and my hands clenched around my dress, holding it above my waist. Two legs moved toward me, and as I followed them up to a jacket, I realized it was a security guard. I recognized him now.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like my face was on fire. I must have been blushing like crazy, though he probably couldn’t tell in the darkness of the emergency lighting system. “I had to go really badly. With the power out, all the locks are broken. I’m so sorry. I’ve never done anything like this before, I swear.”
“I have,” the security guard said, with a bit of a sneer. “I do it all the time.”
I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t call the police because of my public urinati
on. “You do it with a hell of a lot more poise than this, I bet.”
He said, “Yup.”
I dropped my skirts so they covered my pussy, but when I tried to stand up I just couldn’t do it. My legs cramped up, keeping me squatting against the concrete wall.
“In fact,” he said, “I think I have to go right now.”
“Do you?” I asked. My breath came on hot and fast as he took a step toward me. I’d never gotten a good look at his face before. In the subterranean lair, where the concrete was cold but the air was hot and humid, his darkish skin glistened with sweat. His hair was cut close to the quick, which made him look like a military man, or one of those guys on the SWAT team. The dark uniform helped.
He’d stepped right out of my fantasies and into my parking garage.
“Is this where you usually go?” I asked him. “Up against the wall?”
“That’s right,” he said. “But now you’re there, so I guess I’ll have to go on you.”
My stomach twisted, like someone had reached inside me and taken it in their grip. “On me?”
“Open your shirt,” he said.
“It’s a dress,” I replied, though that was a stupid thing to say. What did he care, as long as I unbuttoned it all the way?
“You’re gonna keep that bra on?” he asked, after my fingers had slipped each mother-of-pearl button through its little fabric hole.
“Should I take it off?” I asked, more as a delay tactic than anything else.
For whatever reason, I didn’t feel terribly self-conscious about the sexy security guard seeing my bare belly, despite its roundness. I had this immediate internal fantasy that he was a fan of fat, and the way he looked at me, I thought it must be true.
The weirdest thing of all was that I felt no shame whatsoever in revealing my pussy to this stranger. The way Mr Man up there gazed between my open legs, I knew he appreciated a full bush. He seemed to enjoy everything about my big body, so why was I anxious about revealing my big, fleshy tits? The bra I’d worn that day had a clasp in the front. It would be no trouble at all to open it up and let my breasts tumble from the cups. He probably thought I was taking my time just to tease him, when in reality I was starting to feel funny about all this.
“What are you waiting for?” the man in uniform asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know. I’m just nervous or something.”
“Then close your eyes.” His voice was a low rumble. I could feel it between my legs like the thunder of a bass line. “Close your eyes and show me your tits.”
But I didn’t close my eyes. I wanted to see his reaction as I unhooked my bra and revealed the soft, supple swell of my breasts.
His gasp echoed through the parking garage. He covered his mouth, pretending the sound hadn’t come from him, but we were the only two people around – at least, I hoped we were. All at once, my heart locked and my lungs turned to ice. What if there were other people around, sitting in their cars, waiting for the lights to come back on? What if they were perving over my naked body without my knowledge?
“Hold up your tits,” the security guard commanded. “They’ll make a nice big target.”
I obeyed without question. Cradling my boobs in both hands, I pressed them together until the cleavage was so spectacular it could make your eyes pop out of your head. “How’s this?”
“Nice.” His eyes turned dark as night. “Very nice.”
My knees started aching, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even blink while the handsome stranger unzipped his fly and dug around in his pants. My breath caught. I clutched my breasts. I stayed perfectly still as he whipped out his cock.
It had been so long since I’d seen one, tasted one, touched one, but the guard’s imposing presence kept me at bay. He wrapped his fist tightly around the impressive girth of his shaft, rubbing the topside with just his thumb.
“Can’t go yet,” he said, and as I tried to figure out what he meant, he went on. “Too hard. I’ll have to work this out before I can piss on you.”
Suddenly, torrents of sweat started pouring down my back. Could the guard see that I was having a hot flash? I hoped not. Maybe he’d think it was him, or that the parking garage was just super-warm with the HVAC system off. And, in fact, those were both likely contributing factors for my overheated state, but the main reason was the man in black.
“Lick your fingers,” he said, rubbing his hardness.
I’d rather have licked his cock, but I did as I was told. It wasn’t so bad. My skin tasted like strawberry-scented hand sanitizer. Soon it would taste like something else altogether.
“Stroke your pussy,” he commanded. “Up and down. Use all your fingers.”
This, I hadn’t done in quite some time. It didn’t seem to work anymore. I never really felt anything when I tried it in bed, alone. But now, with this hulking man telling me what to do? My flesh felt like it was throbbing. With every touch it felt hotter, more swollen. I couldn’t believe this was me. My body hadn’t been so responsive since I was in my twenties.
