The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  She’s never let me fuck her. She’s married, you see, but we still play games during the day when her guy’s at work. Sure I’d like to fuck her, but all the other things she does make that not as important. She’s a control freak, that’s for sure. She makes all the running and I do what she tells me, which is OK. Her favourite is to have me flat on the floor while she sits on my face and brings herself off. She always does more of the work than I do, like I’m some object she rubs herself off on. She always starts with knickers on and usually wears a slip or underskirt and she often wears stockings, either hold-ups or proper ones. After I’ve sucked her long enough she wraps something round my cock and brings me off.

  Then one day when I turned up she wasn’t alone. She had another woman there, called Amy. Amy’s nothing like as attractive as Jo, and she’s a bit overweight. I was a bit annoyed she was there and I was going to miss out, but they invited me to have a glass of wine with them and it was obvious they’d had plenty already; they were giggly and noisy.

  “Phil has an underwear fetish,” Jo suddenly announced.

  Amy looked at me for a sec and then they just burst out laughing. I didn’t think it was funny.

  “Would you like to see Amy’s knickers?” Jo asked. Well, she was taking the piss, I know, but I never miss an opportunity. Jo didn’t wait for an answer anyway. “Come on, Amy,” she said. “I will if you will.” And hiked her skirt up with the usual display of stockings and black knickers. Then she made a grab for Amy’s skirt and pulled it up. Amy wore light blue shiny pants, sort of bikini style.

  “Phil prefers black,” Jo told her, then said, “Here, try mine on.”

  So right there and then Jo took off her thong and Amy her knickers and Amy put the thong on, showing me plenty as she did.

  “It’s damp,” Amy complained. Jo just reached over and rubbed the crotch, meaning she had her hand between Amy’s legs. “So it is,” she laughed.

  Instead of putting on Amy’s panties, Jo called me across and unzipped me before wrapping the satin round my erection and doing her usual. I mean, this was seriously kinky: two women, one with a bare pussy, the other wearing someone else’s recently worn thong, and me being wanked with the spare pair. Not that Jo let that go on for long. After a minute or so she let go of me and put Amy’s panties on, pulling them up tight. She spread her legs as wide as the space on the sofa would allow.

  “Come on, Phil,” she said. “You know what to do.”

  Sure, I knew what she meant. I knelt down and moved in to lick her, but this time through another woman’s knickers. I felt some movement going on and when I opened my eyes and looked up, Jo and Amy were snogging and Amy was holding Jo’s tits. I just shut my eyes to stop myself coming there and then. Imagine my surprise when Amy joined me, sliding in between Jo’s legs next to me and licking her wet pussy alongside me. After a while she dragged her knickers down Jo’s legs and off, so we could get at her properly, but she wrapped her knickers round my cock and wanked me with them at the same time.

  Unlike Jo, Amy did let me fuck her. I did it from behind while she took over sucking Jo off. She tried to organize it so that my cock was wrapped in her knickers as I pushed it in, but that just dried her up and I couldn’t get in properly. Instead she put her pants over my head, so the crotch was against my mouth and nose, then took off Jo’s thong and used it to tie her own knickers in place just under my nose.

  OK, maybe I am a knicker sniffer.

  Amy never said not to, and I doubt I could have stopped anyway, so I came right into her.

  Jo made me go home after that, telling me before I went she was going to suck my come out of Amy. No idea whether she did; she probably said it to tease me. In fact the whole thing was to tease me, I guess. I never saw Amy again.

  Jo gets ever more kinky and ever more controlling. A couple of weeks ago she invited me round then calmly announced her husband would be home for lunch. She was wearing some new bright red underwear – the whole set but with black stockings – and displayed them all to me by pulling up her skirt, asking if I thought he’d like them. Just before he arrived home she made me hide under their bed and she dragged him to bed almost as soon as he got in. I could hear and even smell them having sex, and the bed banged against my head as they bounced on it. She was very vocal – to cover any noise I made maybe, but I heard her say something about him waiting while she took her knickers off. Next thing I know there’s movement at my right side and she’s dangled the French knickers down so I could get them. It was obvious what she wanted and I was too worked up to do anything else. I unzipped and wanked off into them.

  And, unlike me, he came right inside her. Lucky bastard. I wonder if it was a set-up and he knew I was there. Maybe he gets off on her being a slut.

  Because she is a slut. We’ve been going out in her car recently. We go places neither of us would be recognized and she always wears sexy underwear. On the drive she yanks up her skirt so her stockings and knickers are on show and she toots at truck drivers so they see. She knows it makes me jealous. Only three days ago we went down the motorway and she took her knickers off while driving so she could wank me with them, right there in the fast lane at eighty.

  She’s getting into bondage, too. Her husband went away overnight a while ago and she invited me to stay. I had visions of sleeping next to her all night but she had other ideas. I had to sleep in their spare room and she asked me if I trusted her. Of course I said yes and, to cut a long story short, she pretty much emptied her lingerie drawers out and took ages wrapping the contents all round me, fixing it all in place with tape and cling film. I must admit it felt great having all her stuff next to my skin but she cling-filmed me to the bed with my hands up at the top so I couldn’t touch my cock, then left me to stew all night.

