A few hard thrusts were all it took before my muscles tightened around his member and I rode the wave of a taboo orgasm. Feeling my pussy grip his cock must have pushed John to the edge, because he blew his sticky juice.
It all happened so fast. Fifteen minutes or so. We had just finished cleaning up and I was beginning to realize what I had done, when Jen walked in. I wondered if the smell of sex still lingered in the air.
She kissed John hello and waved at me, all the while apologizing for being so late.
Guilt was starting to sink in and I thought about leaving, but I was paranoid that it might look suspicious and that Jen would wonder why I bolted without having our “girls’ night”.
I decided it was best to stay. I did, however, accept the offer of what was now my third martini. John’s presence began to make me very uncomfortable. The pheromones still hung in the air. John must have sensed it too because he excused himself and said something about a conference call with Japan and late-night work.
The fourth drink was finished and I barely remembered the third. I started to look at Jen in a different light. I had never been with a woman, but I couldn’t help but find Jen attractive. Her five-foot frame, long brown hair and big blue eyes gave her an endearing impish quality.
I relaxed and talked to Jen as if she were an old friend. We sat side by side and giggled like schoolgirls. We shared secrets, most embarrassing tales and our goals for the future. We were having a great time when suddenly I got that familiar feeling that now she was flirting.
Jen ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass and looked at me lasciviously. She leaned in closer and, with the same stealthy skill as her boyfriend, Jen started to kiss me. Unlike John’s soft gentle probing, Jen’s kiss was full of lust and desire. Her tongue enveloped mine as she pulled me close. She stopped kissing me long enough to look at me coyly, brought her finger to her mouth and said, “Shh.”
Jen kissed my neck and worked her way down to my breasts. She undid my buttons and exposed my black lacy push-up bra. Jen’s touch was hungry and her eyes drank me in. She wasted no time and yanked down my bra so she could suck on my nipples. I wanted to moan but I was scared that John would hear us.
Once she was satisfied that my nipples were hard enough to cut glass, Jen began to move down my body with a purpose. I was still wet from my previous encounter and I was scared that Jen would smell the sex emanating from between my legs.
If she noticed, she didn’t care. Jen looked at me and smiled before she buried her face in my pussy.
I felt powerless. Lost in fear and paralysed by pleasure.
I threw my head back and enjoyed as Jen’s tongue touched every fold and licked every inch of my swollen lips.
When she thrust herself into my quivering hole, I exploded in ecstasy. I had to grab the pillow and bite down on it to keep from making any noise. For the second time that night, I had a forbidden orgasm, and those were the most powerful kind.
Jen worked her way back up my body and kissed me again. Deeply and passionately. I tasted myself on her lips and it was hot.
I felt like I should return the favour. I mean, I’d gotten off twice already, well once officially, but I felt like I should do something for Jen.
I was nervous; as I said, I’d never been with a woman and the only pussy I’d touched was my own. While Jen kissed me, I timidly placed my hand up her skirt and on the inside of her thigh. I noticed that her panties were soggy and I was a little flattered that I had been the cause of that. Now it was my turn to push her underwear aside and find my way around. It was quite slippery and my finger slid inside her almost immediately. Jen grabbed my hand and showed me how to finger-fuck her. She found her rhythm and rode my hand like a pro. It wasn’t long before Jen released all over my hand and down my arm. Her vaginal muscles tightened around my fingers like my cunt had held John’s cock only a few hours before.
Feeling Jen come on my hand was exhilarating. I felt self-assured and even a little powerful.
Out of breath, Jen got up and pulled her skirt down. She kissed my cheek and sat back down on the couch.
The rest of the evening carried on as if nothing happened. We drank some more, we laughed some more and we talked a lot more. John eventually came out of his meeting and joined us. At first I thought they planned this but John didn’t seem to have any clue what had happened between Jen and me, and Jen didn’t know about John.
I was their secret.
This became an ongoing thing. Once a month or so, I’d get an email for a secret rendezvous with John or another “girls’ night” invite when John was out of town.
