The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions

by Barbara Cardy

  “Jump,” he said, tightening his grip.

  Not quite sure what was going to happen next, I did as he asked and he lifted me right up onto the top of the thing. I leaned back on my elbows, let my knees fall casually open and watched the rapid rise and fall of my tits as my cunt quivered with anticipation. The top of the bin came to just above his waist. There was only one thing he could possibly have in mind. His hands closed around my ankles and he lifted them to rest on his shoulders. As he leaned in, I let my head loll back and closed my eyes, emptying my mind of everything except the distant rumble of traffic and what I was about to feel. I didn’t know this man from Adam; I was never going to see him again and even at that point I could barely remember what he looked like. All that mattered was what we were doing right there, right then. The thought made me feel like a fucking dirty little whore and I loved it.

  “Yes,” I murmured as he pressed my knees further apart, opening my slippery hole up to the soot-black London sky. His hands gripped my hips and he tugged me roughly towards him. I arched my back and reached for my nipples, circling them as I waited for the first, spine-tingling touch of his tongue. My whole body jerked as he instead slid two long fingers inside me and curved them up to press hard against the front wall of my cunt. I pushed down into them and rocked, feeling my muscles tighten around them of their own accord as white light started to splinter behind my closed eyelids. Slowly, he withdrew them until they were almost out and then he spread them apart, stretching my tight hole until there was the most agonizingly erotic burn. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear it, he slid them out of me, only to replace them straight away with more fingers. I couldn’t tell how many it was or whether it was the fingers of one hand or two, but when he spread them again I cried out and bucked against them, some primal desire making me crave more of the piercing ecstasy that came with the pain.

  “Easy,” he said, his voice strange and unfamiliar in the dark. The fingers slid out of me and the next time I could tell it was two fingers, one from each hand, which he slipped inside. He spread my hole open, more gently this time, and blew softly on my jangling clit, teasing me into a frenzy of wanting before he finally plunged the tip of his tongue between his fingers. I felt my mind slipping away and knew that he wouldn’t have to do much more to make me come. He tongue-fucked me for a few incredible seconds and then touched the tip of his tongue to the swollen nub of my clit. His hot breath seeped inside my cunt as he teased my clit, his fingers holding me open and still. My blood surged as I tried to thrash against his touch, a pulse deep inside ticking relentlessly like a bomb ready to explode, but he held back from giving me what I wanted, keeping the strokes of his tongue light and his stretching fingers still. The vision of his big fat cock ploughing into me became so insistent that it was all I could think about. Panting with desire so strong I could barely speak, I reached up to wind my fingers in his hair and tugged his head away from my swollen lips.

  “Fuck me now,” I gasped, hearing my brazen words with a new surge of lust. He released me and I scrambled into his arms to be lifted down, feeling with a jolt the warm mound of his belly against me, a belly I had almost forgotten about. I grabbed my jacket and located the emergency condom, sending up a silent vote of thanks that it hadn’t fallen out of the pocket. The brick wall was cold and rough against my back as I pulled him against me, grinding myself against his belly, loving the feel of the solid mass of it and its sexy roundness. Our mouths met, kissing harder this time, our ragged breath mingling as our teeth clashed and our tongues fought. His large hand closed around the back of my right thigh, lifting it until he could reach my knee. I raised myself onto the toe of my ballet flat as he grasped his cock. I almost didn’t stop him; one half of me was desperate for the danger-filled excitement of rampant unprotected sex, while the other, sensible half, looked ahead to how I’d feel about that the next day.

  He rolled the condom onto his massive shaft slowly, taking my hand and guiding it along its length as we inched it down together. I could feel the urgency in his erection, the vibration of his desire to fuck. I leaned back against the wall again and lifted my leg into his waiting palm as I closed my eyes. I was trembling all over with the excitement of fantasy made real; I had made it happen. I was about to get fucked in the dark by a total stranger and I wanted it so bad.

