The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  “You little slut,” I said, and he arched at the delight in my voice. “You dirty little pain whore . . .”

  Every word made his cock jerk in my hand, but that wasn’t how I wanted to get him off. Telling him to stay where he was, I walked back to my room, snapped on a pair of latex gloves and grabbed a bottle of lube. He hadn’t moved an inch when I got back, and I stroked one gloved hand over his ass, which was burning hot. There was just a trace of blood where one stroke had cut too deep, and I grinned, resisting the urge to lick it.

  “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers, cutie,” I told him, and the way he spread his legs made me laugh.

  I pulled up my footstool, and I sat down. It put me right at eye level with his ass, which was about perfect. I pulled his cheeks apart, revealing the small hole between. He tensed but fell back when I gave him a sharp slap on the ass.

  I used plenty of lube, and the first finger slipped in easily.

  “You do this often?” I said heartlessly. “You’re loose even for a slut.”

  It wasn’t true, but he flinched like it was. I could hear him say please, but at this point, I already knew that he liked to beg.

  The second finger was harder. He wasn’t loose at all, and I had to wait until the muscle gave way, closing my gloved fingers in an incredibly hot vise. He was trying to take me, I knew that. He was trying to be so, so good, but that was before I forced the third finger in.

  He shouted, slamming a fist down on the couch, and I used my free hand to stroke his back.

  “That’s all, shh, that’s all you need to take right now . . . calm down, sweetheart.”

  He got himself under control, and then I started to move my fingers. They were so slick that they slid easily in and out of his body. I was nearly hypnotized as I watched his body stretch to take my slippery fingers.

  He was rocking towards me, back and forth, and when I realized that he was fucking himself on me, I moaned too. There was something ungodly hot about this big strong man made so helpless because of me. He was striped with belt marks because of me, his ass was open because of me, and he was making those gorgeous, pained and pleasured sounds all because of me.

  Steve’s hips started to pump harder, and I realized that he was getting ready to come. Well, that wasn’t happening, and I casually reached down between his legs and gave his balls a quick hard pull.

  “Hey!”

  I grinned at him when he twisted his head to look at me. After everything I had done to him, the look of confusion and offense was hilarious.

  “Not yet,” I told him, “but soon. I’m having too much fun fucking you open.”

  Those dirty words made him clench around my fingers, and he had no more complaints. I couldn’t force a fourth finger in, but he made such gorgeous sounds that I played with it for a while. Then I decided that I needed some attention.

  I stripped off the gloves and tossed them away, and then I sat down on the couch. He straightened up, and I brought him around to kneel on the floor in front of me.

  “Maybe I’ll let you use your mouth next time,” I said. “Right now, I want to see what you can do with your hands.

  Steve pulled another latex glove on clumsily, and I pulled my skirt up over my hips. His eyes widened when he realized I wasn’t wearing any underwear, and he blushed bright red when he realized that I was waxed completely bare.

  I slid down on the couch so that he could reach me better, and I sighed when his fingers pressed gently against my clit. He had mentioned a few girlfriends here and there, and even if they were complete bitches to him, I could thank them for teaching him how to finger a girl.

  He worked my clit for a long time, circling his finger around it and pressing it harder with every pass, and before I knew it, I was cursing at him, pulling his hair and calling him a slut and a whore.

  Steve started to push his fingers inside, but I yanked his hair hard, pulling him away.

  “Not like that,” I panted. I was so wet that I could hear it and smell it when he touched me, and no way was I going to be satisfied with his fingers, not when I had seen how big and thick his cock was.

  I scrambled down on the floor and passed him a condom that I had snagged from the bedroom. I spread my legs wide for him, and watched, licking my lips as he discarded the glove and rolled the condom on. As he knelt over me, I grabbed his shirt collar, dragging him close.

  “Hard,” I hissed. “All the way in, all at once . . .”

  He drew back a little at that. “But I’ll hurt you . . .”

