The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  This particular Friday I had caught Ronan looking down my cleavage and up my dress much more than usual. Not that I was complaining, you understand. During one conversation about women’s knickers he even went as far as asking if I wore thongs to work. He was definitely getting frisky. I started to get interested in his interest in me.

  “Of course,” I replied as casually as I could muster. Everyone laughed loudly.

  The topic of conversation eventually turned to prostitution. One thing led to another and us ladies enjoyed backing the men into a corner by forcing them to deny ever having paid for sex. A couple of them appeared to be lying, but Ronan’s negative response seemed to be genuine. It was payback time.

  “Why not?” I asked. “I bet you’ve happily bought women drinks in an attempt to get your hand down their knickers, what’s the difference?”

  He blushed and took a gulp of his beer.

  I mirrored his action, smiled and looked into his eyes over the top of my glass.

  As the clock approached the time when people usually started to drift away I noticed Ronan was only sipping his beer. Aye, aye, I thought, is he trying to be the last to leave? I slowed down my own consumption to ensure we were the last two sitting. It worked a treat.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Ronan’s soft voice betrayed a little nervousness.

  I leaned forward and whispered, “Does this mean you’re hoping to put your hand in my knickers?”

  “I’ve always wanted to do that, but no, I’m just going to buy you a drink.”

  “Shame,” I said, “but I’ll have a pineapple juice anyway.”

  I think that was the moment I decided to take this as far as I could. I had no real plan but the little whore inside me wanted to continue down the “paying for sex” road. I shuffled my bum to raise the hem and expose a bit more thigh.

  After Ronan got back I leaned forwards to take a sip of my drink, knowing his eyes would be able to see my tits bulging above my bra. “So how many drinks would you buy me to get a rummage up this dress?” I asked.

  He gulped but then perked up and became noticeably braver. “Five,” he said firmly and then grinned.

  “Mmm . . .” Still leaning forwards I could just about see the crotch of his black trousers. I was unsure if the bulge was a natural fold or if he was stiffening up down there.

  He leaned forwards so close my nostrils were almost overpowered by the smell of his freshly applied aftershave. “Do you want to do it?” he asked quietly.

  Yearning to keep this going I got even bolder. “Let’s say twenty pounds then. We could both stop at that large lay-by on the way home.” My intention was to turn him on, but whatever effect it was having on him, it was definitely getting my juices flowing.

  “Let’s go one better,” he whispered. “How about me getting a room at that new budget hotel by the motorway junction?”

  I nodded and gulped down two large mouthfuls of my drink.

  Ronan flipped open his mobile and tapped a few keys. “Enter your mobile number in there.”

  I took the phone and Ronan continued with his on-the-hoof plan. “You park up next to me and I’ll go and see if they’ve got a room. If they have, I’ll call you when I want you.”

  I didn’t speak; I don’t think I knew what to say. I just passed his phone back to him and then watched him get up to leave. It seemed like he was deliberately giving me enough time to back out if I wanted.

  Twenty minutes later I was parked up in the hotel car park waiting for his call. I felt so nervous my stomach was threatening to call a halt to the proceedings. I also felt excited. In my fantasies I had often imagined walking through a swanky hotel lobby, catching a lift and gently tapping on a stranger’s hotel room door. My make-believe client was always stinking rich and I always negotiated extra for anything more than a blow job. Somehow I also always ended up doing a striptease routine for the gentleman while he lay naked on the bed stroking his thick cock. This was not quite that dream scenario, but as I sat there, I definitely felt like a whore. It was time to apply some lipgloss; men like glistening lips.

  My mobile rang. An unnamed mobile number appeared on the screen.

  “Hello, Stephanie Escorts,” I said cheerfully.

  “How much for a fuck?” said a soft Irish voice.

  The vulgarity heightened my excitement. “One hundred,” I answered.

  “How about anal?”

  “Not with this girl, but I can give you the number of a tart who does.” I hoped that negotiating over my arse was all part of the game, but I have to know a guy really well before I allow him to push it into my delicate back passage.

