The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  I emailed the woman, Jo, and after a couple of emails discussing what we would both like and dislike our emails became hotter and hotter until one night we met up online and were having such a filthy conversation I jumped on my husband, taking his cock deep into my mouth as soon as he walked in through the door. Before he had even taken his coat off I was bent over the stairs with his hot cock pounding my dripping cunt.

  His birthday arrived and I had booked a hotel for the night halfway between our home and Jo’s. The plan was that my hubby and I would go out for a meal and then we would go back to our room where I would instruct my hubby to go take a shower and make sure his cock was clean for a great sucking. I would say that I was going downstairs to get a bottle of champagne.

  Before I went I decided that to be sure he was in for a real surprise I would gently tie his wrists to the bedpost with some silk scarves and blindfold him. I told him to lie there and wait for me to return. He did object slightly, but when I told him that if he did this for me I would suck his hard cock with champagne in my mouth he agreed. This is one of his favourite kinds of blow job. He loves the way I swill the bubbles around the head of his cock.

  I left him alone tied to the bed and went to the bar to collect not only the champagne but Jo as well. We kissed deeply as soon as the lift doors had closed. This was our first meeting in person and neither of us was disappointed. It took all of our self-control not to strip each other in the lift. As we entered the room Jo was silent as she had promised. I told my hubby I had the champagne and that I hoped he was ready for the best birthday present ever. I dropped my clothes to the floor and Jo did the same. As we both stood there in nothing but our stockings and basques I could feel my cunt getting hot and wet. I took a mouthful of champagne and went down on my hubby. He started to moan as I swirled the bubbles around the head of his cock with my tongue. I gently stroked his balls and rubbed his asshole with a finger of my other hand. He began to fuck my face. At that moment I felt Jo kneel down on the edge of the bed and begin to rub my clit. I almost came in an instant. It was so hot having my face fucked and my clit rubbed by another woman. I let out a deep moan. This really excited him as I felt his huge cock grow even larger. He commented that although sucking him normally turned me on it never usually got me this hot.

  I decided it was time to give him his true birthday present. I took my mouth away from his cock and kissed up his body, holding his hard member in my hand until I reached his face. I kissed him deep and hard. At that moment I felt Jo insert two fingers deep into my soaking wet cunt. I reached up and untied my hubby’s wrists and slowly untied his blindfold. I then said, “Happy Birthday!” His face looked confused for a moment, then he saw Jo as she stood up beside the bed, grabbed my hips and turned me over. She shoved her face between my legs and began lapping at my cunt hungrily. I saw the look of confusion change to surprise then passion within a couple of seconds. I begged him to fuck my face hard but not to come as I had other plans for his gorgeous juices.

  After a few minutes of him fucking my face while watching Jo licking me out, the combination of my moans and the visual effect of watching another woman eat his wife’s pussy was almost too much for him. He was almost begging me to let him come. I told him I wanted him to fuck me hard while he watched Jo sit on my face. He didn’t need to be asked twice. Before I knew it he had turned me over onto my knees and was shoving my face into Jo’s cunt. At the same time he parted my ass cheeks and thrust his hard cock into my dripping wet pussy. He fucked me so hard I thought his balls would vanish up there as well. I licked Jo’s cunt and fingered her until we all exploded in a fit of come within seconds of one another. It was the hardest I had come in a long time and I could tell by the way his juice was dripping out of my cunt even while his cock was still in there, that he had really enjoyed it too.

  Once we had all recovered he turned to me and told me that was a great birthday present. I told him it wasn’t over yet. I kissed him deeply and turned over to lie on my back. I could tell that kissing me while I tasted of another woman was turning him on again. Little did he know there was more in store for future birthdays!

  PAPERBACK RIDER

  Karl, Alabama

  Back when I entertained delusions of becoming a successful novelist, I often visited the local library for “research”. I felt at ease among the shelves of books I had no intention of reading. Usually I sat at the table nearest the librarian’s desk, a notebook opened before me, and I’d stare at Rose sitting prim and proper behind her desk.

  While she read her romance novel I’d note the way she’d rub her thighs together during what must have been the erotic passages. I liked the way her long brown hair was severely pulled back and wrapped up in a complicated concoction of pins and barrettes. Her secretarial-style glasses teetered precariously off the tip of her nose as though contemplating a suicide leap.

