The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  But that wasn’t it. She gave me a drink and started to suck it again, bringing it back to full hard in a very short time. Next she climbed over me and impaled herself on my spike. That first penetration was just unbelievable. She was making all kinds of moaning noises but I didn’t really believe her. I was just another trick I guess. But she was an incredible fuck, riding me till I came right inside her. It was only afterwards I realized she’d slipped a condom on me without me even noticing, so it shows how many dicks she must have fucked to be so expert. That’s really stupid, I think. Assuming the condom was to prevent disease and not just to stop her getting pregnant, did she think coming in her mouth wasn’t as big a risk? It was only then I realized she’d acted the swallowing; she had slipped a condom on me for that too.

  Still, I can’t complain – the risk was more to me than to her, but thankfully I never caught anything. She even slipped a third one on me – this time I was watching – and managed to suck me quite erect, but there was no way I could come a third time so soon.

  I have no idea how long I was in there, but eventually Dad came back with the woman and took me back down to the bar for some more booze. I never asked whether he’d had a woman too, but I guess he did. I can remember how incredibly proud he was of me, like he’d been watching. Who knows, maybe he had.

  It all left me with a few questions and a few quirky views on life. Firstly, convinced my dad had screwed the woman he was with, I decided it was OK to pay for sex, even if you’re married. Secondly, never mention it to anyone. He made that plain and it convinced me even more he’d done it in that bar and probably at other times as well. He kept on about it being our secret and not to tell Mum, so I never did. (After he died, a year later, Mum told me she knew, so she obviously tolerated it.) I still don’t know to this day whether Louise got a similar initiation, but I doubt it. Mum was a bit straight-laced and Dad was overprotective about my sister.

  After a couple of years without a girlfriend, nearly wearing my right hand out masturbating over memories of Charunee, I met Becky, in Cala d’Or, Mallorca. I’d gone away with Mum and Louise and while they went off shopping somewhere I went to the beach, keen to ogle the topless women that were always there. Becky was with a few friends on sunbeds, all topless. I was under the impression that, with my dark shades, I could watch girls without them noticing, but one of her friends spotted me looking and started to tease me.

  Becky came out in my defence and told them to stop bullying me, and, to be fair, they said they were just having fun. Two of them stood up and took my arms. I remember I could feel the sides of their tits on my arms and I started to get hard. Of course they noticed and teased all the more, but I felt OK with it because they weren’t being nasty. They took some photos with what turned out to be Becky’s camera and after we got married I found them on her computer. I made copies for myself – good wank-fodder.

  I got chatting to Becky and the others went for a swim in the pool, so it was just her and me and those fantastic pointy nipples. She caught me staring and asked why I was so fascinated. She told me she was flattered and didn’t mind, too. She always was very easy to talk to. We went out a few times in Mallorca and we fucked on the beach at night. She was sharing a room with friends and I was with Mum and Louise in our apartment; they shared and I had my own room, but I don’t think Mum would have been too impressed if I’d brought back a sexy girl and we went to bed together.

  Becks and I said we’d stay in touch and we did. We emailed a lot, texted a lot and met up a few times. I’d travel to her house, about two hours away, and she came to stay with us, but with both our mothers always around we had to have separate rooms. Then one time we told her mum she was coming to stay with me and told Mum I was going to stay with her. We’d booked a hotel halfway between. We liked a bit of fun, and for a joke I said she should turn up dressed as a hooker and we’d pretend I’d bought her for the night. OK, you sussed me out – the idea turned me on fantastically. But she was up for it, sort of, so off I went to the hotel.

  Her idea of a hooker was a bit different to mine. I’d been fantasizing about what she’d look like all the way down but when I met her in the hotel reception she just looked like she usually did. OK, it was the middle of the winter, so you don’t want to be too daring. We signed in; nobody batted an eyelid. Then we took the cases to the lift and got in, along with a couple of old women who were on a walking holiday. They stood at the front of the lift and Becky grabbed my hand and shoved it through the gap in her coat. I felt skin and lace – under the coat she was just wearing her underwear. My face must have been a picture because she laughed at me and asked if I thought she’d forgotten.

