It was clear a couple of the other lads fancied visiting one of the nearby girls and getting their own share of the action, and I was starting to feel a bit like the odd man out. So I told them I was going to grab a beer somewhere, maybe do a bit more sightseeing, and I’d see them back at the hotel later where we could compare notes, sure their evening would be a lot more exciting than mine.
Cutting off the main drag, I found a quiet bar and bought myself a drink. Music played softly, a cat snoozed peacefully on the windowsill, and a couple of old men were engaged in a game of dominoes. This felt much more like the side of Amsterdam most tourists never bother to go looking for, and strangely I felt more at home here than I had in the busy, noisy streets of the red-light district.
Glancing up from the corner table I’d occupied, I found myself staring into a pair of intensely blue eyes. Lust for a stranger doesn’t strike me too often but, staring at the broad-shouldered blond hunched over his own beer, I felt my cock stirring. He must have taken my quick smile for an invitation, for he strode over to join me, sitting down and introducing himself in a guttural local accent as Jan. We shook hands, his grip sure and firm, and a thrill shot through me, stiffening my dick even further. When I told him it was my first time in Amsterdam, he laughed and said he’d have to introduce me to some genuine Dutch hospitality.
I didn’t get what he meant at first, but as we talked, he hunched closer to me, so our heads were almost touching. The erotic vibe between us was intense, impossible to ignore. The next thing I knew he’d dropped a hand beneath the table and had placed it on my thigh. His fingers were warm, and moved in slow circles up towards my crotch. I tried to keep my expression neutral, not wanting anyone to see the effect he was having on me, even though no one in the place was paying us the least attention. When his hand settled on my hard-on, groping it through my trousers, I thought I might actually come in my underwear. The room suddenly seemed too hot, the music too loud, and I needed to be somewhere more private with Jan, where I could let him do all manner of lewd and filthy things to me.
“Let’s get out of here,” I managed to stammer at last. He’d told me he lived somewhere down near the Rembrandt museum, but that was way too far to walk in my needy state. I had to get him alone and naked very soon or I didn’t know what I’d do, so I suggested we go to my hotel and get to know each other better.
The walk back was a blur, and a couple of times I thought we’d taken the wrong turning, but soon we were in the hotel lobby and taking the stairs to my second-floor room two at a time. I had some vague thought about what might happen if Gary, my roommate for the trip, came in and found Jan and me in bed together, but the lads had been talking about going clubbing tonight, so I reckoned he wouldn’t be back for hours yet.
Now, the two of us were joined at the mouth, stripping each other of clothing as we staggered towards the bed. Our progress was slow, awkward, me having to hop backwards as I tried to kick my shoes off. My underwear was pulled down to just below the bottom of my arse cheeks, my balls resting on the bunched material and my cock standing at full mast.
We broke apart, laughing, as Jan’s feet tangled in his jeans and he almost tripped over. His cool, dominant facade cracked just a little, but in that moment I couldn’t help but find him all the more attractive.
By the time I flopped down onto the bed, I was naked apart from my socks. I made to pull them off, but Jan said, “Leave them on. I’ve got a real fetish for guys in socks.”
“What else do you have a fetish for?” I asked, intrigued by the thought that he might have a kinky side, and watching him pull down his briefs to reveal a long, uncircumcised member, as hard as my own. He’d clearly taken charge of this situation, and I didn’t mind in the least. I much prefer to be with a guy who knows what he wants and is prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure both of us have the best time ever.
“Guys with cute, fuckable arses,” he said, running a hand over my bare butt cheeks. “But first I like them to show me how much they like sucking my dick.”
Now that I was more than happy to do. I’ve always loved to have a big, thick tool in my mouth, and Jan had one of the nicest I’d seen in – hell, I couldn’t remember when. My mouth was watering as he made himself comfortable, sitting up with his back propped against the pillows and his cock sticking up like a telegraph pole. I settled in at the side of him, taking hold of his shaft at the base and taking a moment to breathe in the tart, salty scent of him. Part of me still couldn’t quite believe I was about to suck off a guy I’d met less than an hour earlier. But then Dan had just fucked a woman he hadn’t even said hello to before he’d stepped into her room – and, unlike Dan, I wasn’t having to pay to get close to this stunning Dutch hunk.
Bending my head, I closed my lips around Jan’s helmet. He tasted good, with just a faint residue of sweat, like he’d showered before he came out tonight. When he’d left home, had he intended to hook up with someone for a night of fun, or had it just been pure fate that had brought the two of us together in that quiet little bar?
I stopped thinking about it, and devoted my full attention to the cock filling my mouth. I quickly discovered that Jan liked it best when I swirled my tongue over the place where the head joined the shaft. His breathing grew more rapid when I licked him there, and when I rolled his tight, blond-fuzzed balls between my fingers at the same time, he very nearly lost his load. But I didn’t want that to happen, not if we were building up to him fucking my arsehole. So I let his dick slip from my lips and moved down to lap at the seam between his balls and the tight, furled entrance to his arse. The words he murmured were in Dutch, incomprehensible to me, but I understood from their tone and the way he writhed against the caramel-coloured bed cover that I’d found another of his secret pleasure spots.