  I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t ordinarily my type. Guys like me can’t afford a type. I’m the sexual equivalent of flypaper. I stick whatever sticks.

  I began trying to impress her with the books I borrowed. Dostoevsky, Hamsun, Gogol, Celine. Didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Hunter S. Thompson, Bukowski, Nersesian. I kept waiting for Rose to compliment my choice in authors. Or, at the very least, take note of the erection straining against denim. Nothing.

  Every day I sat across from Rose, pen poised above paper, and fantasized about her approaching me (always as I affixed the words “THE END” to a manuscript of blockbuster proportions) and saying, “So that’s your new national book award candidate of a novel, eh?” and I’d say, “Yep.” She’d say, “I heard six production studios are battling for the movie rights,” and I’d modestly say, “You’re goddamn right they are.” Then she’d raise her burgundy skirt revealing an utter lack of undergarments or pubic hair. She’d climb the armrests of my chair and settle her gaping pussy on my face.

  Fuck yeah! The fantasy struck me as inexplicably attainable. All I had to do was finish the goddamn novel and the rest would fall into place.

  A month later, I’d managed to set down another 5,000 words, doubling my word count. Another 90,000 words and Rose would be mine. I wondered, Did she really shave her puss or go au naturel? And did it really matter to me at all?

  Such were my thoughts that I scarcely registered the arrival of closing time. Having not had the chance to pick any books to impress her with, I simply grabbed a handful of paperbacks that had been left on the table next to mine by a woman much too heavy to stick to my flypaper. I didn’t recognize the authors. I wouldn’t be reading them anyway.

  I set the books on the desk and handed Rose my library card. She raised her stamp and hesitated.

  “Oh wow,” Rose said. “You’re a Stella Rider fan? I adore her Harlequins.”

  Harlequins? What the hell? I glanced at the book. The cover depicted a dashing pirate with the abdomen of a Bowflex endorser about to passionately embrace a scullery wench with hair like wildfire and a bosom of Californian proportions.

  “Yeah. I’m a Harlequin fan from way back.”

  Her hard candy eyes melted into pools of luxuriant fudge. “Have you read the Forbidden Desires series? I swear I had to take a cold shower every ten minutes reading those books.”

  I thought about her pale thighs subtly massaging each other. What does she do in the privacy of her bedroom? As she talked I noticed the glint of metal from her tongue piercing. Outstanding. Women don’t get their tongues pierced because they like to sit on the couch, Friday nights, reading the adventures of Cervais the lusty swashbuckler.

  “No. Haven’t had that pleasure.”

  “Omigod. You don’t know what you’re missing. Let me lock up real quick and I’ll read you a few of my favourite passages.”

  She returned five minutes later with a handcart brimming with crack-spined literary treasures bearing such titles as Forbidden Lust, Forbidden Fruits, Forbidden Toejam. I’m gonna be here all night, I thought with a sort of manic glee, the epicentre of which wa
s located between my forbidden legs.

  We sat facing each other, our knees touching, at my table. The reading lamp cast an intimate circle of illumination around us. Her favourite passages included a lot of “throbbing manhoods” and the “licking of the flesh envelopes of love”. Her soft voice could have made the telephone book sound sexy. As she read her thighs undulated like the tide. I could smell her musky scent, an undercurrent of her wetness beneath the waves of lavender wafting from her pale, smooth skin.

  My hands brushed the outside of her knees. She opened her legs and slid down until only the top of her ass touched the seat of her chair.

  As Rose continued reading the amorous exploits of Avery the well-hung aviator and Stash, the progressive airplane mechanic, I knelt between her legs, moving her skirt over her hips as I kissed my way up her inner thigh. She wore no panties, easy access to her joy button being imperative given the amount of eroticism she read during the course of her day.

  Nearing her pussy was akin to crawling towards an open stove. Her heat baked my face, causing the tube of dough between my legs to rise. A barbell matching the piercing in her tongue lanced her clit hood. I sucked the jewellery into my mouth savouring the metallic taste. Her breath caught in her throat, a moment of silence like the inhalation before a scream, then she went back to reading.

