Confessions, Volume 1

by Miranda Forbes

  It was a great technique, even if you could only do it once a week or so, and of course it’s far too kinky to be done in public or anything like. We did do it at a party, in front of Dave and Claire and two other couples, but it was that sort of party, which is a different sort of thrill. She was also keen on something a bit more public, although what really got her off was the idea of other people seeing her get a spanking and thinking it was for real. I liked the idea, especially if whoever saw it thought she was getting a real punishment, she got so turned on she couldn’t help coming.

  I had to pay for it in the end, sort of, but it was worth it, because I did her in a way that had her shaking with excitement just the first time I explained what I was going to do. Two months and a lot of organising later we were in Amsterdam, at a brothel that specialises in floor shows. I’d fixed it so that their regulars would get an offer of the chance to watch one of the girls punished, which meant that the punters thought Leonie was getting it for real and she loved that. I did her on stage, with her tied down over a whipping stool by me and two big Dutch guys, just the way she’d been before, knees apart and bum stuck up in the air, only this time with a couple of dozen horny sex tourists to watch. They were real bastards, all of them getting off on seeing her led out and bent over and tied up in that position. Some of them even had their cocks out before I’d got her knickers pulled down, and not one of them objected, for all that she was pretending to fight and kept begging us to stop, at least she did until I’d gagged her. They loved her beating too, and half of them had come long before she did, but when she did it was like an explosion, and they really loved that, seeing a girl punished, badly, but so turned on by what was being done to her that she climaxed under the whip. I’m still with Leonie, and we’ve got another booking in a couple of months, so if you happen to be in Amsterdam …

  STUART — Fulham

  Miss Prissy

  Leila Hunt was a teacher at the local secondary school. We saw her go past our office every morning and back in the afternoon, so perfect with her smart heel clip-clopping up the road, her slim legs in stockings, her knee-length skirt and jacket, her crisp white blouse and the little black ribbon tie she always wore. It was like a uniform for her and any other woman would have looked frumpy in it. Not Leila, because even with her glasses and her hair up in a tight bun she was a dream. Just to watch her bum wiggle under that skirt made my cock stand to attention, and for all her effort to look neat and respectable it was obvious she had a hard job finding blouses that would hold her in properly without being too baggy around her waist. Stripped down she’d have looked like a centrefold.

  I wanted her from the first day I saw her, and I thought, why not? She was in her late twenties, not much younger than me, and if I wasn’t quite in her league looks-wise, then I’m not a bad catch. My income running my own letting agency had to be three times what hers was for a start, so you’d think she would at least have been up for a date to see how we got on. Not a bit of it. I thought I played it well, looking sharp when I approached her, making sure she saw the 7 series and knew it was mine, asking a straight question: could I buy her a coffee or a glass of wine at the place across the road?

  I didn’t just get turned down. I got looked at as if I was a flasher, or some dirty old man who’d asked if she’d give him the knickers she was wearing, seriously. Her nose went up in the air, she gave a little sniff and walked straight on by, still wiggling that sexy little rump all the way to the corner. I’d expected at least a smile, and I was so taken aback I just stood there in the street, gaping like a goldfish. The boys in the office thought it was hilarious, but I noticed that none of them tried their luck, because every single one of them knew that if that was the reaction I got then he’d get worse.

  We reckoned she had to be a lesbian. It was the only explanation that made sense. After all, if she was with somebody she’d still have been flattered and could either have given me a polite refusal or taken a chance that I might prove a better deal than the boyfriend. If she had no interest at all, then it had to be that she preferred girls. That was a thought to make you sweat. I mean, what a waste, to think of that gorgeous woman out of bounds because she’s a carpet muncher, but that wasn’t so bad, because at least if I wasn’t going to get to dip my wick, then nor was anybody else. No, what really got me was the thought of her getting down to it with her girlfriend. I couldn’t see her with some hairy diesel dyke, she just had too much class. Whoever she was with would be just as good-looking, slim and smart and sexy, maybe another teacher, or some sort of professional anyway.