With an effort, he managed to grit out, “That’s so good, but I really need to be in your arse. You have condoms?”
I nodded. I always carry them in my travel bag, along with lube, just in case I ever get lucky. Tonight I was glad of my forward planning, as I dashed into the bathroom to fetch them for him.
When I returned, it was to see one of the sexiest sights imaginable. Jan had taken himself in hand and was slowly stroking his cock up and down. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed lost in his own private moment, though I’m sure I featured highly in whatever fantasy was playing behind his eyelids. I could have stood there and watched him play with himself till he came, but instead I tossed him a condom and the little bottle of lube.
He unwrapped the packet, skinned the sheath down onto himself with ease, then ordered me to get on the bed on all fours. I shivered with delicious anticipation as I heard Jan pop open the lid of the lube bottle, and looked over my shoulder to see him squeezing the sticky gloop onto his hand. He took his time opening my arsehole with his thick, lube-coated fingers, only judging I was ready for his cock when he could get a couple of digits inside me with ease. I had to admire his willpower; he must have been dying to stick his dick inside me and yet he needed to make sure this would be good for both of us.
Jan clambered into position, kneeling up behind me and pressing his latex-covered cockhead to my arsehole. I bit my lip, preparing myself for the moment of entry. When I felt him slide into me, I almost cried out; despite all his earlier efforts, that fat shaft stretched me to the point of discomfort, but any pain quickly faded when he began to thrust back and forth. His movements were gentle, shallow at first, but the sensation of being joined to him was amazing, and I pushed my arse back at him, needing him to go harder and faster.
Soon we’d built up a wild rhythm, Jan filling me as full as anyone ever had, and hitting the deeply hidden spot that couldn’t fail to trigger my orgasm. The bedsprings were creaking beneath us, the wooden headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust, and I was glad my mates had the rooms on either side of mine. If there’d been guests listening to the grunts and cries we gave as Jan fucked me ever harder, I’m sure they’d have been complaining
to someone about the noise. Instead, I felt I had the freedom to really vocalize my lust as I yelled out to Jan that I was about to come, and that I needed him to fill me with his hot, thick spunk. One of his big hands clutched me by the hips, holding me steady as he bucked and jerked with his final few strokes, while the other wrapped round my cock and wanked me the couple of times it took to have my come jetting out all over the sheets.
“Fuck, that was fantastic,” Jan sighed, pulling out of my arse and rolling on his back. I collapsed beside him, sweating and satisfied, already feeling the heavy-limbed sleepiness that follows good sex.
“I really wish you could stay the night,” I told him, “but I’m sharing the room with someone, and he’d be a little surprised to find you here.”
“That’s OK, I quite understand,” Jan replied. He rose from the bed, disposed of the condom, then began to dress. Before he left, he tapped his number into my mobile phone. “You have plans for tomorrow?”
“Well, the lads will probably want to sleep in, but . . .”
“Perfect. Leave them to enjoy the city on their own terms. I suggest you have an early breakfast, then ring me and we’ll meet up at the Rembrandt museum. There are so many things I want to show you.”
He gave me a long, lingering kiss before he left my hotel room, and I couldn’t hide my grin as I heard the door shut softly behind him. I had a feeling we weren’t going to be looking at too many of the famous paintings before he took me back to his place to treat me to more of his unique Dutch hospitality. I knew this stag trip could only get more exciting for me, and whatever memories Dan and the lads took back to London, I doubted they’d live up to my own experiences of this beautiful city and my gorgeous tour guide, Jan.
No Sweat
Samantha, Dorset
My name is Samantha. On the day Luke joined the fitness club I was a receptionist there. Three hours after meeting him I was dismissed for gross misconduct in the workplace – oh, and in the car park too.
Looking back I can remember my first sight of him and, to be honest, I didn’t think he was anything special.
Working on Reception there’s a constant supply of eye candy, it’s a perk of the job. Yes, he had everything: stunning pale blue eyes, soft black hair – a tad too long, I thought – a tight sky-blue vest which exactly matched the colour of his eyes and showed off his standard identikit gym body and, of course, the inevitable very expensive aftershave etc. on full volume. Even so, he was Luke-warm to me, just another guy in the parade. That was my first impression. But I’d glimpsed the cover of the book, that was all.
It’s only fair to admit he didn’t seem to think much of me either. I could tell.
I like it when guys join and they check me out. Some do it “secretly”, some openly. Looking away from my screen to ask Luke the next question I could see there was nothing secret about his appraisal of my breasts and then my lips, as if contemplating kissing them, but then he got distracted by my colleague, Hayley, working behind me.
I guessed she was bending over at the filing cabinet – amazing how often the arrival of a tasty new member coincided with Hayley’s sudden need to file something and always in the bottom drawer.
As far as Hayley was concerned Luke was already hers. She’d caught him looking at her bum. Only Hayley can do this, she has perfect timing, turning at just the right time to trap him with her “you-naughty-boy” giggle, making him smile.
I liked his smile but even so it was OK by me if he was destined to be her latest “victim”.
