“She’s fine,” Rob assured him, and I imagined Philip looking nervous at that. There were very strict instructions though, so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he came to sit down on the bed, and when I didn’t move, he took my hand and pulled me towards him. I moved like a drugged thing, and I let him position me as he pleased. I ended up straddling his hips, and through the fabric of his pants, I knew that I was getting him hard, best friend or not.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and I wondered if he could go through with this at all.
“I want to see you squirm on my cock,” were the next words out of his mouth, and I should have known he wouldn’t disappoint me.
He guided my hands to his bare cock, and I sucked my breath in. He was bigger than either of the men who had come before him, longer and wider, and as I started stroking him, I bit my lip thinking about what that would feel like inside me.
Impulsively, I leaned down to lap at the tip, where there was already some pre-cum, and he groaned, pushing me away.
“Not yet,” he panted, and I could hear him fumble at the table. When he had sheathed himself, he took me by the hips and moved me again, this time positioning me directly over his cock. I bit my lip hard as he pressed the tip inside me, and he laughed raggedly.
“Come on, bitch,” he said, “I want to see you take it inside you.”
That brought a fresh surge of heat over my body, and I started to work myself down his shaft. I was suddenly struck by how I must have looked, grinding my way down Philip’s fat cock, and I groaned out loud.
Slowly, slowly I was able to press him deeper inside me, and then, biting my lip, I forced myself down those last two inches. I wanted the pain, was wild for it, and Philip’s groan told me how much he liked it. He was so big that it was hard for me to move. Instead, I simply rocked on his hips, relishing the fullness inside me.
He pulled me down to lie nearly flat on top of him, and then he could reach the base of the plug in my ass. He pressed his fingers against it, hard, rocking it inside me. I wailed at that, shutting my eyes tight behind the blindfold.
I could feel the tension inside me wind up tighter than a watch spring. I had been so hot throughout this, but there hadn’t been this urgency before. I was so, so close; I could feel it thrum through my body, making me clench harder around Philip’s cock. I reached down blindly with my hands and raked his chest with my nails. I was so desperate for it that I had to do something.
I didn’t have any sign that Rob was behind me until he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, making me whine in protest.
“Come on, whore,” he hissed in my ear. “You’re so fucking wet for this, come on . . .”
That was all it took. The hard pull on my hair and those words in my ear were all it took to push me over the edge. I yelled when I came, so loudly that someone, I wasn’t sure who, put a hand over my mouth.
My orgasm rocked my body hard, and it seemed to go on forever. I felt as limp as a piece of seaweed after, but that didn’t change the fact that I was still getting fucked. I whimpered as Philip kept pushing up into me, and just when it was getting painful, his breath caught and he pushed hard into me, shuddering as he came.
I was in a daze as he pulled out of me, leaving me to lie completely exhausted as he got up. He passed a few words with Rob, and I was briefly aware of the door opening and shutting.
The bed dipped as Rob sat down next to me, brushing my hair out of my face. He gave me a few moments, and then he reached over me to remove the plug. It came out with a loud wet sound, but I barely stirred. He rolled me over on my back, and the next thing I was aware of was being wiped down with a warm wet towel. He cleaned me from top to bottom, paying the most attention to my pussy and my ass, and I purred when he finally came to lie down by my side.
“Thank you,” I said, nestling my head underneath his chin.
“Was that what you wanted, honey?”
“Yes,” I replied, closing my eyes. “That was exactly what I wanted.”
The next morning, after plenty of sleep and a leisurely bath, he took me out for pancakes, which made me blush and giggle. We talked for hours about the experience, what I liked, what he liked, how we could improve it in the future. It definitely wasn’t the last time I was blindfolded and put at the mercy of people I couldn’t see, and in the months to come, we would bring in more people, not all of them male, and not all of them content just to fuck me, either. Some wanted to watch, some wanted to direct things, and some wanted to spank me until I was raw, but no matter what we did, it was always exactly what I wanted.
Addicted
Jane, Newcastle
I attend sex addiction meetings just for the hope of wild sex with men who want it just as much as I do. There you go; I admit it.
I’m Jane, I’m thirty-three and I’ve been divorced for three years. My marriage fell apart when my husband Alex caught me astride the tumble-dryer, legs wrapped tightly around the neck of an accommodating young gentleman who had just fitted the appliance. Later on I joked to my friends from the bottom of my wine glass, once the tears had been wiped away and my bed on the sofa had been prepared, that the guy had given me a great servicing. They laughed, but I knew what they were thinking. Was it really worth throwing away five years of marriage just for an afternoon of fun? Why on earth did I do it?
The answer, simply, was that I couldn’t help myself.