  “Not to worry, room two-one-five.” He hung up.

  It was hard, very hard to walk through the small modern reception area without making guilty laden eye contact with the middle-aged woman at reception. Though to my credit, I did play the game; I courageously fought back the urge to raise my budgie ring up from the low position it had descended to back at the pub. I desperately tried to look like I knew where I was going. I was so pleased to see the lift sitting there with its doors open. As nonchalantly as I could, I stepped inside and pressed button two.

  Ronan was sitting on a chair with five twenty-pound notes in a pile on the desk to his left.

  “I like the dress,” he said.

  “I hope you like what’s inside it more,” I quipped as I leaned over to take the money.

  His hand went straight up my dress and planted itself firmly on my crotch. This was not the way I usually liked sex, but then again, I had never got laid like this before. It felt scary and it felt exhilarating at the same time. As I stuffed the notes into my handbag I parted my legs a bit. The side of one finger pressed into my slit taking the thin strip of fabric with it. Now he knew I was not lying about wearing thongs for work; he also now knew how aroused I was. Suddenly two fingers hooked into the gusset and tugged them down to my ankles. He clearly felt he had bought the right to treat me badly. As long as he did not push it too far, that was fine with me. I had not gone there to be a good girl.

  With my thong stretched out between my ankles his right hand went back between my legs and his left forefinger hooked itself through the budgie ring. He tugged it all the way down to my navel. Quickly he opened up the resulting long gash to expose my chest. He then started to take a bit more time. He gently caressed my pussy, occasionally moving up to stroke the carefully trimmed strip of pubic hair. I like to keep a neat but substantial bush above my slit. Ronan’s fingers continued to caress and gently probe between my labia. His eyes drilled through my bra. I knew he wanted me to remove it but now we were moving into the stage where I took control. I made him wait; I wanted to be even wetter.

  When I was sure his fingers would be almost dripping with my juices I unhooked my bra and pulled it under my tits. I dropped my eyes to check my nipples. I always like to know how I’m looking. They were nicely gorged. Ronan displayed his appreciation by slipping one finger deep inside me. While I was still standing there with my underwear displaced and my dress still on, he inserted a second finger and started to smoothly finger-fuck me. I indulged my client. Rarely did finger-fucking do much for me, I like to be fucked by cock, but I enjoyed the look of shear lust on Ronan’s face. After all, he was paying, so if he wanted to squelch his fingers in and out of my hole, I had to let him.

  I cajoled him into giving me what I love. “Why don’t you bury your face in my wet pussy?”

  “Get your kit off, lie on the bed and let me see it,” he commanded.

  I obeyed. Ronan leaned back in his chair and watched.

  I shook my thong off my right foot.

  Next I slipped Zippy off my shoulders and allowed her to slip down to the floor.

  “Fucking hell, you look gorgeous!” exclaimed Ronan.

  That was a little flattering, but then thankfully, sex does blur one’s vision.

  Leaning forwards I pointed my arms to the floor, my bra slid down and landed on my crumpled dress.

/>   I almost kicked off my heels but decided to leave them on. This was a hotel, I didn’t cherish the bedcover like I cherished my own. So I stepped over to the bed and climbed on board. As I rolled over onto my back and spread my legs like a good whore would, Ronan stood up and slowly undressed. His eyes locked onto my slit. I reached down and parted my lips a little to give him a glimpse of glistening pink I know men love. When I finally saw it, his cock was of typical length but it pointed higher than most and looked very solid. Despite his erection pulling them up, his balls still looked big. I momentarily thought about asking him to straddle my face and lower them into my mouth. How hard would he let me suck them?

  In a flash his mouth was heading for my pussy.

  “No fingers,” I commanded as he nuzzled his head between my legs. He started slow and gentle in little circular motions around my clit. Only when I was even more aroused and my pussy was yearning to be mistreated did he start to firmly lick with the rough part of his tongue. Suddenly he started to alternate between delicately nibbling my labia and lapping at my juicy cunt. I hoisted my legs, took hold of my ankles and pulled them up towards my shoulders. His tongue responded to the invitation and pushed in as deep as a tongue can go. His nose ground into just the right spot.

