The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

I jerked, like my husband.

  “Behave yourself!” he warned me, his manhood buried in another woman’s mouth. “Or you’ll get another spanking!”

  I could only hope! I gritted my teeth and batted perspiration out of my eyes, my nipples singing and bum stinging and pussy leaking. I watched the beautiful black she-male move her blonde head back and forth, sucking on my husband’s thrilled cock.

  She took him quick and deep, pulled back fast and tight, sucking Arthur’s gleaming erection. Her cheeks ballooned and billowed as she devoured my husband. I so wanted to help her out, mouth that luscious length of meat myself; or plunge a hand down onto my pulsing pussy and polish my puffed-up clit. But I was cuffed to the bar so any relief from my lust was at the mercy of my husband.

  Kelcie gripped Arthur’s hips and bobbed her head in a blur, hair flying, sucking his cock in deep and depraved frenzy. Arthur grabbed hold of her head and jerked back his hips. His cock sprang out of her mouth in a gush of saliva and air, the huge member shining with hot spit fresh from the she-male’s mouth.

  He thrust his heavy balls into her open mouth, and she sealed her lips around them, tugging on my husband’s sac.

  “She’s going to fuck you, while I fuck her!” Arthur informed me, pistoning his protruding cock over Kelcie’s hair and forehead and nose, as she sucked on his nuts.

  I nodded and gulped again.

  Arthur popped his balls out of Kelcie’s mouth. The hair was matted and his sac was dripping. He helped Kelcie up to her feet, and I saw that the she-male’s cock was as hard as my husband’s now – not as big, but thick and strong. Arthur led Kelcie up to me, so that we were face to face and then he grasped her erection and poked her hood into my pussy lips.

  I couldn’t help moaning as Kelcie’s deep-purple cockhead pushed apart my labia and burst into my pussy proper. Arthur’s hands on her arse propelled the rest of her shaft into my cunt. She banged up against me, our nipples and breasts squishing together, our lips touching and locking; Kelcie’s cock buried inside me up to her smooth-shaven balls.

  She coiled her long arms around my neck and thrust her hard cock back and forth in my pussy, her tongue twining around mine in my open mouth. I groaned into her mouth, wishing I could grab onto her pumping buttocks and urge her on even harder and faster. But more than overjoyed, still, to get fucked by the lovely she-male in the presence of my loving husband.

  Arthur lubed his own cock, looking at me getting fucked by Kelcie. “I lied,” he said. “I’m going to fuck your arse, Claire.”

  My buttocks surged with renewed pain and pleasure. Arthur moved in behind me, gripped a blistered cheek and pulled it open then plugged his huge cock into my bumhole. I quivered.

  Arthur slammed his hips forward, ramming his cock into my arse. His thighs smacked my cheeks as hard as his hand and stick had, his tremendous erection stretching and stuffing my stunned anus.

  They moved together, Kelcie fucking my front, Arthur my back, their cocks gliding together inside of me. I bounced between them on the driving momentum of their urgent thrusting, Kelcie kissing and frenching and pumping me, Arthur gripping my shoulders and biting my neck and blasting my arse.

  My pussy went molten and my anus was on fire and my buttocks were dancing with feeling. A rising tide of ecstasy welled up inside me from their churning cocks, and I closed my eyes and cried out. A raw, wicked orgasm flooded my body and brain, shocking through me in waves to the thundering beat of those two cocks fucking me.

  Kelcie screamed and shot into my pussy, her body vibrating against mine. Arthur yelled in my ear and exploded in my arse. He spurted my anus with magma-like semen. We all came so hard I was gushing all over them out of both ravaged holes.

  That was our first Friday Fun Night. I’ve enjoyed every one so far – TGIF! But the first is always the most special. Arthur and I really got our kink on and put the red-hot heat back in our love life and marriage.

  Just don’t tell the neighbours what we’re up to indoors at the end of the working week. We’re still a respectable couple, after all.

  Mother-In-Lord

  Victoria, Bristol

  I should be honest here from the outset. As soon as my daughter Emily married Michael I knew the young man was more than a little interested in me. The way my new son-in-law stared at me at the wedding reception confirmed that he was quite taken with me and in a way I could appreciate why.