Later, she tracked him round the gym using the security cameras. I half heard her fake-swooning description of his black shorts and how much tighter and sexier the sky-blue vest had become now he was sweating.
When Hayley was on her break and I’d all but forgotten him he reappeared at my desk. The bloom of fatigue enhanced him but wet hair didn’t. I handed over his temporary membership card.
A needle-thin spike of his raw sweat escaped the deodorant and hit me, right on target. He smelt utterly delicious. I felt hot. I wanted him and now it mattered desperately that he didn’t want me.
On the way out, he glanced over his shoulder for another look and we both smiled.
In his aftermath I was left in turmoil. I wanted more of that unique Luke smell and I wanted it with a blind, irrational, unfamiliar lust.
I tried my best to ignore it but my best was pathetic. Daydreams were running riot, escaping the playpen. Every time I blinked I got a different fantasy. We’re “trapped” under a winter duvet on a hot summer afternoon; I wake up next to him, zipped into a single sleeping bag; he’s on a running machine, naked, cool and calm to begin with but I am controlling the speed . . .
When Hayley came back from her break and discovered he’d gone she moaned on and on about it.
I took the phone call from Lost Property reporting that a sky-blue vest had been found in the changing room and was now in Locker 10, if anyone claimed it.
My heartbeat lost its rhythm. With trembling hands I routinely logged in the data, knowing nothing could stop me having that vest, nothing.
When it was my turn for a break, I got up and calmly unhooked the master key to the Lost Property lockers, heart now doing an improvised drum solo.
There was no one around when I got there, which was lucky because I don’t think I could’ve stopped myself opening that locker door even if there had been. I unlocked the door. The wonderful aroma of Luke was all but overwhelming. I slammed the door shut.
What was the smell like? Zest of orange; simmering wet chocolate; hot tarmac laced with coffee and wriggling lemon? None of the above, not even close.
He smelt of pure unadulterated fit adult male and it was gorgeous. He was all over me. It felt as if I’d let the Luke-genie out of the locker and granted him complete freedom to do anything he wanted to me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
But the genie replied, from somewhere deep inside my head, “If those are your three wishes, Samantha, I’m not that kind of genie. Why don’t you put the vest on?”
At the time, I couldn’t think of a reason not to.
The fact that anyone might walk in at any time; that the vest was not my property; that just to be caught with the master key would be serious, counted for nothing. I took off my blouse and persuaded the vest over my bra.
The touch of a garment never felt so sexy, breathing never so arousing. I felt giddy and uncoordinated trying to button up my blouse.
The fantasies kept coming. He came bursting in, naked, hot and angry, and tore open my blouse, saying, “People who steal must be punished.” His punishment was a kiss. He pressed me against the locker. Just imagining this was torture and punishment enough.
I went back to Reception and tried to look normal.
Occasional whiffs of Luke as I worked made me feel tipsy. If Luke was a drink he’d be a whisky with history and I should’ve been sipping not swigging. But I coped, greeting each new arrival at the desk with a professional, “How can I help?”
I heard Hayley in the background, giggling on the phone as I was booking someone in for a gym session. She had her “Luke” voice on. Once finished, I swivelled my chair to check on her but fell into her gaze.
I might as well have been in the headlights of a cop-car about to be given a caution. She told me Luke was coming to claim some lost property, told me to butt out when he arrived and reminded me that Luke was the one I didn’t want.
The very sound of Luke’s name on her lips chilled my blood, and that took some doing, but the realization of what she’d just said froze it.
She turned away to book in another client.
I dithered a while over what to do but really had no choice. I had to get the vest back down to Locker 10 before he arrived.
But then suddenly Luke was at my desk.
His eyes found mine and I knew with a thrill he’d not only been looking for me but was pleased to find me.
It took everything I had to hold myself together because
now all his charms were working on me except his deodorant. Now his hair was the perfect length, fluffed, clean and shining. He was wearing a sheer white but discreetly buttoned shirt and, best of all, the look in his eyes was all for me. I could tell.
Hayley interrupted our moment. “Hello, Luke, we spoke earlier on the phone . . .”
Her giggle sidestepped him along to her desk and although this annoyed me I knew it didn’t matter. I knew he wanted me. I couldn’t figure out why he so suddenly wanted me but knew for sure that he did.
Hayley was busy doing her “coy” voice: “I’ll go and get your vest. It’s a bit against the rules but you could come along with me if you like. I could give you the behind-the-scenes tour?”
Hayley does three levels of coy – korma, madras and vindaloo – and she’d treated him to the korma, mild and fruity and which I know, as an experienced bystander, has a sickeningly high success rate. But I couldn’t believe my ears when he said, blunt and definite, “No. Thanks. I’m OK to wait.”
He shot me a glance and might as well have used a gun the devastation it caused in me.
Hayley recovered quickly as always and sped off, saying, “I’ll only be a moment, please take a seat,” gesturing him away from me to the lounge waiting area.
But his eyes hadn’t left mine. In the intensity of the moment a red light came on, a hygiene red light telling me I was sweating. I could smell it – so he must be able to and . . .
The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions Page 20