“Rub,” he said. “In circles now. Rub hard. I want you ready to come when I am.”
That was such a tall order I almost had to laugh. As if I could come on demand!
“Harder.” He was a drill sergeant, working his hard-on in time with my quick strokes. “That’s right. You’re getting there. You’re getting close.”
I couldn’t believe it – he was right! My belly jumped and I got a long-lost swirling sensation inside my pelvis. My skin pricked with heat, but I just kept stroking myself, feeling my bush rubbing against my fingers as I beat my clit halfway to submission.
The security guard’s fist strained around his massive cock. Even in the dimness of the emergency lighting system, I could see his tip glowing a wonderful red. God, I wanted to lick it, but he didn’t invite me and there was something a little scary about the guy. He was so big and so strong, and he obviously knew what he wanted. He’d given me instructions. I had to follow them.
“I’m coming,” he said, gliding his fist so fast up and down his length that his hand became a dark blur. Sweat glistened against his brow. His neck strained. He tilted his head to one side. “Now!”
Ropes of hot white cream erupted from his dick, landing against my chest one after another. At first, I felt nothing. It was too much like a dream – not that I dreamed about sexy security guards as often as I’d hope to. I just squatted there against the wall, my right hand cupping my mound, my left hand squeezing my breast, watching this strange man release his load across my bare flesh.
“Rub it,” he said, and I thought he meant my pussy. “No, rub my cum into your skin. Rub it all over your tits.”
A bolt of electricity shot through me when he said those words. He was so dirty, this stranger. So filthy. I loved it.
I traced his hot cum across the mountains of my breasts with one hand, but the other remained locked to my cunt. My fingers dipped around the juicy edges, boldly delving inside that forgotten space. Suddenly, I felt itchy, but in a way I couldn’t scratch. I stroked that place inside myself that made the blaze burn brighter, all the while rubbing the stranger’s cum against my soft nipples. It felt so good. Everything felt so good and wet and warm . . .
When I realized I’d started peeing again, I couldn’t quite believe it. How humiliating! With three fingers lodged in my cunt, I was peeing in my palm, splashing hot urine into my bush as I gently mashed my clit. I hadn’t come, but the sensation of hot piss on my hand was a hundred times nastier.
“Very nice,” the guard said, watching droplets of my piss running to the ground. “That’s quite a sight. I’m going to take this image home with me.”
The sight of me peeing on my hand? I wished he wouldn’t!
“Now it’s my turn,” he said, as I unsuccessfully attempted to stem the flow. Pointing his spent cock at my tits, he said, “Hold them up for me. Fast! Let’s go!”
Panic-stricken, I pulled my fingers out of my pussy and held
up my breasts for him, like two loaves of freshly baked bread. “Piss on me,” I begged. “Piss on my tits. Please.”
“You want it?” he asked.
I cried, “Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
I felt itchy and antsy as I waited for something to happen. Was he teasing me, or having trouble starting up a stream? Peeing in front of someone wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. Peeing on them was even harder.
“Please?” I whimpered. My pussy throbbed. My nipples felt cold, went hard. I wanted to feel his hot piss so badly I leaned forward, nearly knocking myself off-balance. “Please, please, please . . .”
He held his dick like a weapon, aiming it square at my heart. He was ready to blow me away. Ready, aim, fire . . .
A golden stream struck me in the chest, hard enough to make me gasp. It spritzed my neck and ran between my tits, pooling slightly in my cleavage before coursing down my belly. I couldn’t get over how good it felt to take it all over my skin, to get soaked with this stranger’s hot piss. It smelled more sweet than acrid – an aroma I would gladly take with me after I’d left the lot.
But when would that be? The power still hadn’t come back on. The underground was hot and mostly dark, populated only by me and the handsome man pissing on my chest. I jiggled my tits, catching the last few drops on my nipples. My skin danced with excitement. I’d never done anything like this. Never in my life.
“Well,” the guard said, zipping up his fly. “I’d better go investigate the power failure, see if I can get us out of this jam.”
“OK,” I said, because that was the only word that popped into my head.
As he walked away, I watched his sweet ass writhing in those dark uniform pants, and my naked clit pulsed. God, I wanted to ride that man’s face, feel him press me against the wall and fuck me from behind. I wanted everything.
And that aching want gave me a reason to look forward to my daily commute. Rather than sitting in traffic, mired with frustration, I thought about the security guard I might get to see when I arrived. I did see him, almost every day, but he never said anything, never acknowledged me. At first I felt hurt, but after a while I understood it was a one-time thing. Maybe if we find ourselves trapped underground during a power outage it will happen again, but until then he remains the sexy stranger who peed on me.
The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions Page 12