  I was forty-eight when this began, but over the years I had worked hard to keep myself in shape and make sure that I got plenty of sleep and ate sensible meals. I’m not one for the latest fad diets and inevitably I have added a little weight here and there, but equally I am not stick-thin and gaunt-faced and the curves I have gained make me look good. If I see myself in the mirror I can see why I get more than a few stares from men, especially if I wear something that accentuates my shape.

  Now I understand a lot of women of my age get resentful of women who haven’t gone to seed. I know a couple of females whose hackles rise when I am near them. A good waist, decent legs with high-heeled shoes and a low-cut top showing off my ample boobs and inviting cleavage tend to make jealous women protective of what they have. Particularly when their men are looking at me and almost licking their lips at what they see. I can appreciate why the men get hauled off, out of the reach of my supposed claws.

  Younger men stare at me too and I always get the impression that I would be more of a trophy catch for quite a few excitable young men. Older women can do that to younger males, and I like to think I certainly do. You see, I have red hair and while gentlemen prefer blondes I really think redheads are a lot more fun to be around. A man once described it to me as having “teeth in your pussy” and I don’t think for a moment he was talking about cats.

  Now Michael wasn’t someone whom I had met before the wedding day. Emily had gone off to Africa to help save the planet or something and met a younger man – she was twenty-six and he was twenty-three and looked even younger if I am being honest – and the whole wedding was something of a hurriedly arranged affair. My husband Kenneth worked in Cardiff but I didn’t want to move there so we had settled on a nice house in Clifton in Bristol and I was happy to stay at home and do whatever while he went off over the Severn Bridge every day to his job.

  I had assumed that the newlyweds would disappear back to some place in Africa and continue saving the world but to my surprise Emily announced at the wedding that she had done that now and wanted to settle down here. We hadn’t seen much of her over the past few years and I was fairly happy with that. Again, moment of truth here: I didn’t always get along with my daughter and our relationship wasn’t great when she was going through her terrible pre-teens and awkward teenage years. But here she was, suddenly back home and even hinting she was going to try harder to appreciate her family more, which I interpreted as trying to like her mother more than she had. Bristol wasn’t her home town but she liked the look of it and the boy Michael was happy too. I guessed he liked the idea of me being close as well and seemed quite eager to find a place to live here.

  The happily married couple settled on a place just off Gloucester Road and while they were close enough in one sense they were far enough away to let me get on with my life. It soon became apparent that whatever skills Michael had acquired in Africa and in his home town of Norwich earlier weren’t in great demand in Bristol. While Emily got a job fairly quickly in a building society, Michael took to coming round to see me, asking for help in all sorts of little things like filling in job application forms, and also asking what he could do to help me round the house. In fairness he was a willing gardener while I liked the house in Clifton but detested the nitty-gritty of gardening. The garden was rambling and overgrown and slowly Michael became useful in getting it under control. I even told him he might make a good gardener if he kept this up and the boy redoubled his efforts to please me.

  At least, I think he was trying to please me. As soon as my husband got home Michael would say a few words to Kenneth
and disappear and the young man looked disappointed whenever Emily was around. He would still give me surreptitious looks as he had at the wedding and I felt that I was more than just a mother-in-law to him.

  A Mother-in-Lord was how I began to describe myself, because I took to being something of a queen, airily giving orders and relaxing. Or acting as Lady Muck if you prefer. Either way, I would sit on the patio that Michael had tidied up and sip wine while watching him, giving him directions as to what I wanted in the garden and even asking him to do other things round the house. That included fetching me more wine. I really think Michael got to like serving me because he could stand behind my shoulder and look down my cleavage as he poured me a glass of wine.

  I had taken to wearing even lower-cut tops than usual and I made sure my bust was powdered with a hint of bra lace showing. Emily always wore very prim things and she didn’t have the bust her mother did, so no doubt what I was revealing to her husband was something he didn’t get at home.