Each and every time, there were barely any words spoken. When we were finished, we’d get dressed and return to our day, or carry on our “girlish gossiping” like nothing happened.
It was good. I got to enjoy the best of both worlds.
But now they are getting married and I have been asked to visit each of them in their quarters before the wedding. I wonder if they are going to tell me that these encounters can no longer carry on. Who knows, maybe they’ll suggest the three of us get together sometime.
GETTING A HOT RECEPTION
Sophie, Darlington
If you’d ever told me that one day I would willingly let a man strip me and spank my arse, I would have said you were mad. I had never seen the attraction of a firm hand to bring me into line, or understood the pleasure in pain. But that was before my boss’s wedding reception.
I had been working at the leisure centre for a little over a year, and almost as long as I had been there, I had been lusting over Gary, one of the pool area supervisors. He was gorgeous: well over six feet tall, with a lean, swimmer’s body and a permanent growth of dark stubble on his chin. He was ten years younger than me, but we liked the same kind of music, and we would spend most of our lunchtimes talking about gigs we were planning to get tickets for or the latest songs we’d downloaded to our iPods. Even though we were always flirting with each other, I drooled over him from a distance because he had a serious girlfriend and that rendered him strictly off limits.
And then Derek, the centre’s manager, announced that he was getting married. Only a handful of the people who worked there were going to be attending the actual ceremony, but the rest of us were invited to the evening do. I accepted without hesitation – after all, it would give me the chance to splash out on a new outfit and drink my favourite tipple, champagne – but I became even more keen to go after Gary’s girlfriend left him for her driving instructor a couple of weeks before the event. When he told me about the split, I made plenty of suitably sympathetic noises, and I did genuinely feel sorry for him, because he’d had no idea that she had been cheating on him and he was too nice a bloke to deserve that kind of treatment. Inside, however, I was secretly excited about the fact I might now have a chance with him.
The reception was being held in a country hotel on the outskirts of town on a swelteringly hot evening in August. The taxi I had booked to take me there turned up a little early, so I was one of the first to arrive. I stood for a moment in the entrance hall, fluffing up my hair and checking that my lipstick wasn’t smudged, just in case the first person I bumped into was Gary. Instead, I was greeted by a white-jacketed waiter who offered me a glass of pink champagne. I took it and made my way over to congratulate Derek and his new bride. When I decided it was time to mingle, my glass having been topped up a couple of times almost without me being aware of it, I realized that Gary was sitting at a table to one side of the dance floor. I almost couldn’t believe the transformation in him. I was so used to seeing him in his work outfit of dark-blue polo shirt and tracksuit bottoms – which, admittedly, clung deliriously to his absolutely outstanding arse – but tonight he was formally dressed in a well-cut suit and black shirt. Unlike some of the other men there, he didn’t look uncomfortable or strangely bulky out of his leisurewear. Instead, he had an air of assurance that was not only very horny but also a little bit dangerous. Just looking at him as he
sat there, fingers toying with the stem of his champagne flute, made me think of stripping him out of that suit and doing all kinds of dirty things to him. I was imagining how it might feel to go down on his cock with a mouthful of champagne when I realized that he was watching me with an amused smirk on his face, almost as if he had read my mind. I blushed and smiled, feeling my pussy twitch with lust as he continued to gaze at me. I was about to go over and speak to him, even though I wasn’t sure I could spit out a sentence at that moment without sounding like a lust-crazed idiot, and then Julia, one of the aerobics instructors, took my arm and insisted on dragging me onto the dance floor.
The covers band Derek had booked for the occasion were pretty good, belting out disco classics that were guaranteed to get people up and dancing, and I soon lost myself in the music. I didn’t forget about Gary entirely, though; I kept glancing over to where he was sitting from time to time, and he always seemed to be watching me. So I began dancing more provocatively, grinding my hips and running my hands over my body as I moved. And then I flung one arm out, striking a pose, and hit something. I turned to realize that I had knocked a glass out of someone’s hand and Gary – who I assumed had come over to dance with me – had only managed to avoid it splashing all over him by stepping smartly to one side.