  I could imagine it, all too easily, the two of them laughing together over the way she’d turned me down. The girlfriend kissing her, right on the lips. Fingers going to blouse buttons, undoing them, opening the sides over those magnificent tits, her bra undone and slipped off down her sleeve the way girls do, then all that flesh bare, round and bouncy and naked in her girlfriend’s hands, to be felt and kissed and sucked until they’re both so turned on they do it in the hall, maybe a sixty-nine with their smart suits dishevelled and their pussies in each other’s face. Like I said, it’s enough to make you sweat.

  We never did see her with another girl, and one of the boys, I forget who, suggested she might like geeks instead. Well, intellectuals, if you prefer, one of her fellow teachers perhaps, some egghead in a scruffy suit and his hair all over the place, probably with a five-year-old Volvo and a house full of pretentious books. That was worse, if anything, to think of a man like that with her, touching that beautiful body, his clumsy hands undressing her, feeling up her tits and bum, and her putting up with it because she thinks he’s clever and never knowing what she’s missing. Bu then, we never saw her with a bloke like that either, or anybody else.

  It was just the same every morning and every afternoon, clip-clop one way along the road and clip-clop back the other. I thought about having another go, reckoning that maybe she’d been on her monthly or something, but the way she’d reacted before put me off and I did not want the boys to see me get the brush-off a second time. So I contented myself with watching, and with undressing her in my mind, but I hadn’t given up. All the while I was wondering what the secret was, because if there’s one thing I’ve learnt down the years it’s that there’s always a way into a woman’s knickers. You just have to find it.

  Okay, for some guys it’s hopeless. If you look like a complete fucking pig and you’re broke and you smell, you’re getting nowhere. Then some girls are really into older guys, and of course there’s lesbians. So maybe one woman in twenty isn’t up for it no matter what unless you’re a sugar daddy, or another girl, or whatever. The rest are game, and it doesn’t matter a toss if they’re married, or going out with somebody or what. I know they always go on about love and being faithful, but it’s all bullshit. Get them horny and set it up so they reckon they’re safe, and you are in, my son.

  The boys had nicknamed Leila “Miss Prissy” and reckoned she was unobtainable, but I couldn’t help thinking of her as Leila, or even Miss Hunt, which seemed to suit her, and I hadn’t given up. I thought maybe she just needed a bit of time to get over herself, and so I tried the friendly approach, giving her a little smile when we happened to pass in the street, and making sure we did quite a lot. She ignored me like I didn’t exist.

  I was sure she’d noticed me, because she had to have done, and reckoned that maybe she was one of those girls who like a man to make a lot of effort before she’ll even look at them. I did my best, carefully avoiding the office and the boys so they wouldn’t take the piss, first off asking her for directions so she at least had to speak to me, even though from the look on her face she knew full well I was trying one on. Next I tried the old spare ticket routine, with seats for some poncy Shakespeare play, which is what I reckoned she’d be into. All I got was a cold “No thank you”. When I got down on one knee right in front of her with a huge bunch of flowers and a bottle of champagne
she couldn’t ignore me, or so I thought. She crossed the road.

  After that I gave up, mainly because I didn’t want her thinking I was some kind of stalker. Anyway, I was knocking up this nice little Turkish piece from one of the local restaurants, very smart, with an arse like a watermelon and tits you could drown in. Unfortunately she was the marrying kind, and I didn’t like the way her dad used to strop his kebab knife when I came to call for her, so I had to drop it. That was a pain, but seeing Miss Prissy clip-clop past that same afternoon reminded me what I really wanted, and what I wasn’t going to get.

  I did my best to put it all out of my mind, because that kind of stuff fucks up work and when it comes down to it I know the bottom line: money. We’d got some new property on the books, a big old house that had been full of squatters but only needed a bit of elbow grease and a lick of paint to make a nice set of one-bedroom flats. That’s what Mark reckoned anyway, so I put it on the boards and went down to have a look.