  When his massive cockhead nudged its way into me, everything inside me turned to liquid. I clung to his shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch as he pushed against my slippery flesh and then loosen as he slammed into me, making me cry out with the force.

  “Are you OK?” He spoke into my hair and I nodded against his shoulder: “Uh-huh.”

  He stood very still, his cock swelling inside me, stretching and filling me until it felt as though neither of us would ever be able to move again. I held my breath as the pressure built at the very top of my cunt. One move and I felt I would explode. Very slowly, he pushed even further into me and then withdrew a little. I groaned into his shoulder as his belly pressed hot and heavy against me. I slid a hand down from his shoulder to touch the side of it, caressing it as he lunged into me again, pulling my leg up higher as he did. My head spun. Everything inside me seemed to slow and come to a pinnacle of perfect stillness. He pushed higher, harder, as though he sensed how to release the pressure. He withdrew again and I heard myself whimper helplessly as I waited for the thrust that I knew was going to finish me off. The knee that supported me shook and if it hadn’t been for him holding me up I think I’d have slipped to the ground. He angled my leg outwards against the wall, opening my cunt wider.

  “I’m coming,” I told him in a faint whisper that sounded to me as though it came from miles away.

  His grip on me tightened and he drove his slippery shaft into me again, hard, and then again. My orgasm exploded and I knew I’d shouted out because he clamped a firm hand over my mouth. Pleasure, more intense than any I’d known, pulsed through me as my mind spiralled into a kaleidoscope of fragmented colours and images. He drove further into me, holding me hard against his cock as my cunt spasmed crazily around it.

  “Oh, yes,” I sighed into his hand when I finally came back to myself, “fucking yes.”

  I was nearly catapulted into orgasm all over again as he suddenly withdrew, my insides clamouring to hold his cock where it was. He turned me and bent me over, parting my legs and positioning his cock against my cunt again before I had even caught up with what he was doing. The swell of his belly brushed the small of my back and animal desire gripped me as hard as ever. I wanted more and I wanted it dirty. I wanted to be pounded and used; I wanted him to have the orgasm of his life right here inside me. I didn’t have long to wait. His fingers dug into my hips as he thrust hard, the head of his cock slamming so deep that I gasped in pain. I reached up and caught hold of the wheelie bin then shuffled forwards to rest my cheek against it. He grunted, a filthy, animal sound full of lust, as he rammed into me again. His belly grazed my arse with each lunge, making a soft slapping sound. He leant over and rested a hand on top of the bin, grinding his pelvis ruthlessly against my arse. His free hand slipped down to squeeze my left breast, pressing it hard against my ribs with his next deliriously agonizing lunge. I squeezed my legs together, tightening my cunt for him, and felt again the building pressure of orgasm as his flesh tugged against mine.

  “Fucking hell!” he groaned, speeding up, slamming into me again and again as I was thrust against the bin. I parted my legs and raised my arse and took all of him, letting him batter me towards sweet oblivion. As I came, so did he, his cock bucking against my madly rippling muscles, driving me out of my own head and into the swirling black nothing of the night. I fell to my knees and he fell with me, his belly heaving against the small of my back, his sweat and aftershave and the scent of illicit sex in the air all around me.

  I had scabs on my knees for a week afterwards; a slightly guilty reminder of what I’d done. I’ve never done it again; it was too good to risk repeating without disappointment. I’ve
never seen him again either, although that’s not to say I haven’t looked for him. I would have liked some more of what he had to offer, but as soon as we were dressed he kissed me gently and then went back inside and disappeared into the crowd. Still, that was the whole idea. You can’t go falling in love with everyone you have anonymous sex with. If I’m honest, that’s the other reason I’ve never done it again.

  Little Shits

  Penelope, Ipswich

  I’ve called them little shits, but they’ve not all been little. They’ve not all been shits either, but it’s appropriate because I’ve beaten the crap out of all of them.