  When we got to the room I couldn’t wait to get at her, but she held me back and put on this funny accent, telling me I had to pay first. I told her not to be silly but she insisted, so I got all the money out of my wallet and gave it to her. She pulled her coat aside, stuffed the money in the top of her stocking, then fucked me like a mad thing. No condoms this time and she really did swallow my load afterwards. I can remember watching us fuck in the wardrobe mirrors, me all hairy-arsed naked and her all black stockings and suspenders.

  We went for a meal in the hotel restaurant later and she put a dress on over her stockings but didn’t wear a bra or knickers. I can still remember how much of a let-down it was when she eventually stripped off all the kinky stuff and became Becky again for the rest of our stay.

  She got pregnant and we got married the following year. I had a brief resurrection of my hooker fantasy when she took off her wedding dress to reveal stockings and sussies again, but they were all white and not quite as kinky somehow.

  Years later, our two kids are at school. I work shifts and Becky has a regular job in retail, so I’m at home a lot when she isn’t. I would occasionally take a tour of her knicker drawer and dig out those black suspenders which she’d never worn since that day in the hotel. Then I started looking at porn on the internet and it was always the hooker stereotypes that got me erect. The more I looked, the more I wanked until our sex life had started to dwindle.

  Then one day I joined a chat site on the internet. I knew what it was about, and I had no intentions of cheating on Becky, but, like a gambler does, I got hooked with the idea of meeting one of these exciting women for real. It was easy enough to do, and, no doubt, a very common story: Wife, bored, at home a lot while husband works, then he goes to the pub and gets pissed, leaving even more dissatisfied wife. Easy pickings for a randy bugger like me.

  I went to loads. The first was a blowsy blonde, quite a bit older than me but in easy walking distance. I went round her house and she pulled me inside, checking no neighbours were watching. We went through the cup of tea politeness and she got right down to it. She was bored and sexy but she liked little luxuries her husband wouldn’t buy her. In other words she wanted paying. That didn’t surprise me, which is why I had some cash with me, but what did surprise me was how much of a buzz I got from paying her. I reckon it’s because I feel like I’ve bought something and that obliges the women to do what I want. The customer’s always right kind of thing.

  I got her to dress up in an outfit like Becky wore and we had sex on her sofa. She made me promise not to come inside her (she didn’t insist on a condom) and said if I was good I could come on her face. That was a new experience for me in those days, though I’d seen pictures and videos of it on the internet. When she’d come (or said she had), I aimed at her face and pulled myself off, soaking her with my semen and watching it run down her face. Then it was another cup of tea, suggestions that I call on her again (I never did) and off I went.

  That night, reliving the experience in my mind, I was able to give Becky a good seeing-to, something she remarked about afterwards, saying she didn’t think I fancied her anymore. I didn’t tell her I was fucking the other woman in my mind. When I got near to coming (and I lasted ages because I was still knackered from earlier) I pulled out and climbed up Becky’s body, holding her fac
e while I came all over her. She looked really shocked and wanted to know why, but I just said I got the idea and had to go for it.

  All these experiences were adding up for me: the hooker in Thailand, the hotel with Becky, my love for her (and others) to be exposed in some way in public and the huge buzz I got from coming on faces. I know now I was trying to mess up my partners. I suppose I was degrading them, or objectivizing or whatever the feminists call it. I don’t think women are inferior; the opposite if anything, but I do like to spoil the perfection. The smarter they look, the more I want to ruin it.

  My life with these casual contacts paralleled my married life. I’d get ideas from the casual contacts and try them on Becky. I’d come on her clothes or her hair, even better if we were just on our way out and I knew that, even though she took a tissue to her face or clothes or hair, my come was still there. Sometimes I’d fuck her in her knickers and pull out just as I spurted, then pull them back up so she would feel wet from me all night long.

