The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  He smelt salty – sort of like the creek, but I think it was the manly smell of his organ along with the cut cockhead pointing straight at me like a sword that really got me going – that, and the fact that I just wanted to give him pleasure so badly at that point. Nothing else mattered, except that swollen cock in front of me. Thinking about it later, this wasn’t strange really – most of my fetishes revolve around service/submission to a degree. For instance, I’m the one rubbing a lady’s feet, being ordered around by her laughingly while she relaxes, etc. At that time though, logic didn’t matter, and I started sucking my friend’s cock like I was born to do it.

  I still remember taking his entire organ into my mouth, and deep-throating it until I started to gag. He liked this though, and started pumping in and out of my mouth. I licked his pee hole carefully in between his thrusts, and kissed his cockhead like it was a pair of luscious lips I was kissing, and gently started slobbing all over his knob, while he relaxed with his beer.

  “Damn, you’re good,” he sighed. And at that point I felt so subservient – I wanted to call him my Master – to be his bitch for the night, to serve him, to massage his feet after he came, to lick his asshole until he ordered me to stop – in short, to be used for his pleasure – but I was too raw at that point, and didn’t reveal all my true feelings.

  He started to get a little limp after a while, and I asked him if it didn’t feel good.

  “No, just too much beer,” he said ruefully, as his cock flopped on my face with me licking under his balls. That’s another lasting image I have from that night – his cock resting on my face and him on the bed while I kneel beside him providing him with pleasure – manna from heaven for any sub into this.

  “Wait a minute,” he then said, pulling his shorts up and walking outside to the car. He returned with a bottle of suntan oil.

  “Use this,” he said. “It might feel a bit better.”

  At that point I’d have bent over and offered my ass to him if that was what he wanted, so this wasn’t a tough one.

  “Is it harmful to ingest?” I asked.

  He reassured me it wasn’t so I smeared the sticky oil lovingly onto his cock and balls, all the while thinking, What the heck am I doing? and enjoying every minute. I think the beer was what was delaying his orgasm – that, and his jacking off earlier during the day. But that didn’t deter me from making love to his manhood like there was no tomorrow.

  I must have sucked him like this for at least half an hour before he asked me to jerk him off.

  “Faster, faster,” he moaned as I worked his lovely shaft and engorged cockhead with both my hands.

  I took him into my mouth after doing this for a while, and he suddenly arched his back, gasped loudly and moaned like he was about to die. His moans bore testament to the exquisite pleasure I was giving him, and he suddenly came without warning in my mouth. Not quite the gushing geyser I was hoping for, but there was still plenty of sticky, tasty cum all over my mouth and tongue. His cum tasted a bit sour – I still remember the taste years later.

  Anyway, at that point I was so horny myself someone could have said “Cum” to me, and I’d have shot bucketloads of cum all over the room. I lay down on the bed, and asked my friend to jerk me off. He stuck a finger in my ass and started jacking me off while I played with my nipples.

  “Suck me,” I asked him hoarsely.

  He started sucking me but, for whatever reason, he wasn’t quite getting into it – perhaps because he was already spent, or perhaps because (as he later told me) he likes to be the one getting pleasure more than the one giving it. It wasn’t a problem for me at that time though, I simply spread my legs wider, and asked him to jerk me off instead, while I lay there moaning in ecstasy and playing with my ever so sensitive nipples.

  And within a minute or so, I had the largest and longest-lasting orgasm I could remember having for a long time – my cock literally exploded with cum – I couldn’t ever remember an orgasm this powerful in recent times – the cum just kept on spurting out of my cockhead for what seemed like forever.

  Finally, I lay spent on the bed while my friend washed the jizz off his hands.

  After it was all said and done, and my lust gone, I felt a little strange, like, “Should I have done this?” I popped another beer, and started to try and chat with my friend again, but for some reason it just felt a bit too odd. My friend wasn’t in the least bit concerned though (and with good reason – no reason to be ashamed of some good “innocent” fun!) – I later learnt he had done this before with other friends as well, so this wasn’t a first time for him by any means.

  He lit a cigarette, and relaxed on the bed, and I got another beer. That didn’t last for too long though – we were both pretty spent by then and collapsed on our respective beds. My friend had invited me into his bed, and it was a pity I wasn’t bold enough to accept – I’d probably have got a chance to fulfill my fantasies of massaging his feet (among others) as he slept comfortably if I had. But it was my first homosexual experience – and I have NO regrets – I still look back upon that experience with fondness.

  The next day, he dropped me off back at my dorm as if nothing had happened and then went to visit some other friends. We met up again a little later though.

  I was sort of leery discussing what happened but he made me feel at ease about it and he said he’d enjoyed it. I mumbled something and turned scarlet with embarrassment, but he told me to let him know if I wanted to do it again. I nodded and shifted the topic of conversation onto some other things.