  I gave him a quick smack on the cheek, enough to be loud but not enough to sting.

  “You are not calling the shots,” I snarled. By now I was nearly frantic, and I thought that if I didn’t get his cock in me, I was going to go crazy.

  That was all it took, and he took his cock in his hand, sliding the thick head between my pussy lips twice. I started to tell him to get on with it, and then he was pushing inside. I could feel myself stretch around him, and I was moaning and swearing and demanding that he give me more.

  When he was pushed all the way in, he paused for a moment, and before he could get second thoughts, I reached up for a quick hard kiss, only our second since this had started.

  It was like I let him off a leash. Suddenly he was fucking me so hard and fast that I knew I would have bruises on my rear. That wasn’t fair, so I reached back and grabbed his ass hard, digging my fingernails into the welts I knew were there. The sound he made was halfway between a growl and a moan, but he didn’t stop, not even for a moment.

  He was so big that I felt like a toy, like something he could just fuck and throw around. When his shoulders started to shake and I knew he was getting ready to come, I reached down and squeezed his ass as hard as I could.

  Steve shouted when he came, pumping into me harder than he had before, and while he was still panting, I shoved him off me.

  “Mina . . .”

  “Shush, baby,” I said, rolling him on his back. “I’m just going to show you how to do this right. Watch carefully, because you’re going to have to do this next time.”

  I straddled his broad chest, and I rubbed my wet pussy over his T-shirt a few times, relishing the stains and the way the fabric felt against my flesh. As he watched, wide-eyed, I pulled myself open and sunk three fingers inside. I was so sore because of him, and it was amazing.

  He watched as I fingered myself on his chest, and I could tell how much he wanted to put his mouth there.

  I started twirling my thumb around my clit, rubbing myself even harder against him, and when I came, I wailed out loud. The pleasure poured through my body, leaving me raw, spent and aching, and I rolled off him to stretch out on the floor.

  He immediately put his arms around me and pulled me close, and I grinned at that.

  “Should have known you’d be a cuddler,” I commented. “How’s your ass?”

  “Good,” he said shyly, and he reached down to kiss me again.

  We wouldn’t last more than two weeks as a couple, but whenever we’re both single, we know exactly who to call when we want some intense, no-strings fun.

  Boardroom Misbehaviour

  Becky, London

  It all started with a simple telephone call. It ended with me panting breathlessly with my pants down by my ankles; just where I wanted them to be. I confess that I’d screwed over my female boss but, no doubt at all, I’d loved getting screwed by an even bigger male boss in return.

  It was just after lunch when my phone rang in our office just off London Bridge. The voice said that it was Edward from the New York office. Initially he asked for my boss, Andrea, but she was on holiday, and I told him that I was Becky and asked if I could help. He needed some important figures emailed to him by 17:00 London time to be presented to the board. And that first simple, innocent call ended.

  I managed to get the figures to him with all of two minutes to spare. Moments later Edward called again, thanking me for the figures. His American drawl was languid and s
exy. Andrea always flushed crimson when he called. There was something about his parting line that played on my mind.

  “Think about me in the Boardroom, Becky.”

  Next morning a message popped up on my screen: So, Becky, did you remember to think about me in the boardroom?

  My pulse quickened. There was something so simple, so innocent and yet – yet, so utterly, undeniably provocative about his question. I resisted the compulsion to be flirtatious and sent him a professional response back, saying that we were all behind him. Something about the guy had definitely aroused my interest, though. He was a director in the New York office, a big player. Maybe that had something to do with it.

  Another email message popped up. The email said he’d closed the deal and he needed to arrange for somebody from London to attend to finalize the details, that he was going to ask Andrea but, in her absence, would I like to attend instead?

  In two minds, I logged out of the computer and left the office for my lunch break.

