The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  Against each stroke my body moved with my fist, Hunter panting under my hands. I gasped and moaned, my hips insistent with short, sharp jerks. I fucked him up against the door. The only thing missing was my cock.

  “Your arse is mine,” I hissed, teeth gritted.

  Over my wet tongue, I sucked in a mouthful of air. Desire ripped through me, causing me to push him harder up against the door, feeling the wood panelling against my knuckles. Eyes closed, I pressed my face against the fine wool of his tailored jacket, and somehow found my hand gripped at the top of his shoulder.

  Images of Hunter stroking his cock filled my mind, and my mouth watered again. He liked to masturbate with long strokes – base to tip – so commanding, so controlled. I like to think of it as full wank, as opposed to guys who like to get themselves off just using their fingertips. With that thought I lost it, my fingers digging into his shoulder, and my pelvis once again fucking into his arse. My knuckles rapped at the wood with each stroke, but I was beyond caring.

  “Fuck! Fuck!”

  I couldn’t tell whether it was my voice or Hunter’s, but he suddenly stiffened and trembled, and this time I heard his voice as it rumbled through his chest. “Fuck, Olivia! Fuck!”

  When his cum spilled over my fingers my cunt pulsed, but I didn’t quite come. Still, as my panting slowed I realized how I’d taken Hunter against the door, and that my hand was still wrapped tightly around his cock. He sighed shakily as I eased my fingers away and tried to manoeuvre it back without accidentally wiping it on his jacket. I left for the bathroom, my vision turning sharply as I washed my hands, and barely managed to crawl into bed before passing out.

  I awoke early the next morning, just before dawn. I didn’t think that Hunter was that drunk, but we both still had our shirts on. The hours before were a little hazy, and my mouth was dry. Turning onto my side I shifted my thighs. I was still wet, and suddenly the images of masturbating Hunter against the door in the pretence of fucking him hit me.

  In moments I was out of bed and under the hot spray. I barely lasted a minute before I came. The force had my cheek pressed up against the tiles, panting, but even as my heartbeat slowed, I knew it wasn’t enough.

  When Hunter finally woke it was a little later than usual, and I heard him swear and run around the bedroom frantically in a bid to get ready. I almost felt sorry for him, as he normally took his time.

  “Olivia, I’ve got to—”

  “It’s OK, take the toast and run.”

  He held my face and gave me a hard kiss before grabbing two pieces and almost sprinting down the hall. As soon as he was out the door, I found myself at his drawer, leafing through the neat pile of underwear and pulling a pair of trunks out before I could stop myself. Slipping a pair of slacks over them, I then pulled out a white shirt, one of Hunter’s ties that he’d left knotted, and a jacket.

  I stood in the mirror looking at myself. There was no way I’d be mistaken for a man; I knew that as I turned from side to side. The material of his trunks moved against me as I shifted and I sucked in a sharp breath at the thrill. Goosebumps raced up my legs, and my nipples hardened. I wanted to get off – again – but if I started I’d be late for work. With my little secret, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d worn a tie, but probably the first time I’d decided to dress so masculine. A tie was fun, a talking point, perhaps a little kinky, but wearing a suit to work in this manner was a whole different ball game. Something came over me. During the mid-morning I sat in one of the partitions having a discussion, legs apart like a man. I caught their shifting eyes. Some of the men’s gazes kept straying to my crotch. And my female colleagues were strangely giggly, flirty even; touching my arm as they spoke to me, or putting their fingers on my tie.

  All the while Hunter’s trunks were whispering against my cunt, and by lunchtime I knew that it had been a bad idea. I was so turned on I had to go to the toilet to fuck myself with one hand over my mouth, barely taking the edge off. I spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of perpetual need: nipples tight, cunt wet, and continuous licks of prickling skin from my ankles to my breasts. The awareness was excruciating.

  Counting down the seconds before five, I strode out of the office with barely a goodbye. Standing at the train stop, I shifted from foot to foot with impatience. I still had a twenty-minute ride home. When the train arrived I muscled onto the carriage. Finding a corner I wedged myself into it, pulling out my tablet, and praying the time would pass quickly. I tried reading, but couldn’t concentrate.