  I never knew I was a dominatrix. Some people say you know from a very early age but I didn’t. Maybe a couple of life experiences were my catalyst.

  The first was when I was just fifteen. I was walking home from my friend Jane’s house around 11 p.m. one Friday – we’d been doing homework together because she was always more academic than I was. It was dark, but not that dark, and the street was well lit with plenty of houses each side. Some had footpaths leading to other parts of the estate and it was when I took a shortcut through one of these he grabbed me. He just appeared from nowhere, grabbed my hair and twisted it. He said he had a knife but I never saw it. He told me if I screamed he’d cut me. Those were his words, designed to scare me. Successfully.

  I didn’t scream; I couldn’t find my voice anyway because I had a big, scared lump in my throat. He tore open my school blouse and pulled up my bra, then started biting and sucking on my tits, or what passed for tits in those days. He started to slide his hand up my skirt and then some boy on a bike came down the alley. The guy just swore and ran, but the boy on the bike stopped and looked after me, offering me his coat and walking me home. He even stayed while my parents called the police and he told them what he knew. Not many men are sweet like that.

  The next occasion was almost a mirror image of the first, except this time I wasn’t alone; Jane was with me. I was seventeen by then and had almost forgotten the incident two years before. But then the same thing happened; it may even have been the same guy, because they never caught anyone that first time. He jumped out and flashed this small kitchen knife. Jane screamed and I thought, not again, and kicked him hard in the balls. I mean, with all my energy. I guess I was taking out my anger for the other time too. The guy went down in a heap, moaning. I kept kicking him. I couldn’t stop. In the end Jane had to drag me away, but I was completely in the zone. I’d got my own back. No man would ever treat me that way again.

  It took me a while to get down off that high. We never reported it. I OD’d on adrenaline. I thought I could take on the world and beat it. The most powerful thing was that I really, really enjoyed hurting him. And I was soaked sexually. It set the pattern for my life.

  Sure, I had a couple of boyfriends in the normal sense, with teenage fumblings and the hope of an idyllic Stepford marriage. It was when a married man picked me up that I realized who and what I am. I was in a club with a few friends and this guy wouldn’t take his eyes off me. All my mates noticed. I was a brazen hussy back then (well, I guess I still am) and I walked right over to him and challenged him about why he was looking at me. He just started back and said it was my leather. I was wearing high black leather boots and a matching miniskirt. He didn’t even look me in the eye; he just stared at my boots.

  I remember telling him to back off or I’d give him a good kicking. He just stared and said, “Yes, please,” but not in a seedy jokey way – this guy really meant it. He bought me drinks and I chatted to him. He kept no secrets. He was married to an ordinary woman and led an ordinary life but his wife didn’t understand him. What a corny line, but again he meant it. He needed a strong woman, he said, someone to serve.

  I was half joking but half fascinated. I asked if he thought he could serve me and he said yes, he thought I was fantastic. We went to a hotel and he booked a room – I’m sure they thought I was a hooker. In the room he just knelt down on the floor and asked if he could kiss my feet. I wanted to laugh, but he carried on – not my feet, but my boots – for a long time, till I was getting bored. When I pulled away he wouldn’t let go, so I kicked him. Not hard, just a bit. He loved it, begging me to do it again.

  I said I was going and didn’t understand him, but he begged me to stay and said I was a natural. All to keep me there, I know. Then I remembered the guy I’d kicked and how good it felt. I ground my heel into his hand and made it all red. I made him lick the soles of my boots and put the heels in his mouth. When he reached for his cock I kicked his hand away. He spent most of the time grovelling on the floor, and at one point I had my heel in his mouth, standing on his cheek, so it was the only thing between my heel and the carpet. I could’ve really hurt him, I guess.