  It was now time to utter those two words every man loves to hear from a woman’s mouth.

  “Fuck me,” I groaned.

  He raised his head and stared at where his tongue had just been probing. I kept my ankles tight in my hands. I felt exposed, in my imagination he was looking all the way up my cunt.

  As he climbed on top of me, I smelled that aftershave again. Then his cock pushed me open and drove in. It was just as hard and firm as it had looked. Ronan fucked me and he fucked me and he fucked me.

  Once again I played the whore, or was it the real me? “Fuck me harder,” I moaned loud enough to risk being heard in the next room. The thought of people listening to our humping added extra spice to the act. Straining to lift my head I watched Ronan’s cock thrusting into me. He started to withdraw further. That is a sight I have always loved. His cock was driving into me; his shaft was dripping wet with my juices. I yearned to let go of my ankles so I could rub my bud, but I was a whore, I had to resist such urges.

  “Slam me,” I said, desperate for some extra stimulation.

  He looked confused.

  “Bang into me. Bang hard against my pussy.”

  He got the message. The slapping of his balls against my arse was an unexpected bonus. Ronan was struggling to support himself. Eventually he solved the problem by grabbing hold of my shoulders. The weight of his body pushed my body into the mattress. He was getting rough. He was nailing me good and proper. I had no option but to drop my head back down and let my other senses take over. I closed my eyes and enjoyed every shove. I even enjoyed the pain of his nails digging into my shoulders.

  The tension built and then the floodgates of orgasm opened.

  “Fucking gorgeous,” I shouted as the waves ripped through my lower body.

  “Fucking gorgeous,” Ronan groaned as he spurted his come deep inside me.

  I could hold on to my ankles no longer so I let my legs drop down onto the bed with a thud.

  “Shit, I was planning to come over your face,” he laughed breathlessly.

  “That would have been extra,” I joked.

  As I left the room I sensed Ronan expected me to give him back the money. Of course, I didn’t, that would have spoilt the memory. If you are going to live out a fantasy, do it as close to the real thing as you dare.

  LA VIEILLE FEMME

  Brian, Stittsville

  I’m a mid-twenties, single male with a healthy libido and a vigorous sex life. Until a few weeks ago, I exclusively fucked only young nubile women. Then an unexpected encounter changed my sexual preferences.

  I was travelling on the TGV, the high-speed train, from Paris to Nice. After six months of intense work launching new internet software, I had a week’s vacation and I intended to spend it inspecting the topless girls on the Riviera beaches. I looked forward to a week of hot sex.

  The fragrance first alerted me to the woman. She checked the vacant seat opposite me then placed her shoulder bag on the table and tried to lift her heavy suitcase up to the luggage rack. At full stretch on her toes, she struggled with the case.

  “Permit me,” I murmured. Moving into the aisle behind the woman, I reached over her and pushed the suitcase onto the rack. Stretching up to reach the rack showed off her very provocative bottom and in the restricted space of the aisle I took the opportunity to rub myself firmly against it, feeling its ripe fullness through her skirt. The woman’s reaction to my uninvited touch could have been very hostile, but, as she slipped into her seat, she gave me a quizzical smile.

  “Thank you, Monsieur, you are too kind,” she murmured.

  The well-coiffed hair, impeccable make-up and manicured hands all signified an elegant woman. The scooped neckline of her top showed off generous breasts. I guessed her to be fortyish.

  She took out a magazine.

  “Madame travels to Nice?” I questioned innocently.

  “No, Monsieur, to Lyons. I have been in Paris on business. And Monsieur?” she asked.

  “I have a week’s vacation in Nice.”

  “Alone?” she queried. When I nodded she smiled knowingly. “No doubt Monsieur hopes for some sexual encounters.”