  Staring at the screen, I opened up a browser and typed: “men in suits”. Oh. Fuck. Me. What another bad idea that was. I’d hit a couple of sites that were more than just hot men in suits, and slapped the tablet against my breasts as embarrassment flamed my body and painted my cheeks. Looking up, I saw that a couple of commuters had noted me with interest. I ducked my head, imagining they could tell what I’d been doing just by looking at my face. My only saviour was the announcement for my stop.

  Relief flooded me as soon as I pushed open the door to our apartment. A little throb taunted me as I walked into the bathroom and stopped at the sink. I looked into the mirror, glassy-eyed and face flushed. The throb found its way into my lower gut. Putting down my bag I slid my tablet out with a tight throat, and placed it on the counter, opening the browser at where I had left it.

  Need hit me as I undid my fly and pulled at my shirt. Shoving my hand inside, I stroked over my clit as I flicked through with my free hand. Fuck. I couldn’t remember ever being this hot for it. Picture after picture of delicious men in suits scrolled by before a video appeared. Without thinking I hit “play”, and watched as two men still dressed in their suits went for it in the exact same way I did Hunter the night before.

  “Oh, fuck,” I breathed.

  My other hand found its way into my pants and I thrust my fingers inside, working my clit quickly. The rise pushed up from my gut and snagged on my diaphragm. I whimpered. I was going to have to work for it. Upping the rhythm, I moaned and glanced back at the video. Something about the way they were still both fully dressed made me shudder as my head tipped back. My breath caught. It was going to be big—

  “Oli—”

  Everything happened at once. Hunter flung the door open as the top came with a heavy grunting moan that echoed in the bathroom. I froze, hands in my pants as the men’s pleasures faded away with Hunter silent behind me.

  My face was aflame. I was so stunned I didn’t even scramble to do my pants up. I couldn’t even make myself say the obligatory: “I can explain!” The silence was excruciating.

  Reaching past my side, and picking up the tablet, Hunter leaned against the counter in front of me, and began scrolling down. I stared at the tiles, burning with embarrassment. When the noises from the video started again, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me, but I couldn’t resist glancing up at Hunter’s face.

  Without looking at me he put the tablet back on the counter the way it was, and walked back the way he came. I gasped, my heart squeezing before I felt Hunter at my back, his hands sliding inside my pants.

  “What do we have here?” He tugged my pants down.

  Oh, God. I had forgotten about his trunks.

  His fingers slipped over my clit. “Keep watching.”

  I looked at the video, but I couldn’t focus with the sound of Hunter unzipping his pants. His cock pressed against my back before sliding between my legs. My back curved as my head dropped forward.

  “So, it makes you hot.” Hunter slid back and forth slowly.

  I moaned, pushing up onto my toes, my mouth falling open as I closed my eyes. Hunter continued his lazy stroke, his cock sliding between my folds. I flinched with each contact against my clit.

  “You are fucking soaking my cock.” Hunter’s cock slipped back between my arse cheeks, painting a wet trail, the head suddenly nudging up against my anus.

  “Fuck,” I hissed.

  “
Yes.” His voice was hard.

  I shuddered, and Hunter thrust inside me without warning, before sliding his way back again, this time his cock more insistent, pushing against my sphincter. I lifted onto my toes again.

  “Oh! Oh, fuck!” I twisted as the pressure increased, but he held me tight, his elegant fingers riveted to my hips.

  Straining, my whole body tightened as I braced myself, Hunter’s cock somehow pushing inside. The pressure eased as he slowly filled me.

  “Tight,” he groaned. “Fucking. Tight.”

  Reaching out, I grabbed the counter, curling my thumbs tightly around the lip, and squeezed my arse.

  “Shit,” Hunter rasped, his fingers digging into my hips before withdrawing his cock slowly, and thrusting back inside.

  I shook. I didn’t know how much more I could take before I exploded, my hips contorting of their own accord as I struggled to hang on.