  It was more like the place had been full of pigs, and we had the council coming round on the Monday, so it looked like I was going to have to get my hands dirty and it was going to be a working weekend. That’s the trouble with being the boss. I got down to it on the Sunday, sweeping and shovelling and scrubbing and Christ knows what, just to make it look as if it hadn’t been condemned. All morning that took me, and most of the afternoon, until I looked like I was on the bins. Which is when Miss Prissy walks in.

  Of all the luck. I mean, I’m a smart guy. I never let it slip, even when I’m at home, except very rarely when work means I have to. If my chances had been slim before, now I was stuffed, but she was looking for a flat and that stupid bastard Mark had given her the keys on the Saturday without telling me. I had to show her around: what else could I do?

  Just the way she was wrinkling that perfect little nose made me feel like a tramp, only she didn’t seem to be in a hurry at all. She wanted to look around all six of the bedsits, in every room, and when she’d been right round she asked to see the garden as well. I tried to put her off, because it looked liked a rubbish tip, but she wasn’t having it. There was even this shed at the back, so full of shit that you wouldn’t believe it. You could hardly get in the door, but she has to have a look. So in she goes and I’m standing outside when she calls to me. I went in, thinking she was going to give me a bollocking for showing her a place in such a state, but she’s standing there, or not exactly standing, more propped up against a pile of old linoleum rolls, looking thoughtful and licking her lips. Now I know a randy girl when I see one, but I couldn’t figure this out at all. There she is, as smart at ever, those big old tits looking like they’re going to burst out of her blouse, with her nips poking up through the silk, looking like she’s ready for bed, only in this dirty old shed with me looking like a tramp or something. I didn’t know what to say, but she did. She says, “It’s Stuart, isn’t it? You like me, don’t you? Why don’t you show me?” This and she’s looking right at my crotch, then again, “Go on, show me, take it out.”

  No woman needs to say that to me twice, especially not a doll like her, and if she wanted to play funny games, well, I wasn’t going to stop her. So I unzipped my overalls and pulled it all out, showing her what I’d got, and she’s staring and licking her lips. “That’s nice,” she says, “get it hard for me.” I’d got over my surprise by then, so I told her that was her job, and do you know what she says? “Make me do it then.”

  So I did. I got her by the hair and pulled her down on the floor, kneeling on the dirty concrete. I stuck my cock in her mouth and she got sucking like she’d never had it so good. By then I’d got her figured. She liked it dirty, just the opposite to the way she normally was, and the state she’d got me in I was ready to give it to her. There was more than that and all. After the way she’d treated me, all those snotty little glances and walking past with her nose in the air, I tell you I was getting a real kick out of it as I started to get hard in her mouth. Her hair was in a bun, like always, only my hands were locked in it real tight and it was starting to come to bits. If that turned her on, getting down and dirty in that filthy shack, that was just fine by me, and I had to say I liked it too. She was so perfect, and so stuck-up, to have my cock stuck in her mouth with her kneeling on the filthy floor was great, but I wasn’t going to settle for just a blow job. I ordered her to get her tits out.

  She didn’t even hesitate, still sucking away as her fingers went to her blouse, and she couldn’t get those buttons undone fast enough. I’d imagined that so many times, and now it was real, her blouse coming apart to show off those big, round tits, all soft and white and lovely, each one cupped in cream coloured lace. I told her to pull the bra up and flop them out, and out they came, bigger even than I’d imagined, and now she was showing them off her sucking had got even more eager. I reckoned maybe it was the way I was talking to her, partly, so I tried a bit more, telling her to feel her tits and that I was going to fuck them. She liked that, giving me a last kiss on my knob and kneeling up to wrap them around my hard cock. I told her what I was doing, titty fucking her, and what I might do, give her a facial, only at that she says, really breathless, “You’ve got to fuck me first.”