  In the morning she came in, totally nude, and made me watch while she wanked herself off using one of her thongs. She took ages at it and came many times. When she was done she ripped a hole in the cling film just enough to get my cock through and wanked me off with the same thong.

  Where’s it all going? No idea, but I’m not after changing it. OK, I don’t get to fuck her, but I’ll trade that against her underwear games any day of the week. I come pretty much when she wants me to, then lots more at home, thanks to the regular supply of knickers she sends me home to wank with. I know she’ll get more kinky, more demanding and more controlling, but for a woman with a seemingly endless pot of ideas, I’ll do what she wants.

  Is she a part-time lesbian? Is she a dominatrix? Does her husband know? Have I got a future?

  No idea.

  Sexier By The Dozen

  Sarah, Waco

  Eleven firefighters had stood in front of my camera lens, one a day for the previous eleven days, posing in various forms of undress for the charity calendar they were producing to benefit a paraplegic comrade injured during a four-alarm blaze a year earlier. The eleven men ranged in age from late twenties to early fifties, and most had posed shirtless, exposing bulging biceps, thick chests, and rock-hard six-packs. One had posed in fire-engine red boxers and a gas mask, and another had posed in nothing but a flesh-colored thong and the boot he was pulling on, his tight rear end exposed but the bulge of his personal fire hose hidden by a muscular thigh and the particular angle of the camera.

  I had been roped into donating my photography by my friend Wendy, a graphic designer and wife of one of the three married men who posed for the calendar, and I was shooting the men, one each afternoon, working around their three-days-on, three-days-off schedule.

  Seven months had passed since my previous non-solo sexual experience, an orgasm-free twenty minutes spent in the bed of a self-absorbed prosecuting attorney who tried to cross-examine me about his performance after he finished; and spending all that time alone with the first eleven firefighters had made me so hot I was afraid I would self-ignite if I didn’t take long, ice-cold showers each evening when I returned home.

  Before firefighter number twelve – Brandt Cha
mbers – walked into my studio, I didn’t know what to expect except that he would be at least as handsome as his predecessors. And he was: tall with short black hair, square jaw cleanly shaven, thick biceps, broad shoulders and barrel chest tapering down to six-pack abs, trim waist, tight buns, and muscular legs.

  “You’re July,” I explained as he stripped, “the hottest month of the year. Think you’re up for it?”

  My question was ironic because at that moment he pulled down and stepped out of his boxer briefs, revealing a long, thick cock standing at half-mast. I was about to tell Brandt that none of his fellow firefighters had gone full monty, but I hesitated, enjoying the view too much to have it disappear before I captured it with my camera.

  I directed Brandt to the set, where I tried posing him in various positions with various clothing and props – turnout gear, boots, gloves, helmet, gas mask, fire extinguisher, extension ladder, a bit of fire hose – but his half-erect cock kept interfering with the shot, peeking out from behind his muscular thigh no matter how he posed.

  “We’re going to have to do something about that,” I said from behind the camera as I straightened. “It keeps getting in the way.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m trying to think about baseball, but you’re a beautiful woman and it has a mind of its own.”

  Apparently our conversation pushed baseball completely out of Brandt’s mind because his cock lengthened and stiffened until it thrust upward, and I knew there would be no more photography until we dealt with his erection. I considered several options, from outwaiting it to filling a baggie with ice and making him hold it against his crotch, but the one thought I kept returning to – the one thought I’d had almost every night for the previous eleven days – dampened my panties and made my nipples dimple my blouse.

  “You married?” I asked.

  Brandt shook his head. “No. Why?”

  “Seeing anyone?”

  “Not in months.”

  I stepped from behind my camera, crossed to where Brandt stood in front of the extension ladder wearing only a fire-engine-red presentation helmet, and dropped to my knees in front of him. I’d never been this forward with a man, but I’d never before had handsome, nearly naked firefighters parade in front of me for days on end, unintentionally tormenting me with their raw sexuality. After I wrapped my fist around the base of his erection, pushing back his wild tangle of black pubic hair, I took the spongy soft helmet head of his cock into my mouth and painted it with my tongue.

  “I—” Brandt started to say something, but stopped as I took another inch of his cock into my mouth and cupped his heavy ball sac with my free hand.

  As I slowly took his entire length into my mouth, I moved my fist out of the way, and his pubic hair tickled my nose until I drew back, stopping when my teeth caught the ridge of his glans. A drop of pre-cum oozed from the tip of his cock, and I licked it away before I took his entire length into my mouth a second time.

  Brandt didn’t know what to do with his hands, finally resting them on the back of my head and entwining his thick fingers in my shoulder-length blonde hair.

  As soon as his shaft was completely covered with my saliva, I again wrapped my fist around his thick cock, and I pumped hard and fast while I continued teasing his cockhead with my tongue. I knew he was about to come when his ball sac tightened in my palm, drawing upward, and his hips began pumping forward and back. His cock throbbed in my fist and then he came, firing a thick wad of hot cum against the back of my throat. I swallowed every drop and pulled away when his cock stopped spasming in my mouth.