  We remain friends to this day, and I cannot help but get an instant hard-on the minute I recall this experience, even though it’s been years since it occurred! I’ve had repeated fantasies about this particular encounter – fantasies that are as intense and erotic to me as other fetish-related fantasies (for instance, this experience is on a par with my fantasies/experience of being a foot/general slave to the right lady – which I’ve also done, and would love to tell you about!). I’ve also dreamed of taking this man-on-man “play” further, and really pleasuring another man with my oral talents. More nipple play, more gentle kisses all over the body, more and varied cock and ball worship, and cum drinking, more anal play (designed to please the other party). I haven’t yet had the chance to fulfill a lot of these fantasies – with a man – but I have fulfilled some of them with my wife. Yes, the part about me coming that night doesn’t get much mention here, but I think I’m “born to serve” and that is precisely what I did that night!

  Anyway, this is getting to be too long a narrative so I’ll end here. Oh, and for what it’s worth – yes, I did play with my friend again one fine morning – but that’s another tale, for another time!

  Hope you enjoyed this little narrative as much as I enjoyed experiencing it!

  Blind Date

  Sam, Watford

  It was one of those management courses that we had to go on, either to make the company look good – as if it “cared” about its employees – or more likely because someone had set a budget for the year and the business had to get rid of it before the start of the next one. I didn’t care what the reason was because I was away from the office for three whole days, even if it meant driving to Coventry.

  The venue for this event was a hotel that was in sight of the old cathedral spire, their website said. Perhaps, but the spire wasn’t visible from the window of my room. As it rained a lot while I was there I wasn’t planning on going out and searching for the place (I once won a Graham Sutherland book at school for art and I understood one of his pieces was a tapestry that hung in the new cathedral, so I was vaguely curious but not enough to go in the rain) so I hung round the bar at the hotel.

  As most of the other delegates did the same it was a good chance to network, or at least stare at the women on the same course. As a married man for nearly fifteen years, of course I never would do anything that my wife would find out about, so mostly I stared at the females in the bar. To be honest, I had looked
at them in the lectures. More interesting than learning how to be “a more effective manager through clock watching” or something.

  The women were, like us men, a mixed bunch. Some young, some not so young. One or two of the females might be considered glamorous and a couple more regarded as attractive. But if there’s one thing to be said for these courses, the women tend to be smarter because they have a business background and probably feel they are representing the company that sent them there, and they are equally desperate for an away-from-the-nest bonk.

  Now I would love to say that in my three nights at the hotel I got my end away. But while there was a lot of looking and smiling and some flirting there wasn’t much on offer. I don’t regard myself as an unattractive male but there seemed little coming my way. Either I didn’t have what they wanted or they didn’t want what I had. I resigned myself to going home on the last day without doing the thing I wouldn’t tell my wife about.

  The final session was in the morning. Friday morning and I think the organizers of this bash thought we would all stream back to the office and put into effect what we had learned in the time we were on the course. But, human nature being what it is, we all agreed that setting off at midday wouldn’t give much time to be a better manager so it could wait until Monday. May as well drive home in a leisurely fashion, we all said. Good management wasn’t rushing, as one of the seminars had told us.

  The first thing we were going to do that day was a trust exercise. Apparently trust is the cornerstone of better business relations. Normally I would say I trust the company to pay my wages on time and I wouldn’t trust some of my colleagues an inch. But, hey, that was why I was there: I obviously needed to learn more about trusting people.

  The trust lesson itself was simple. You would get a partner and each of you would take turns to help the other one, who was blindfolded, for half an hour. That meant you had to lead them round, telling them to mind objects like coffee tables and chairs, avoid other people and so on. It was trust because while you vaguely knew the other person you didn’t know if you could trust them to stop you barking your shin on a table or letting you go headlong down the stairs. They were carpeted, but I didn’t fancy that.

  There was a random draw for partners and I had hoped I would get one of the younger women. I didn’t. I got a man who was about my age, so maybe the draw was fixed in some way. Perhaps trust didn’t extend to male-female togetherness. Moving a woman around, with her unable to see, might have resulted in some casual feelies – on both sides, but mostly from the man. Apparently the toilets were out of bounds and I was happy about that. I didn’t want to ask some bloke if he needed a guiding hand in the loo in his half-hour of darkness. But the exercise would involve getting the other person a drink and making sure they didn’t tip fresh hot coffee into their lap.

  After the hour devoted to mutual fumbling in the dark with a helping hand to guide the fumbler, it was planned we would have a discussion about what we had experienced. Fair enough because you didn’t have to say much if you didn’t want to, other than my planned “Wow, that was amazing.” Such comments always got you brownie points if the course leaders had to fill in an evaluation of how well you did for the entertainment of your bosses back home. They did say they weren’t charged with doing that but I didn’t believe the two people running it as they took notes all the time. A trust issue, I suppose.

  That was the plan, and the first part, leading Jake as my “blind partner” (he was from Glasgow and I had a job not to call him Jock), went well enough: “Mind that, Jake,” and “There’s a chair behind you, so take a step back and then sit” and so on. I managed to get him through his allocated thirty minutes blindfolded without any injury. We had to promise neither of us would remove the blindfold and neither of us did.