  “Ah-uh,” he bit out, his arm coming around my torso, his palm sliding against my throat, fingers gripping my jaw. With his cock lodged in my arse, he restrained me.

  Whimpering in protest I continued to struggle, drenched thighs slipping against each other, and my aching cunt empty.

  “Look,” he demanded.

  Glancing at the tablet, and then in the mirror, my breath caught in my throat at the hard lust in Hunter’s narrowed darkening eyes.

  “Is this what you want, Oli?” Each thrust punctuated his words.

  He never called me Oli. Somehow, it only heightened the perversity. Eyes fluttering, I could barely moan, the slow grip rolling up through my body. I was going to come, solely from Hunter fucking me in the arse.

  “Why are you wearing my trunks . . . ? Why are you dressed in a suit with my tie on? You want me to fuck you like a man?”

  “Oh, God!” My voice was strangled, as I shuddered hard. In desperation, I tried to rock back.

  Hunter lowered his head, his heated breath filling my ear as his eyes held mine in the mirror.

  “Or maybe it’s the other way around,” he whispered thickly, increasing his thrusts.

  Inhaling harshly, my eyes widened.

  “That’s right. You told me you didn’t care who I batted for, you’d fuck me in the arse if I wanted you to.”

  My body jerked as I came violently, shaking uncontrollably as pleasure sparked through every nerve in my body. Hunter pushed me over the counter and slammed into me as he came with an agonized shout. Neither of us moved for a long time.

  So I guess I inadvertently found out what I’d said to Hunter. And, as for his trunks? Let’s just say he still catches me wearing them.

  The Joys Of Sucking Cock As A Straight Male

  Anonymous, Mississippi

  Cock-sucking, and straight male – sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it? Well, maybe in theory, but those of us that are “straight” (and there is reason I use the quotes!), happily married and enjoy sucking cock know better; and if you’re one of those people – well – my story is meant for YOU!

  It was a hot day back in the year 2000 (if I recall correctly), and I was just done with my last exam for the summer semester. It was July or thereabouts (again, if I recall correctly), the weather was hot and humid, and what better way to cool off after exams than with a few beers at the local creek? I should mention here that this experience is set in Mississippi – with plenty of natural greenery, woods, streams and secluded creeks where one can enjoy solitude along with the occasional six-pack and friends – the perfect place to de-stress after a hard day, or just spend a lazy Sunday afternoon; so this seemed like the perfect choice to me.

  One of my friends (an older guy and we’ll refer to him as friend during this narration, as I’m not sure he’d want his real name to be revealed) met up with me after my final exam that day. He wasn’t living in town at that point, but had come to visit a few friends, myself included.

  He suggested we head down to the creek with a few beers, and enjoy the rest of our day.

  It sounded good and I was free for the rest of the day and all the upcoming holidays with nothing better to do than laze around and drink beer. I had drifted apart from my last girlfriend a while before, so I was happily single at that point (and who wouldn’t be, really, at the age of nineteen) as well.

  So, we grabbed our suntan lotion (for my friend – not me – I have skin that tans, as opposed to his which turns a deepish red after too much exposure to the sun – not good!), ice chests, and stopped at the local 7-Eleven for a twelve-pack of beer, a few bottles of water and off we went.

  It was a blazing hot day, and my friend stripped down to his shorts as soon as he got to the creek. I did the same, and we started making our way across to a secluded spot where we could rest, chat and drink a few cold ones while soaking up the sun. We got to an empty spot pretty quickly – most folks had left town by then, so we pretty much had that part of the creek to ourselves.

  Suddenly, out of the blue, my friend says, “Fuck, I’m feeling damn horny.” Now, we’d had a couple of beers by then, nothing major, and I was actually feeling quite sleepy due to the heat and the beer so this sounded a bit strange to me.

  “Uh, OK,” I responded, not really caring at that point (and remember, we were both straight and just friends – no “fuck buddy” relationship at work here). I suggested that we had another beer, not really thinking about what my friend had just said.

  “I’m going to go jack off,” he responded.