  “Stasha gasped with immense pleasure as Avery lugged out his perfectly proportioned ten-inch monkey wrench of bliss.”

  Ten inches? Fucking bullshit Harlequin setting me up for failure.

  Her pussy, plump and engorged, two sizes too large for the rest of her body, seemed to pulsate against my mouth. She looked as though she’d been whacked between the legs with a fireman’s axe and I buried my face in her wound, fanning the flames burning white hot within her.

  My left hand curved around her leg, fingers splaying open her labes, exposing her erect clit. I break-danced my tongue against her bean as I fucked her with the index finger of my right hand, letting my pinkie finger dip into her asshole.

  The words ejaculated from her lips in whispery gasps. “Oh . . . uh . . . throbbing . . . manhood . . . moist . . . flower . . . Hoboken.”

  Rose’s hips contracted, raising her off the chair. I bore her weight with my chin and two fingers. She dropped the book and palmed the back of my head, pressing my face deeper against her cunt as though she wished to envelope my head with her pussy lips in a sort of reverse birth.

  She came violently, and I could have sworn I heard a gurgling sound coming from her plumbing as she flooded my face with her juices. I rose up for air after being submerged for something like fifteen minutes. I eat so much pussy I’ve grown a pair of gills to adapt. Check behind my ears sometime if you don’t believe me.

  Rose reached down and pulled me up by my slippery chin. Our lips and tongue greeted each other before she went licking her come off my lower face.

  “I love the way I taste,” she said.

  I’d long since destroyed my taste buds with a steady diet of corn liquor so I had to take her word for it.

  “Read to me while I suck your cock,” she ordered.

  I didn’t feel much like reading but feared I’d miss out on the blow job if I disobeyed. I chose Forbidden Planet from the stack. I opened it in the middle.

  “The alien princess withdrew the spaceman’s antenna from his aluminium pants and began polishing his helmet with her four tongues.”

  Rose licked the wet spot of pre-come on the denim jeans. Already I began to stutter. She unbuttoned my pants and yanked them down to my ankles. My dick bounced with the sudden motion, tapping against her spectacles. Her lips smiled against my tightening nut sack as she juggled my balls with her tongue.

  She dribbled saliva up my shaft. Her tongue slathered up and down my cock, flicking across the circumcision scar. The stud in her tongue traced the engorged veins, feeling like the tip of a ballpoint pen scribbling happy faces all over my fuck stick.

  “Purple . . . vagina . . . Uranus . . . so hot.”

  Enough. I threw the book on the handcart and knocked down the stacks blanketing the surface with paperbacks. I raised Rose up by her armpits, her mouth breaking suction with an audible pop. I sat her down on the bed of books. She unclasped her bra and leaned back allowing her breasts to loll.

  Gripping her by the back of her knees and spreading her legs the wingspan of my arms, I eased myself into her incredibly tight pussy. Her vaginal walls constricted around me with each thrust. Her last boyfriend must have been hung like a cashew. Or perhaps she only dated Orientals.

  Rose gritted her teeth as her cunt slowly expanded to accommodate my . . . uh . . . ten inches. Her tits bounced like pompoms, cheering me on as I donkey-konged her puss. As we settled into a rhythm, I rocked the handcart with my foot letting it do the work for me. It allowed my hands the chance to roam like sex-crazed monks exploring the countryside of her body.

  The sound of my balls slapping her ass was as loud as cannonade in the silence of the book sanctuary. Her groans and murmurs of pleasure like shouts in a monastery. We came simultaneously, silencing each other’s cries of passion with deep tongue kisses. I pulled out, expelling come, mine and hers, down her ass crack, puddling onto Forbidden Research beneath her natal cleft. We used pages from Forbidden Deformities to wipe off with.

  “So,” Rose asked once we regained our breath, “what’s this novel of yours about?”

  “It’s called Vows Of Silence. It’s about a nun who quits the convent because she falls in love with a mime. So she enrols in mime school hoping to win his heart with pantomime.”

  “So do they live happily ever after or do they just fuck and run?”

  “I don’t know. I’m at the part now where the church sends out an albino assassin to kill them.”