  I told her I’d fuck her. I told her I’d fuck her up the arse, just to be dirty, but at that she gave a moan and the next moment she’s jumped up, to bend over this old table with her tits swinging in all these cobwebs and crap and her little arse stuck up ready. I came up behind her and jerked her jacket and blouse down behind her back so her arms are trapped and she’s got no choice but to lie there with her tits on the filthy table top, her face too. I took her by the hair and pulled it out, which made her gasp and start begging me to do it. I was going to, but I was in no hurry, not with all that on offer.

  She looked great from behind, with those smart little clip-clop shoes and her stockings going up under her skirt, with her neat little bum all round and inviting underneath but her top half a mess with her jacket and blouse down, her bra pulled up and those big tits filthy and heaving. I pulled up her skirt, really slowly, to see her stocking tops and the slices of creamy white thighs above, then her knickers, fancy French ones to match her bra, all tight over the sweetest little bum you ever did see, firm and high and cheeky, with her slit showing through the lacy panel in the back. She told me to pull them down, in this really dirty voice, and I did it, nice and slow, easing them off her bum to bare her, those perfect little cheeks and everything else. She was shaved, her arsehole a tight pink star with smooth skin all around, her cunt a perfect little split fig, all wet and ready in the middle. I put a finger up, and that made her moan again, so I followed up with my cock. She was tight, not a virgin, but tight, so for all that she was creamy it took a couple of good shoves before I could get it right in. She was loving it, moaning and gasping as I humped her, so I took a tit in each hand and laid in, giving it to her as fast as I could.

  I was enjoying the view, like any man would, but it was more than that. This was Miss Prissy, the stuck-up bitch who hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge me, for all the effort I’d made, and here she was, bent over a table in some filthy shack with her tits out and my cock up her from behind, with that perfect little bum jiggling as I stuck myself in and out. I started to play with her, taking my cock out and sticking it back in just to watch the way her cunt opened to my knob. I was telling her that too, those words, and she loved it, but best of all, she liked it when I told her she had a pretty arsehole and I had a good mind to put my cock up it. She was game, and even though I’d never given a woman a bum shag in my life, now was the time.

  I went down, licking her arse, which had her gasping like she was going to come. She opened up nicely too, so I could soon put a finger up, then two. That looked even better, with her bum framed in the mess of her clothes, skirt pulled up and knickers down, her cheeks open and two fingers in her arsehole, her cunt open and dripping juicy down her legs, just so fucking filthy, and I’
d thought she was such a prissy little bitch.

  She was begging for it, and she got it, my cock stuck slowly up her arse, bit by bit, her hole pushing in until her ring spread and then all tight and pink and glistening where her anus was stretched tight around my shaft. I put it right up, until my balls were squashed to her cunt, a good, deep buggering, which was exactly what she wanted. When I started to row her I did it slow, and bent back, so I could watch her arsehole pull in and out on my cock, just to get the sight of her with her ring fucked right into my head. She was loving it, gasping and moaning and begging me to go faster, and she’d even reached back for her cunt, to frig herself, just the filthiest thing I’d ever seen, a girl rubbing her cunt to get off while there’s a cock up her arse.

  Christ but it felt good when she came. Her ring went tight on my cock, just like a cunt, and I nearly gave her my load up her arse. I’d have done it too, only suddenly she’s begging for something more, something so fucking filthy I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right the first time. “Now in my mouth,” she says. “Put it in my mouth.”

  Twice more she said it, and even then I hesitated. I mean, I’d got it up her bumhole, and she wanted to suck me! Only then I remember how she’d treated me. So out comes my cock, leaving her arsehole looking like you could drive a freight train up it, and in her mouth it goes. And she’s sucking, still rubbing her cunt and sucking my dirty cock, and I have never, ever seen so much pleasure on a woman’s face. She came a second time, and so did I, right down her throat while she’s sucking me like she’s trying to swallow me whole. Some of it came out, all around her lips and over my balls, so I whipped out my cock and rubbed it in her face, smearing spunk all over those pretty, prissy features, all over her glasses and in her hair, then stuck it back in her mouth and held her nose to make her swallow.