“Now, that wasn’t a very clever thing to do, was it, Sophie?” he said, grabbing hold of my wrist. I stammered an apology, but he continued, lowering his voice so that no one else around us could hear, “You’re just a naughty little show-off, and I think you should be punished.”
I didn’t have a clue what he was intending to do, but the way he said “punished” made me start to grow wet between my legs. He began to lead me firmly away from the dance floor. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“We’re going to my room. I booked it so I wouldn’t have to drive home tonight.” He smiled wickedly. “I could keep you there all night, if I wanted. After all, I doubt we’ll be missed.”
I glanced over my shoulder at my colleagues and Derek’s friends as Gary hustled me away and realized he was right. They were all too busy drinking and dancing and having a good time to even notice us leaving. Within moments, we were heading up the stairs to Gary’s room on the second floor. He didn’t release his grip on my arm, and I started to feel giddy with anticipation and excitement. He was so much bigger and stronger than me, I knew that he could do whatever he wanted to me – or, rather, whatever I wanted him to do to me.
Gary appeared to have one of the nicest rooms in the hotel, with a bed that looked big enough for three people and a view out on to the golf course behind the hotel, but he didn’t give me much of an opportunity to admire my surroundings. Instead, he sat down on his bed and calmly ordered me to get over his knees. This wasn’t quite what I had been expecting, and I just stood there. “Do as you’re told, or you’ll only make it worse for yourself,” he said, and when I still hesitated, he lost patience and hauled me bodily over his lap.
“OK, the joke’s over,” I said, wriggling to get free, but he was holding me securely and I couldn’t move.
“Not till you’ve had the spanking you deserve,” he replied. So that was what he’d meant by punishment, I realized giddily, as I felt him raising the hem of my new sage green dress up around my waist. When I’d first tried it on, loving the colour and the way the flimsy chiffon skimmed my curves, I’d had daydreams of Gary peeling me out of it, but not quite like this. It was so quiet in the room, away from the noise of the band and the party downstairs, and I found myself holding my breath as Gary gazed for a moment at my bum cheeks, just about covered by the black lacy knickers I was wearing. Then I felt his big hand come down on my upturned bottom. I gasped, partly in shock, partly in indignation – cute as he was, and as much as I fancied him, how dare he do this to me? I told him, as firmly as I could, to stop, but he just carried on as though he hadn’t heard me, calmly alternating slaps on each cheek. They weren’t particularly hard, but I felt each one, and I writhed on his lap, becoming aware as I did so that his cock was swelling and hardening beneath me.
After about a dozen spanks, he suddenly stopped. I thought that was it, and if so it hadn’t been too bad. A little bit embarrassing, a little bit uncomfortable, but no worse than that.
And then I felt him reach for the waistband of my knickers. “No!” I squealed, deciding that things had gone quite far enough.
Gary ignored me, calmly continuing with what he was doing. “Let’s see what that lovely little bottom of yours looks like, shall we?”
I was mortified at the way he was treating me, and yet the thought of being bared to him like this was making my pussy flood with juices. Surely this wasn’t me, this person who was so incredibly turned on by being made to do as she was told, who suddenly wanted Gary to go further, to strip her naked, to make her get down before him in nothing but her heels and suck his cock? I didn’t know how being spanked had brought me to this; I only knew that it had, and I wanted more of this shameful, thrilling pleasure.
With one sharp tug, my panties were down round my knees and off.
“Beautiful,” Gary murmured, stroking the tender flesh of my newly exposed bottom.
I wondered how it looked to him, blushing red from his slaps. I wanted him to order me to go and look at my reflection in the mirror, but he had other ideas. Almost immediately, he returned to the job of spanking me. Now there was nothing at all shielding me from the full force of his palm as it landed again and again. I kicked and squirmed on Gary’s lap, begging him to have mercy, but it didn’t have any effect on him. Occasionally, however, he would run his fingers down to my cleft, insinuating them between the damp, slippery folds of my pussy and distracting me from the burning sensations in my arse cheeks.