  What stupid me hadn’t realized was that Becky could add up too. Faster than I could. Unbeknown to me she was watching what I did, checking my pockets, diary, phone, emails and wallet. It was inevitable she’d find out. I can’t remember exactly what she discovered; some hotel or restaurant receipts I think. It doesn’t really matter what it was, only that she’d found out about my secret life and we were headed for a bust-up.

  Except it didn’t quite turn out as I expected. She was hurt and devastated by the fact I’d been screwing other women. But she thought it was all her fault. Her adding up had been better than mine, so she said she should have seen the signs earlier and done something about it. I don’t mind admitting we both cried that night. I felt like a complete shit and swore I’d never do it again if she’d stay with me. It took us a lot of talk and a couple of weeks to get past it all.

  I remember the beginning of part two of my life like it was an hour ago. I’d been out to meet a business contact (a real one, not a woman for sex) and when I arrived back the house was completely dark and silent. It was even stranger because the kids were staying over at Becky’s mum’s place, so Becky should have been there with the TV or her stereo blaring like she usually was. But there was nothing. I went in and called out but still nothing, so I went upstairs.

  She was on our bed, just wearing her underwear and made up to the nines, stroking her thigh between her stockings and knickers. It looked like her but didn’t at the same time. The make-up was heavier, with bright red lips and dark mascara. I asked what she was doing but she said we both knew why we were there and it was a hundred for a fuck and another twenty if I wanted to come in her mouth. I thought she was joking but she wasn’t. She wanted paying. I didn’t have that kind of cash so she said she accepted cards, and didn’t let me near her until I handed over my debit card. We both know each other’s PIN so she could (and did) actually use it.

  She told me to get on with it because she hadn’t got all night and had other tricks later on. Thankfully she was joking about that, though I’d have been a hypocrite to blame her if she had. We agreed on a hundred and I fucked her, with her going OTT with the moaning and thrashing about. When I got close she persuaded me to part with another twenty and went down on me to swallow the lot.

  We slept afterwards, but in the morning she was up and dressed – still in all the back stuff – and wouldn’t let me touch her. She went off to work still looking like a tart.

  It changed our life completely. I don’t get sex anymore unless I pay her. I’m not joking. Sometimes cash and sometimes gifts. It helps in some ways because I’ve given up smoking and cut down on the booze. I can’t afford other women now, either, which is maybe one of her reasons, but I get it back because she saves it up for holidays.

  She gave up all her sensible clothes and dresses sexily most of the time, even for work or picking our kids up or visiting relatives. We’ll be sitting at her mum’s, say, and she’ll wait until her mum isn’t looking and open her legs so I can see her knickers and stockings. We stop for sex in the open air, as long as I pay. To all intents she is a prossie now, except it’s just for me. I trust her that way.

  It’s freed me up a lot, too. Since I’m paying for it, I can dictate what I want, provided I’m prepared to pay her price. That means I can try anything. We’ve done BDSM, both ways, with her as the sub and with me as the sub. We do anal, something she admits she’s grown to like. I take the most obscene photos of her, usually playing with herself, which I also like. She does striptease.

  My latest idea is to watch her having lesbian sex with someone. She said I just want to fuck another woman but she knows that’s not the reason. I know, too, that she’ll do it as long as I pay the price. I know because she’s not the only one who can check internet history. She’s been on contact sites advertising for a bisexual woman. It’ll put the price up, but she’s worth every penny.