  The electric pace of the city had always excited me. It enthralled me to be in the thick of the action, surrounded by major players closing important business deals. At lunch, however, it felt satisfying to retreat to a separate world of peace and quiet. Today I returned to a stretch of green lawn by the Thames and laid down my towel. Boats cruised slowly and effortlessly past in the rippling water. Tower Bridge, with all its history and meaning, stood impressively to my left. Lying there on the stretch of grass, just hundreds of yards from the excitement, I still felt involved, only as a spectator, rather than a participant.

  The sun was strong. I was glad that I’d opted for a knee-length skirt and left my tights at home. My naked legs looked smooth, lean and tanned. Those lunchtime walks and gym workouts were definitely paying dividends. A delightful breeze brushed teasingly underneath my skirt. I casually gazed around. There was only one other person on the lawn, a man probably in his early forties with a thick head of dark hair. The man had closed his eyes and was lazily basking in the sun. Definitely fuckable, I thought. A light suit jacket lay by his side while a strong, muscled physique stretched his white cotton shirt. The guy looked important, like he was just taking a momentary break from a demanding and unforgiving work schedule.

  My eyes wandered lower. His grey flared trousers had developed at the crotch. I wondered just how hard he was under those thin threads. I imagined unzipping him. My skin tingled as I thought about taking him in my hands, hungrily exploring the thickness for myself, taking him in my mouth.

  One eye was slightly open, I could see that now. The man was subtly looking at me; watching me openly and unashamedly looking at him. My cheeks flushed crimson, just as Andrea’s did when she spoke to Edward. I looked away. When I glanced back, the man was still looking. There was a faint smile. The breeze blew my skirt higher over my thighs. The guy probably had a glimpse of my white cotton pants, I thought. I wondered whether he could see the dampness that seeped through them. I stood up, smiled discreetly and then walked away.

  That night I had only just removed my heels and stretched my legs on the sofa when the phone rang. It was Andrea. I instantly recognized her distinctive Scottish monotone. She was going to be away for at least another two weeks, she said. She asked whether Edward had contacted me and her tone immediately perked up. She rambled on about how she was supposed to have emailed the June figures.

  I told her not to worry, that I had it all sorted.

  When she asked whether he had said anything else to me, she could barely hide the excitement from her voice.

  I asked her what she meant and she was all hesitant and awkward, covering her tracks, no doubt, before she muttered disappointedly that she thought a possible trip to New York may have been in the pipeline.

  It was my turn to hesitate. I liked Andrea. She was a good boss. But she was still my boss, and in her eyes I was still just her dizzy, younger, prettier assistant. Against my better judgement, it felt kind of good to get one over on her.

  And so I lied and told her no, he said nothing like that.

  A few hours later I lay in the luxury of my corner bath. Only a faint soothing light was emitted from three scented candles on the edge of the tub. My naked body felt heavy and deliciously relaxed beneath the thick foamy bubbles. I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts to drift to the man from the river bank. I remembered how hard his cock had looked and how he’d caught me blatantly watching. I’d felt like a naughty schoolgirl and, damn, it made me tingle with excitement. As my thoughts wandered, so did my hands. They drifted over my pink, sensitive nipples and then grazed between my open legs. Just as the tip of my finger found its way to my erect bud, something hit me like a bolt of lightning. The man at the river had merely been a prop. I hadn’t been thinking about him at all. I’d been thinking about Edward.

  My thoughts were frantic now, completely out of control. I imagined Edward in the boardroom, closing the deal. Only, it was just him and a young female colleague in a big empty room. He casually perches his upturned backside against the edge of a long pine table. The woman intently, innocently stares into his eyes as she unzips his fly. She kneels down on the floor and takes his hard throbbing full cock in her mouth. I vigorously fingered myself under the foamy bath water as a realization hit me: the young woman in my fantasy is me. My legs thrust and splashed in the water as the excitement overpowered me.

  And then, my phone rang.

  I answered it without either opening my eyes or removing the fingers from inside my wet cunt.