  Perhaps it was the devil in me but I began to ask Michael to do things for me in the bedroom. The place needed painting and the old coving was broken on one wall so I asked him to fix it. Then I stood at the bottom of the ladder so he could peer down and see even more of what I had to offer. Of course, I wouldn’t have done anything inappropriate but I loved how his eyes would go to my chest and he would stare at what he could see. Once I had him used to doing jobs in the bedroom I decided – evil woman that I was – that I would ask him to zip me into a dress I was supposedly having trouble with. The poor young man’s hands were shaking as he struggled with the zip (I had bought a dress with a broken zip, which shows you how scheming I was, and got it at a reduced price as well) and underneath I was wearing a green satin and black lace basque.

  A basque isn’t my normal attire but poor Michael didn’t know that. I had begun to casually put some of my underwear out so he could see it as he went round the place. I had started buying some expensive bra and panties sets and even liked the idea they were from Victoria’s Secret. I was, I admit, going all out not to seduce the boy but tease him. I imagined him masturbating at home, or even in our bathroom, at what he had seen casually strewn around the bedroom. In a way it pleased me that my daughter’s man was thinking more about me than about her.

  I heard Michael gasp when he saw the back of my basque and I stifled a grin. I asked him to keep trying to close the zip and I could swear his hand was shaking as he tried, and failed, to fasten it. I thanked him after he had struggled for a while and I glanced at his front and saw my outfit had the desired effect on him. The bulge showed he was more than a little happy to help and he rushed off to the bathroom, which made me feel pleased with myself.

  I should tell you that while Emily was trying hard to like me more it wasn’t always a screaming success between us. We were still in a phase of armed neutrality and I suppose Michael was my way of getting back at Emily for her awfulness in the past. I liked teasing him and in a way showing him what a real woman was like. I suppose I was saying: “This is what you could have had instead of what you got.”

  Michael seemed even more taken with me once he had seen me in my exotic underwear and I suppose if I was a sensible woman I should have stopped this game there. But I pressed on, asking him to do some washing for me one day and making sure my basque was in the laundry pile. I wanted him to get a touch of it as well as some of my other intimate garments.

  That was when I caught the poor young man wanking into my panties. I suppose I had an idea he wouldn’t just look and put them in the washer and I found him crouched among all my washing with my basque spread out in front of him and gripping a pair of my peach lace knickers round his cock.

  It was a moment when all hell could have broken loose, but the truth was I wasn’t surprised in the least. Michael stared at me with face as red as the ribbons on my favourite bra and mumbled he was sorry. Then he dropped the bombshell: he had to do this, he blurted out, because he couldn’t get hard with Emily. The young man even began to cry.

  That put me in a difficult position. I had, deliberately, I will confess, set the boy up to do this. I had put temptation in his way and heaven knows men don’t need much tempting at times when a plunging neckline will do it. But now he was telling me he couldn’t raise an erection at home with Emily and he was worried this was the only way he could get off. Of course, he didn’t come out and say it quite that way. The actual conversation, once he put his penis away, was littered with ums and ahs and apologies and hints and euphemisms. But I am a forthright person and I spelled it out for him, summing it up neatly with the words: “Me and my clothes excite you more than your wife does.”

  Michael looked close to a breakdown but he said yes, that was it. He began to apologize again and I told him to stop. There were problems and there were solutions, and I had the solution. What I did was to make him tidy up my underwear and lay out what he wanted me to wear and I would see to “his problem” as I put it. The boy blinked at me like I was mad but he did what I asked and when I went upstairs there on my bed was the green and black basque, a pair of stockings and a pair of black and blue lace panties that didn’t quite go with the basque. Never mind, this was his choice and his thrill.

  I made Michael stand facing the freshly painted corner of the bedroom while I got into the underwear and stockings and told him to turn round. He almost fainted clean away at what he saw: me standing, hands on hips, in front of him. His hard cock was almost tearing through his jeans. I told Michael that I would allow him to ejaculate but I would not touch his cock with my flesh and neither would he. My son-in-law was puzzled but he understood when I got out a pair of black opera gloves. I put them on slowly and I swear he moaned as I smoothed them up my arms.