  Then I licked my lips to capture the last of his flavor, returned to my position behind the camera, and took several dozen photos while Brandt still had the sexy, satiated, postorgasm look in his dark eyes, his now limp cock safely hidden behind one thigh.

  When I finished, I straightened and stretched, unintentionally thrusting my breasts forward and stretching my black T-shirt taut across my ample chest. My erect nipples dimpled the thin cotton even through my lacy bra. I said, “I think I have what I need.”

  “Are you certain?” Brandt asked. By then his cock had begun to stiffen again and he was appraising me with half-lidded eyes.

  “Still thinking about baseball?”

  “Batter up, two balls, no strikes, will he go all the way?” Brandt said.

  I laughed at his little joke as I stepped from behind my camera and approached the set. “That depends on the pitch.”

  By the time I reached him, Brandt’s cock was again fully erect, a bit of my lipstick smeared on one side. He removed the presentation helmet and placed it on the fire extinguisher. Then he took my hand, pulled me close, and bent forward to cover my mouth with his. As our kiss lengthened and deepened, our tongues met, and then it seemed as if we couldn’t remove my clothes fast enough.

  My T-shirt and lacy red bra were first to go, freeing my ample breasts from confinement. Then I kicked off my red sling-backs, slithered out of my form-fitting blue jeans and peeled off my red panties. As we continued kissing, Brandt’s hands explored my body, cupped my breasts, stroked my nipples, and then slipped downward to cup my pubic mound and stroke my swollen pussy lips with his fingers.

  I couldn’t believe how much I wanted Brandt. I’d only met him a few hours earlier and I had already done more with him than I did with most men after a great many hours spent getting to know one another. There was no bed, no couch, no soft place to lie down, and the floor of my studio was hard concrete. I reached between us and took his cock in my hand, intending to press the spongy soft head against my pussy lips and have sex standing up, but our height difference was too great and his erection too rigid.

  Brandt sensed what I was intending. He cupped the cheeks of my ass with his big hands and lifted me onto the metal extension ladder, which rested against the wall at a proper fifteen-degree angle, the rubber feet holding it firmly in place. I felt the cold metal rungs of the extension ladder against my back, and my ass rested on one of them.

  As he stepped forward and pressed his cockhead against my slick slit, I spread my legs wide and wrapped them around his waist. I used my legs to pull Brandt to me as every inch of his long, thick cock filled me. I reached upward, grabbed one of the upper rungs with both hands, and arched my back as Brandt grabbed hold of the ladder on each side of me.

  He drew back and pressed forward, his strokes firm and confident, and the ladder rattled with each of his powerful thrusts. Like a flash fire, I came quickly and unexpectedly, crying out as the heat of orgasm burned through me. I lost my grip on the ladder and would have fallen if Brandt hadn’t been pressing me against it, his cock continuing to pound into me.

  And then, with one last, powerful thrust, Brandt came, filling me with cum, and the two of us remaining connected on the ladder trying to catch our breath until his cock finally stopped spasming inside me and softened enough to slip free. Without a word, he eased me down from the ladder.

  I glanced around. While Brandt’s clothes were folded neatly on a chair behind my camera, mine were strewn all over the set. I collected my clothes and pulled them on.

  By the time I was once again dressed, so was Brandt. I walked him to my studio’s lobby and stood with him at the front door, unsure what to say until I blurted, “I’m not like this. I just— You just— I couldn’t help myself.”

  Brandt leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  In the heat of our coupling, I had forgotten about the final day of photography, and the next morning I took a long, ice-cold shower before I dressed. Then I carted my photography gear to the station house, a two-story brick building built back when they had real character. The calendar cover shot – the only one I was allowed to take on site – would feature all twelve of the sexy calendar models washing one of the fire trucks on the station house’s front drive, the only photo of the firefighters in action rather than studio-posed, and the six men who had the day off returned to the station for the shoot. />
  I tried not to pay any more attention to Brandt than I paid to the other men, but it was difficult. I couldn’t push the memory of our incendiary time together in my studio out of my mind. I needed to know how he felt about it, but I couldn’t very well ask him in front of the other men, who were laughing and joking, and stripping off their shirts. They sprayed as much water on each other as on the fire engine, and I took photos as fast as the camera would go, capturing the firefighters’ sexy bodies and easy camaraderie.

  Afterward, when half the men had disappeared into the station and five others were headed home, Brandt helped me load my photography equipment into my SUV.

  I had parked behind the station, where my SUV wasn’t visible from the street, nor was the area where I parked visible from any of the station’s windows. After I tucked the last camera bag into place, I reached up and closed the rear hatch.

  Brandt captured my wrist and spun me around to face him. Then he pulled me close, covered my mouth with his, and kissed me. His kiss took my breath away, made my blood race, and turned my knees to gelatin. When the kissed ended, he said, “Tell me yesterday wasn’t a fluke.”

  “It wasn’t,” I whispered hoarsely.