  I was fantastically turned on by all this, but I didn’t want sex with him. He asked if he could and I said, “In your dreams,” and I think he liked that more than if I’d agreed. Instead I made him lie on the carpet and wank himself, and then told him he had to bring his feet up over his head and come in his own mouth. He did it all. It was a bit pathetic in itself, but the buzz I got from being obeyed was just too much. He begged me to let him do something for me, suggesting he go down on me, which I’d never had done to me before and was a bit scared of. So I made him stay in the room while I locked myself in the bathroom and used my fingers on myself. I made a lot of noise (I always do) but I wouldn’t let him be part of it. Again he begged me to stay, then to let him take me out again, but I got a cab and went home.

  He made me realize how easy it is to pick up men and have a good time totally on my terms. I go to the best restaurants and hotels and I never do anything I don’t want to.

  I got married to one of them. It started in the same way – he’s a few years older than me – but there was something between us emotionally on top of all that kinky stuff. Maybe he loved or loves me, but most of all he worships me. Seriously. I can treat him like dirt and he worships me all the more. He does all the housework and all the cooking, yet still has a good, full-time job. I don’t work anymore. I don’t need to. My husband earns enough and keeps me. He needs to be treated badly. Notice I’ve not even given him a false name. I’ll probably let him read this and I don’t want him to think he’s worthy of having a name.

  I guess you want to know what we do, so I’ll tell you about last night. It’s not a coincidence since I knew I’d be writing this today and wanted it fresh in my mind. But it was no special occasion – it was a typical night for us.

  He got in around six. He loves me to wear sexy underwear, like stockings and suspenders, so last night I had jeans and a sweater on. I left his collar and leash, a blindfold and handcuffs on the hall table along with a note that told him to strip, put them all on and wait. It was exactly 7.30 when I went to see him, and he was still standing obediently. I’d planned 7.30. I’d asked an old boyfriend to call at that time and any of my men will tell you I will not tolerate anything but exact punctuality.

  Marcus was exactly on time. Without speaking to husband, I invited Marcus into the hall and told him to undress too. Then I said he could undress me. When we were both naked I had him kneel and lick my puss. Husband would hear the wet slurpings and know I was turned on, and I was typically noisy as I let Marcus bring me off.

  Afterwards I said Marcus could fuck me if he sucked husband off first. Neither of them is gay but they did it because I told them to. Marcus knelt down and popped husband’s cock in his mouth, then sucked like mad until husband came. I watched and masturbated. I won’t let husband come in my mouth, ever, and I’ve only ever sucked it once. After husband came in Marcus’s mouth I made them snog and told them I didn’t want any come near me when I sucked Marcus’s cock. After all, men expect a girl to taste their come, so why shouldn’t they?

  When he was clean, I went down on Marcus. I knew he wanted to hold my head and fuck it but I won’t allow that. I made husband kneel down and made Marcus fuck him in the arse while he sucked me o
ff.

  I really get off on all this, but I will admit I have wild fantasies about meeting a strong-willed man who won’t put up with my crap and turns the tables on me, maybe tying me up and making me suck him off. Men are weak or ignorant brutes.

  Will I go on mistreating husband? Of course I will, for as long as I want. Maybe, at some future time, I will give him the ultimate torture and divorce him.

  My first experience with Marcus came from a contact on an internet fetish chat site. I was tormenting husband by making the most outrageous suggestions to any men who dared to engage me in chat. When Marcus, in a private message, told me where he was, I couldn’t believe he was so local. He’s some kind of computer geek and had traced my area somehow – he’s fixed my computer since so that can’t happen again. Anyway, I ended up saying yes after he begged me for a meet, more to make husband crazy than anything else.

  I watched through the window as he arrived at our door carrying flowers. I made husband answer and take him upstairs to the spare bedroom, tell him to get undressed completely and wait. Husband locked him in and he waited; he had no choice. Probably around an hour, I guess. Then I went upstairs, carrying a riding crop and dressed in very little apart from black underwear and boots, and opened the door. He snatched up his flowers immediately from the bed and smiled as he gave them to me, holding out his hand, would you believe, in an offer of a handshake.