  “Go for it,” I laughed. Now, this might seem strange to some folks, but we had been to the creek many times before, and my friend had this habit of getting horny there (perhaps he has a fetish for jerking off in public?). And he had actually jacked off before in that creek – not in front of me – but behind a few bushes, so it didn’t really mean a lot to me that he was “feeling horny” at that point.

  He got up, and disappeared some place behind a curve, and I continued with my beer, started the second, and almost finished it when I started to get bored, and wonder where the heck my friend had gone. I figured he’d be done spurting his seed by then, so it would be safe to go look for him – and so I went to do just that.

  Now, just so you know, his jacking off at that point meant about as much to me as little green men bouncing about on an unknown planet would – I really didn’t care, but I was getting bored and figured I’d “yank his noodle” (no pun intended!) a bit about this. And, to be honest, there was absolutely NO sexual desire then – it was pure boredom.

  So, I rounded the corner, and there he was – still with his pants down, and panting – with his turgid organ in his hands, white creamy cum dripping from the engorged head in big goblets.

  I’d never seen his cock before, and didn’t really feel anything looking at it for the first time at that point – it was mostly a sense of curiosity that led me to observe the shape of his penis, the glistening pink head, his pee hole and his balls – and I don’t recall even getting aroused by this at that point.

  He had apparently just finished jerking off. “Damn, why’d you come here now?” he panted.

  “Well, if you’re done . . .” I started to laugh.

  He pulled up his pants, and we went for a brief skinny dip after that – the water felt absolutely wonderful on my private parts as well, and my friend’s sexual interlude disappeared from my mind pretty fast.

  We stayed there till evening, had a few more beers, and then headed back home. We both took off our shirts on the drive back – I felt sort of funny doing so, but my friend egged me on.

  “Nothing wrong with a couple of guys with their shirts off,” he laughed.

  And he was probably right, so off we went back home, an odd “couple” really; me with my long hair and chocolate-brown tanned skin, and him still smelling of suntan lotion, with his pale white skin – with nipples that had a few hairs coming out of them at odd angles (my friend wasn’t really hairy, unlike me, but had a wee bit of hair on his body nonetheless).

  It was around 7 p.m. or so when we got back.
He was scheduled to go back home to Texas (where he lived with his parents), but it had been a long day, and he wasn’t particularly in the mood so he said that he was going to get a room at Motel 6. (I was living in the dorms at that point, and couldn’t have visitors staying overnight officially – or at least it would have looked strange to have male visitors overnight!)

  “Hey, why don’t we grab some burgers and hash browns at the local Waffle House? It’s right next to your motel,” I said. We’d been to that restaurant before and liked the food, service, ambience, etc. so off we went. We had a nice dinner, and then debated about how exactly to spend the night – and as with any college student worth his or her salt (especially after exams), our thoughts turned to beer.

  “Let’s go get smashed,” I said.

  “Well, let’s drink at the room, there are two beds, we can crash there.”

  “Sounds good,” I replied. “But won’t the motel employees think we’re a couple of queers though?” I asked, laughing out loud.

  “Nah, people do it all the time,” he responded. And I didn’t particularly care at that point – I was thirsty for some more beer, and didn’t really give a damn as to who was looking on to pass judgement.

  We got a room at the motel, and the guy at the check-in counter didn’t seem to care either.

  So, we started drinking – and we got to talking about sex, women, and all the kind of talk that guys generally do when drinking together. Mostly idle chat about the hottest women we’d seen, that girl’s legs, how the beer tasted so damn good, and so forth.

  I was feeling quite good after a few beers, and had to use the bathroom after a while. And the next thing I remember is my friend sitting there on the bed, with his pants down, underwear by his ankles and semi-erect penis dangling ever so invitingly – while he leant back on the bed with his beer.

  “I need to jack off,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I’m just too damn hard.”

  And at that point, I don’t know what exactly happened – I don’t even remember what I thought – all I can remember is a massive erection building in my own pants and me down on my knees kissing his warm, semi-flaccid dick as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.