  “So, Becky, are you coming?”

  Any second now, I thought, any second now.

  “Edward?” I asked, leaning back in the bath but still teasing and playing with my open, desperate sex.

  His voice sounded so deep, so sexy, as he asked me again whether I was going to come.

  I imagined him forcing his big American dick between my heavy tits. An extra finger pushed inside me. I dug my teeth into my hand.

  “Yes, I’m coming,” I panted, trying to hide the excitement from my voice.

  “Good,” he said, not missing a beat. “I’ll contact you to make the necessary arrangements. I’ll make it a trip to remember.”

  The call ended, but it was just the beginning of my ecstasy. I raised my legs high in the air and forcibly pressed the soles of my feet against the slippery tiles. My cunt felt plump and fleshy and raw with need. I stared at my reflection, through the rising steam, in the full-length mirror. My long damp blonde hair nestled between my full round tits. My normally pale cheeks were flushed pink; my face glistened with excitement and longing. I continued staring at my reflection as I released a husky moan at the top of my voice.

  New York taxi drivers talk more than London ones, which I’d never have thought possible. We manoeuvred out of JFK airport and onto the highway, passing an impressive stadium in the background which Joe, my driver, informed me was where the Yankees played. I wondered, with casual interest, whether the Yankees played American football or baseball, but dared not ask because I knew Joe would give me far more information than I wanted.

  The address I’d been given looked just as impressive as the buildings on Wall Street. The reception was open plan with white tiled floors, high ceilings and green plants. The guards were immaculately dressed in navy uniforms. My high heels clicked across the polished floor. The receptionist dutifully informed me that I needed the thirty-second floor.

  A whole party of people departed from the lift but only I got in. I checked the buttons and then checked again. The thirty-second floor was right at the very top. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I definitely looked professional, with a grey skirt to my knees (with a subtle slit along the thigh) and a reliable cream blouse (with maybe one button too many undone).

  The floor was deserted. It seemed it was used solely for meetings and, as it was Friday night, most of those would have finished a long time ago. I stopped outside the correct room, from the details I’d been given, adjusted my skirt and took a deep breath. And
then I knocked.

  The voice that told me to come in was familiar, only clearer and more real now that its origin was here and not thousands of miles away on the end of the phone. I opened the door and tentatively walked in. I was scared. My legs felt unsteady and my knees weak. I had absolutely no idea what to expect.

  The room was spacious and open plan. The windows overlooked a city full of activity outside. Inside, it was quiet and secluded. The room was dominated by a long mahogany table in the centre. Which is what Edward Mitchell rested against, clad in a dark suit that clung to his shoulders.

  In a way, he was just like I expected. He was probably in his early forties. There was just the hint of light stubble covering a strong jaw and his hair was thick and dark and wavy. He was tall and lean and strong. For some reason, I’d pictured that. What I hadn’t expected was the mischief in his full red lips and the passion in his hazelnut eyes.

  I was instantly smitten.

  He shook my hand and then planted an impromptu kiss on both of my reddening cheeks. He smelt strong and masculine and yet irresistibly fresh. He told me that it was wonderful that I was there, that he hoped I had a good flight, all that sort of small talk. He was charm personified.

  He brought up a presentation on his laptop, detailing what had been achieved in the USA and in the UK and outlining the plans moving forward. I smiled and nodded and made appropriate contributions when necessary. It was all background noise, though. My mind was full of other possibilities, so much more sinister and exciting. I wondered what plans, if any, Edward Mitchell had for me.

  I signed the documents. Sealing a deal had never felt so darn exciting. Edward moved from his chair and sat on the edge of the long table, looking down on me. Even underneath his dark expensive slacks, his legs were strong and muscular. He looked at me now. His gaze was so attentive, almost intense. His eyes drew me like a magnet.

  “I bet I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

  You really don’t want to know what’s going through my wicked mind right now, I thought.