  She’s already started to wind me up about it. She works out a lot and goes to keep fit and badminton. She tells me about the women in the changing rooms, and that’s exciting to me because I know some of them. She described what they wear, what their tits are like or whether they shave their muffs and so on. She even told me that Vicky, my best mate Mattie’s wife, always wears stockings and sussies and I’m like yeah yeah. I said she was making it all up, then next thing I know she’s got a video – she sneaked some camcorder she bought on eBay in there and secretly filmed the changing rooms. Imagine how fucking exciting it is to see your mates’ wives and girlfriends getting their kit off. There was Vicky just as she said, flesh-coloured stockings and dark blue underwear. Mattie’d kill me if he knew I’d seen that. Becks got me ridiculously turned on and there was another hundred quid towards the holiday fund.

  Speaking of holidays, she doesn’t stop there either. She delights in finding resorts where the women go topless, and more than once she’s rubbed suntan oil on some lass or had it done back, bare tits and all. When we were in the Maldives she booked a his-and-hers massage, where two girls massage you both at the same time on two beds next to each other. I watched as this cute Asian girl spent ages oiling her tits, while Becky closed her eyes and smiled. Later on, I got a holiday discount and fucked her in the sea for fifty.

  I just hope I never lose my job.

  Life Begins At Forty

  Doug, Stittsville

  Joyce and I married later in life. She is a librarian and I am an antiquarian and until a few months ago we led a quiet, uneventful life. But that changed following a party at which we were entertained by our friends’ stories and videos of their numerous sexual encounters while on a cruise.

  While driving home, Joyce astonished me by asking, “Why don’t we do something like that?”

  “You mean have kinky sex?” I asked.

  “Well, we have lots of great sex together but it would be interesting to do it with somebody else. I’d be fascinated to watch you fucking another woman. And don’t husbands fantasize about watching their wives get it on with other men?”

  I gulped. This was indeed one of my fantasies.

  “I’ll be forty in a couple of weeks,” she mused. “Give me some really exotic sex as a birthday present.”

  I wasn’t sure what Joyce meant by exotic sex and I was sure she didn’t either. But she clearly wanted a dramatic change in our sex life. I needed help and after many cautious enquiries I found an expert in the field. Mrs Warren was a very elegant, older lady who, from her luxurious penthouse, arranged intimate adult encounters for select clients. I explained my problem to her.

  “It’s usually the husband who suffers a mid-life crisis not the wife,” she observed. “Let me think about your dilemma.”

  Two days later I heard Mrs Warren’s proposal: “I suggest that you and your wife perform at a soirée I’m organizing for a client next week. As foreplay your wife would be restrained and soundly spanked and then you would have sexual intercourse together. All this would be in front of my guests. Do you think that would be exotic enough?”
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  I was too shocked to even answer.

  Very tentatively I raised Mrs Warren’s proposal with Joyce and, to my amazement, she was wildly enthusiastic. “Oh, yes,” she enthused, “that’s just the exotic sex I want!”

  The evening for our performance had arrived and we were driving to the soirée when suddenly Joyce blurted, “I don’t think I can do this.”

  I looked at her in alarm.

  “I know I agreed to do this scene and it seemed kinky and thrilling at the time, but now it terrifies me, it’s so far beyond our usual sex.”

  “Just think of it as making love in a hotel room,” I responded with far more confidence than I actually felt.

  “But all those people will be watching me orgasm and listening to me come,” Joyce said. “And being spanked in public, you’ve never even spanked me in private!”

  “I’m sure the spanking will be just a few gentle slaps on the bum,” I assured her.

  “Well, I can’t do it. Let’s go home.”

  But it was too late to withdraw. As I pulled up to the front door Mrs Warren was waiting with an elegantly gowned lady who came forward to greet us.

  “Welcome to my home,” she said. “I’m Mrs Saunderson, the hostess for tonight’s soirée. We’re all eager to see your performance. As Mrs Warren’s newest erotic entertainers I’m sure you’ll show us some exciting sex.”

  Mrs Warren came forward and took Joyce’s hand. “You’re nervous, Mrs Simpson, that’s understandable, but it will pass as soon as you begin the scene. I’ll take you to the dressing room where you can remove your clothes and then get acquainted with the gentlemen who will engage you in foreplay.”