  I was disconcerted by the directness of her observation, but replied truthfully. “Yes, Madame.”

  She opened her magazine and I began to read a technical report. I had trouble concentrating. The woman’s perfume was seductive and I mused about her tempting rear. I glanced across at her. She was studying me, almost as if coming to some decision. Then she gave me a playful smile.

  I felt her leg brush against mine then, very discreetly, her foot was placed on my seat, nestling between my thighs. Madame had slipped off her shoe and, beneath the small table separating us, had stealthily stretched her leg across the space between our seats. I looked at the woman. Her lips parted in unmistakable invitation and gently she nudged my crotch with her stockinged foot.

  Our neighbouring passengers seemed to be dozing, so unobtrusively I stroked the sensuous arch of her instep and fondled the finely structured ankle. Beneath the table I stroked along her leg as far as I could reach, squeezing the well-toned calf. Furtively, through the sheer stockings, I massaged her manicured toes, separating and stretching them. Very deliberately, I pressed her foot against my crotch. With a knowing smile, Madame began to rub me. As her stimulation increased I pressed my burgeoning erection harder against her foot.

  “Perhaps Monsieur would permit me to buy him coffee?”

  I snapped back to reality, suddenly aware of my very obvious arousal. “I would be delighted, Madame,” I replied.

  She carefully withdrew her leg and slipped on her shoe. Sliding from her seat the woman proceeded towards the restaurant car. I followed.

  Madame stopped outside the vacant toilette of the second car. She murmured, “I think this will do,” then opened the door and stepped inside, pulling me after her. The toilette contained a toilet and a hand basin set in a vanity with a small mirror on the wall. The space was confined and we were squeezed together. Locking the door, Madame smiled at my bewildered expression.

  “You appeared to appreciate my derrière, Monsieur, your foreplay with my foot was delightful and my foot massage has hardened your penis. So, Monsieur, are you willing to have sex with me . . . here, now? I am, of course, much older than you, une vieille femme, so if you find me too mature for your taste I shall understand.”

  I was stunned, disbelieving. I hesitated, but the woman boldly unbuckled my belt, unzipped me, slid her hand into my briefs and extracted my cock. Abandoning all caution I seized her ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh through her skirt.

  “You are alluring, Madame, and I’d be delighted to fuck you. I hope I can perform to your satisfaction,” I murmured.


  She fondled my cock and smiled. “With such a fine penis, Monsieur, so big and strong, I’m sure you can. Think of me as the hors d’oeuvre for your week in Nice.”

  I pushed her against the door to grind my throbbing erection into the curve of her belly. Then, seizing her heavy breasts, I crushed the sumptuous mounds, feeling the pliant flesh through her top and bra. Madame played with my tumescent penis, caressing the shaft, fondling the glans with skilful fingers. In a frenzy, I pushed my hand up her skirt to probe between her legs. Madame gasped, pressing herself onto my fingers and I could feel the heat and dampness through her panties.

  As we tore off our clothes, the fondling and groping in the confined space made us supremely horny. Stripped to her garter belt, stockings and high heels, the generous curves of Madame’s voluptuous figure were fully displayed. She was sensuous and my hands roamed over her luscious body. I rolled her hardened nipples and then greedily sucked on them. Madame whimpered and responded by fondling my balls then began to pump my cock. When I probed between her legs and burrowed into her slit, she was already wet.

  I turned her, spread her buttocks and jammed the hard ridge of my erection between them, grinding it into her rear. Holding her tight against my cock, I cupped her mons, stroking the luxuriant pubic hair, then probed lower to massage the hidden bud of her clitoris. Madame cried out and as her hips jerked under my touch the lush bottom rubbed my penis. The sensation was wonderful and I realized I was close to coming. But first I had to make Madame climax.

  I sat her on the vanity and she had to hold on to the fixtures to steady herself. I put one of her legs over my shoulder and stretched the other along the vanity to spread her, so that by sitting on the toilet seat, I could study her private parts.