He seemed to delight in tormenting me like this, alternating between the rough slaps that were making my bum sting and the soft little rubs which were causing my clit to tingle and my body to move towards orgasm. I was still aware of the stiffness of his cock, pushing up at me through layers of clothing, and at that moment I would have given anything to feel him inside me. But Gary was in charge here; he was the one who decided if and when I came and whether or not I would be filled with his length.
And still the relentless spanking continued. I wanted him to stop, and yet I needed him to continue, grinding my body against the thick fabric of his trousers and the throbbing cock beneath them, trying to give myself that last, vital little bit of stimulation.
At last, he seemed to feel he had punished me enough, and his fingers suddenly plunged into my hole. With two fingers plunging in and out of my wetness and his thumb rubbing my clit, he swiftly had me moaning and thrashing around, no longer caring how humiliating it was to be lying, bottom bare and bright crimson, over his knees. My pleasure peaked sharply and I was coming, gasping and calling out how good it felt. Finally, I lay limp on Gary’s lap.
“So have you learned your lesson, Sophie?” he asked.
“I think so,” I replied. But, of course, I hadn’t. I still seem to find ways of misbehaving which mean Gary has to punish me as a result, and I just can’t get enough of the way he keeps me in line with a good, hard spanking. I hope I never do.
SHAMELESS
Steve, Australia
A guilty secret? OK, here goes. The first time I was in a threesome was with my wife, Chloe, and a young woman I’ll call Jessie. I can’t use her real name because last I heard she was calling herself a lesbian and denying that she’d ever been anything else. Which is a little strange, because when I first met her, she was nominally het. It took Chloe, oh, all of about five seconds to convert her to bi, and another woman about the same length of time to turn her again . . . but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Jessie was a co-ed of Chloe’s, and she was one of those women whose body language and conversation are euphemistically described as “inappropriate”, the sort who will casually describe the exact colour of her nipples to you in culinary terms, or stand close to you while massagin
g her breasts but slap your face if you interpret this as an invitation. Anyway, one night while I was away in the US, Chloe was feeling horny, so she called Jessie and asked her if she wanted to come around and have sex. Jessie was a little flustered, and replied, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” Chloe suggested, so Jessie said, “Yes,” and drove over. As I said, about five seconds to change gender preferences. After that, they had sex a couple of times a week until I came back home and things went back to normal – well, normal for us, anyway.
I’d known since our first date that Chloe was bi – no problem, nearly all of my lovers have been either active or latent bi women – and that both of us had tried strict monogamy and decided that we didn’t like it. We hadn’t been together long before we started talking about threesomes and trying to choose a likely candidate from our friends. But that didn’t prepare me for the time I came home from work early and saw two women sixty-nining on our futon, so tightly wrapped in each other like yin and yang, their thighs clamped over the other’s ears, that they didn’t even hear me walk in. In the near darkness, I couldn’t tell who was who, where one began and the other ended, but it was a wonderful sight, as magical as the first time I saw Saturn’s rings through a telescope or the first time I saw a woman I loved naked and wanting me. And the smell of sex was as thick as incense; you could have bottled it and sold it as an expensive perfume, or an aphrodisiac that actually worked.
I’m not sure how long I stood there and watched, with them oblivious to me, but it was long enough for my eyes to adjust to the dim light and recognize Jessie’s dark blond hair at one end of this beauty with two backs, Chloe’s auburn curls at the other. Minutes, certainly, before Chloe’s face emerged; she smiled encouragingly, and I started undressing. Chloe changed position so that I could see more of Jessie, including her face and her breasts. Her nipples were the colour of musk candy, just as she’d described them, swollen and erect, though her areolae were so small and pale that they were hardly there at all. She opened her eyes a moment later, obviously surprised to find me there, but feeling much too good to be worried by anything. I knelt beside the bed, my lips millimetres from her nipple, and asked, “May I?”
The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions Page 9