  Then it was Jake’s turn to lead me. He was a bit younger than I was and didn’t even look as if he shaved yet. Not that it mattered; he had a sense of fun about him and could certainly tell jokes and a few of the women seemed to like him a lot. I have no idea if he was getting what I wasn’t during the nights at the hotel and I didn’t expect him to tell me. One has to be professional about these things.

  So, there I was being guided by Jake and within a few minutes we were bumping down a corridor and then into the lift. I heard the doors hiss open and close and a “ding” as he must have pressed for which floor he wanted. I had imagined we would have to stick to the conference room and the bar and the reception area but no one had said we couldn’t go in a lift. It was all part of the experience of trust anyway.

  We got out of the lift with him guiding me and then we went through a door. It felt, and I had no idea if it was, like a hotel room. I could smell some sort of fragrance, like someone had a shower that morning and used plenty of shampoo, but there was also the aroma of a woman’s scent.

  A woman’s hotel room? I was intrigued, and even asked where we were. “Don’t worry about that. Trust me,” said Jake in his Scottish burr and I went along with it.

  It was then that I felt another pair of hands on me. I admit I jumped a bit and Jake said I ought to stay calm. He probably used the word “trust” again so I was sure he was there and I did want to be calm, just in case this was some test by the organizers. Brownie points and all that.

  I was pretty sure I could smell a woman’s scent, at which point some part of my professional, managerial brain reverted to its more primitive role and my cock began to harden in my trousers. Then, to my astonishment (and I am not quite sure how I didn’t rip off my blindfold then and there), I felt my trouser fly being undone. Someone was being very careful to unzip me, and a hand gently freed my cock from my underpants. If it wasn’t hard before it was now and it stood out (I imagined) like a rod.

  I felt a hand on my stiffy, grasping it gently, and then someone’s breath on my cheek. I gulped, because it had the gentleness and aroma of a female about it. Then the hand on my cock began to stroke me. Not hard, but steadily.

  “Jake, what’s going on?” I asked and a voice very near me said not to worry, everything was OK. All I had to do was to relax, he said. I suppose it was a pointless question; I was being masturbated, and carefully too. I wondered if I should reach out at about chest level and get hold of the breasts of the woman wanking me (I figured by the way I was being held it was a right hand jerking me off, so the woman had to be on my right) but even though I started to lift my hands I heard Jake tell me to keep them down. “Don’t spoil this,” he said.

  I kept my hands to myself and felt my cock beginning to get ready to spurt. Actually, I’ll be honest and say there was something really erotic about being wanked while not knowing who was doing it. I imagined one of the more attractive females doing it and, better still, the blindfold – which covered most of my face – acted like a mask. If I had been the slightest bit embarrassed it wouldn’t really have shown. I could blush away and no one would know.

  Of course I wanted to know which of the hot-looking females at the hotel was playing with me, and doing it pretty expertly too. She was slow and careful, like she wanted to use up most of my half-hour of darkness teasing me. I was trying hard to be a gentleman and not peek, though I did wonder why this hadn’t happened earlier. If a woman on this course fancied me, why wait until now? Why, in fact, get Jake to bring me to her room? Surely, I reasoned, she could have made her interest in me known earlier. A lot earlier, I figured.

  But here we were, and then I had another shock. I felt a kiss on my cheek from the other side of where I imagined my masturbator was standing. I gasped and heard Jake, somewhere near, say not to panic. He even used that damned word “trust” again. So, I was in the presence of two women? Naturally it would be two because they must be on the course and the women had been paired together for this exercise just as the men were. So, was one of these females blindfolded too? Was this their own trust exercise?

  My cock went even harder at this and the feather-touch on it was joined by another, from the other side. Two anonymous wom
en wanking me was putting me in heaven. But I had no idea who they were. They were tossing me off together and staying quiet. Even if they had spoken, I would have had no clue who they were, even if I could trace the accents and put a face to the voice.

  I was just about to come hard when I felt the hands slip away and immediately a mouth on my cock. It was an expert mouth at this; the tongue flicked round the head of my prick and began to suck at the same moment. I could feel the presence of two bodies against my sides but it was the third one, carefully licking and sucking my cock, that was doing the work of firing me up. I felt my semen build and in moments it blasted out into the person sucking me off. The person in front of me didn’t make a sound but swallowed perfectly everything I had.

  I was drained in the best way, to say the least.

  The figures moved away from me and then I felt Jake’s hand on my arm and his voice in my ear. “Time to take you back downstairs,” he said and guided me out of the room and into the lift, telling me not to ask any questions and just accept. Yes, he used the word “trust” again.

  I only took my blindfold off when I got into the conference room and I looked at him. Jake just smiled and shook his head, indicating he wasn’t going to say anything. Other pairs drifted back in and at once began to talk about their experience. I looked at the female pairs in order to hopefully detect which pair were looking at me, maybe with a twinkle in their eyes. But no one was, and Jake seemed relaxed and not looking at any female in particular.

  The final part of this story is that nothing was said about the incident. No one whispered to me, nobody gave me a wink or a look I could interpret, no one left me a note in reception. Jake didn’t say anything about it, even when I asked, merely saying there were some things you had to accept. And with that the training course was wrapped up for us to head home.