  FLICKING THROUGH THE PAGES

  Louise, Swansea

  I have always been happy around books. As a little girl I loved the smell of a new book as you peeled it open and the sight of black words on a white page still does my heart good. This was an innocent pleasure until I reached young adulthood where my love of books developed into an interesting erotic quirk.

  More and more as a young literature student I took to frequenting second-hand bookshops. I had texts to buy and a growing interest in writing and so I would spend many happy hours browsing the old volumes and newish paperbacks. I don’t know what it was, but the places began to have an effect on me. Maybe it was the sheer mass of ideas contained in those shelves (I’ve always been a bit of a brain-fucker) or the aroma of ageing pages and cool, dry paper. Whichever, at some point, I began to get aroused purely by being in these shops. I would walk home in a slight daze, not knowing what to do with myself. I must add that this was nothing to do with the sexual content of the books. I love a bit of erotica as much as the next girl but the effect simply came from the books themselves. It was quite peculiar but very pervasive.

  The first time things came to a head, I had come into this one shop out of the rain. My clothes were slightly damp and the books smelled green and grassy. I was lurking amongst the warren of ceiling-high, library-like shelves reading a collection of short stories when the usual erotic buzz of the place became overwhelming. I replaced the book and slipped into the small customer loo at the back of the shop. At first I just stood against the wall in silence and squeezed my breasts through the damp material. When this wasn’t enough I pinched my cold nipples through the cotton of my bra until they stood out sore and hard. Before I knew it I had my right fingers in my knickers and my left hand inside my bra and I was quietly, firmly masturbating. As each fresh wave of pleasure developed between my legs I told myself that I would stop in a minute but soon felt the slipping sands of a climax beneath my feet. It was a soft, muted orgasm, dizzying because I was standing up. I walked home with a shocked smile on my face.

  I visited that loo a few more times, on one occasion pulling up my sweater and cami top and baring my breasts under the strip light, watching myself come in the mirror, my hand gy
rating beneath my underwear’s straining nylon. However, after an accidentally noisy orgasm I decided that the obsession must stop. I didn’t visit the shop for months and took a different bus to avoid it.

  Then, one day, I was walking alone in the old neighbourhood when a coincidence struck me. I had, the night before, trimmed my pubic hair for the first time. I had previously kept a luxuriant bush of springy hair but in a fit of curiosity I had taken scissors and a razor to my curls and left behind a fine covering of hair which, while modest, showed a good deal of interesting detail. I had had some good fun the night before with a hand mirror, investigating my new look. It seemed to me that my newly styled pussy deserved to be introduced to the books, so I slipped inside. In the bookshop loo I raised my short skirt and took down my knickers to thigh level. My pussy looked lovely. I even teased apart the folds to see the pink pearl of my clit gleaming there amongst the short, newly shorn hairs. Then I had an outrageous idea. I arranged my clothes and with a beating heart explored the shop. I seemed to be the only browser in the labyrinth of discreet shelves and the owner was eating crisps, lost in a police procedural novel. I took myself off to the depths of the shop and found a spot I liked. There I bunched my skirt up around my hips and dropped my already moist knickers. I breathed in the raunchy scent of the books and, leaning against a shelf of hardbacks (I think I may have licked one of the spines), set to work.

  It felt incredible, rubbing my cunt like that in public but at the same time in private, surrounded by these hot, dangerous volumes, the leather warm and sensuous on my bottom. I took my time, sometimes standing with my feet wide apart, once propping one booted leg up on a shelf to spread my legs further, masturbating in slow, hard circles, my cunt oozing creamy juice. A particularly good position was squatting, my bare bottom all but touching the dusty floorboards, my pussy pinched together around my rotating fingers. Sometimes I dipped in deep to my own warm honey; sometimes I tickled my rosebud with feathery strokes. In the end I came on my back, knees bent in the air, the heels of my boots pricking my bum cheeks. The orgasm was ferocious. I tasted it in my mouth before it arrived beneath my fingers and I remember flopping like a stranded fish as it tore through me, knocking the breath from my body. It travelled right down my legs into my boots and made my wrists tingle. Goodness only knows if I stayed quiet. I have no recollection. Dazed and seeing stars I arranged my clothing and left the shop on wobbly legs, saying goodbye to the (hopefully) oblivious bookseller, licking my sticky fingers as I went.