  Then I told him to undress and get on all fours on the bed, legs apart. He did that in record time, I’m sure. I reached for his dangling but still erect cock and grasped it lightly in my gloved hand. Then I stroked it leisurely and I was aware he was watching me in the big mirror I have near the bed. He could see me and feel me and I could tell by the way his cock trembled and the fact that he was panting he was about to explode.

  Just as Michael came I let go of his penis. You see, I figured that if he climaxed and I wasn’t holding him or touching him then I had plausible deniability if anyone asked. I argued to myself that priming him was quite different to making him shoot. I stood and watched him pump his young testicles dry, admiring the way his dick shivered as it emptied on the bed quilt. He would, of course, be washing that later and he knew it.

  From that day on I would have what I called regular milking sessions with Michael. I would allow him to choose some underwear for me to wear (and I made sure I visited Victoria’s Secret for more choice) and even allowed him to dress me in it, though I always kept a pair of nude pants on so he couldn’t see my pussy. What I had was out of bounds; he could look at and dress it but not touch it. Once dressed I would get him to kneel or stand in some position and I would tease his very hard cock with my gloved hand or a feather or even a toilet brush (painful, yes, but he liked that a lot) and stop just as he came. It was fun standing back and watching his cock erupt on its own a few moments after I had stopped teasing it.

  To Michael’s credit he kept his mouth shut about our little games and I had no intention of spoiling the fun. What I did for the boy must have worked, because a few months later Emily told me she was pregnant (and hinted Michael was a new man these days, if I knew what she meant) and as a couple they were thrilled.

  I suppose I was thrilled I would be a grandmother, but I told Michael he would still need to be worked and milked. More so now that Emily was increasingly in no condition to have sex, however improved he was in bed. I invested in some new toys and ways to stimulate the man’s cock but I have to say it is probably his Mother-in-Lord’s guiding hand that still turns Michael on most of all.

  Stag-Trip Surprise

  Johnny, North London

  The door to my hotel room had hard
ly clicked shut before Jan had pushed me up against the wall and was thrusting his tongue hard between my lips. His fingers plucked at the buttons of my shirt, popping them open in quick succession, before he turned his attention to the fastening of my trousers. As his hand settled on the huge bulge in my underwear, cupping and caressing it through the soft jersey fabric, my passion mounted and I groaned into his mouth.

  Together, we began to move towards the bed, lips still locked in a frantic kiss. As I struggled to undo his jeans and free his hefty cock, I still found it hard to believe that my first ever visit to Amsterdam had got off to such an incredible start.

  When my best mate, Dan, announced that he was finally tying the knot with his girlfriend, I knew he’d plan a stag trip that none of us who went on it would ever forget. I had a feeling he’d pick Amsterdam; he’d always fancied visiting the city, but holidaying with Ruth, his girlfriend, usually meant a week spent on a beach in Greece or Spain or anywhere she could work on her tan. Dan liked the idea of spending time touring the red-light area and taking in one of the live sex shows – things Ruth would never agree to do with him. I’ll admit now that staring at half-dressed women in windows isn’t really my idea of a good time – not because I’m some kind of prude but because I’ve always been attracted to men – but I was still happy to go along with the lads because we always have a real laugh together.

  Tonight, having checked into our hotel a few minutes’ walk from the main Dam Square and accustomed ourselves to our surroundings, we’d set out for an evening’s drinking and sightseeing. It was a warm summer evening, and the city was lively, buzzing with tourists. Locals on bikes weaved in and out of the groups of dawdling pedestrians, and a couple of the lads almost got knocked down by a speeding cyclist when they stepped into the road without looking, but we soon started to get the feel of the place.

  Dan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when we turned a corner and walked straight into the heart of the red-light district. Women stood in many of the windows, dancing sexily or just beckoning to guys to step inside and sample their wares. I don’t remember who had the idea that we should pay for Dan to visit the dark-haired, big-titted beauty in the electric-blue lingerie, but I found myself chipping in a few euros and telling him to go and have a good time. We were working on the theory that it was his last holiday as a free man, and what Ruth didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. The size of the grin on Dan’s face as he stepped inside and the girl pulled the curtain across her window, letting everyone know she had a client, was really a sight to behold.