I’ve always had what could politely be described as a healthy sexual appetite. Even as a teenager my parents were concerned that I had an obsession with cleanliness because I showered up to three times a day. They had no idea I’d merely discovered the delights of the simple shower head, that if I pressed the head just inches from my nipples the delicious warm spray made the buds tingle and harden, that if I lowered it down between my glistening thighs I could orgasm within seconds . . .
I met my husband at a young age and we were always destined to be married. On my wedding day I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror while I waited for the car to take me to the church. I looked truly beautiful in my white dress, an angelic bride, but I noticed emptiness in my eyes. I was shortly to promise in front of God that I would be faithful to one man for the rest of my life. The mere thought of never, ever having another man deep inside me brought a shiver to my spine. I went ahead with the ceremony because I felt there was nothing else I could do. I knew the only way I could remain married, however, was to forget about the vows as if they didn’t exist. Sitting at the top table at dinner, my husband to my left and the best man to my right, my long flowing dress was pulled high up over my white flowery silk stockings and I was roughly fingered to orgasm. The guests continued to happily devour their chocolate pudding dessert, completely oblivious to the burning between my legs. Even my husband to my left had no idea what his best friend was up to and, just at the moment of climax, he lovingly kissed me on my flushed cheek and said that he had never seen me look so happy.
I was never faithful to my husband in our five years of marriage. It was never an option. The only surprise was that I got away with it for so long. After he had thrown me out of the family home we got together for chats to try and piece things together. Alex wanted to get back together, he said, but things had to change. For example, I had to stop fucking the delivery men. I broke down and confessed all. I confessed that I just couldn’t help myself, that I was burdened by urges that were out of my control. My husband removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose and looked at me in a way that was close to pity and sadness.
“You have a problem,” he said. “You’re a sex addict, Jane. If you promise me that you’ll do something to sort out your illness, attend some group sessions and really work at it, then maybe we do have a future together.”
I nodded my head and promised that I would do my very best. It sounded good to me, I thought. A room full of men who were just as horny as I was. I would be like a kid in a sweet shop. My marriage didn’t stand a chance.
When I first walk
ed into that small stuffy room on the fifth floor of a college, though, I wasn’t overwhelmed by candy, just a strong sense of depression. We sat around in a circle on red plastic chairs drinking barely warm cups of coffee from the machine in the corner. The carpet was tattered and stained but everybody stared intently at the floor as though it provided all the answers. Nobody dared look anyone else in the eye. I clasped my hands together and longed for the nightmare to be over.
The chairman opened the session. He was a guy in his forties with a grey beard and tufts of hair sticking out at both sides. He looked as though he would be more at home in a library than in a seedy hotel room. He asked for contributors and the first few people who spoke didn’t really take my interest at all. They mumbled on about how they had been fighting their urges and how hard it all was. It was a bit dull, to be honest, and I felt myself drifting off.
“Hi, my name is Steven and I am a dirty, filthy sex addict and I’ve not even been close to beating my uncontrollable urges over the last week.”
Suddenly I was awake and listening. This guy didn’t seem to have any problems looking people in the eye or speaking openly and honestly. He wore his addiction like a badge, seemingly savouring the attention. Steven was clad in leather and had metal rings dangling from both ears. His long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. His cheeks were pale and perfectly sculpted. He looked like a sexy rock star. Steven used his hands elaborately and artistically to express himself. I couldn’t help but wonder what else he could do with those long fingers of his.
“OK, so I was sat at home on Tuesday night watching the usual soaps on TV, and I was bored out of my mind, you know? So, just spur of the moment, like, I put on my jacket and went out. Didn’t have a clue where I was going, but I ended up drinking a beer in an area I’d never been before. It felt exciting to go somewhere completely new, you know?”
Of course, I can’t remember his exact words, and I’ve probably changed the odd sentence here and there. He spoke so freely and fluently. I looked around and some of the ladies crossed and uncrossed their legs, adjusted their seating. Steven told us on the other side of the bar were a couple in their forties, elegant and smart in their best slacks and business attire. The man kissed the lady on her powdered cheek. It was clear from the sparkling diamond on her finger that they were married.
“The woman kissed him back, pouting her lips theatrically. As she kissed him she looked over his shoulder and stared straight into my eyes, holding the look for seconds. I knew that she wanted me inside her and the mere thought made my cock press against the hard surface of the bar. Minutes later she kissed him again and said that she was going to the toilet. I followed her up the narrow staircase and she held the door for me without even looking back. The posh wife just knew that I would follow her. She pulled me inside the shabby cubicle and rode my dick until I exploded inside her. Minutes later she was back in the bar with her husband, all prim and proper, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her pretty mouth.”
We all stared at him open-mouthed. There was silence in the room. His bluntness was something to behold. I wanted him. The others stayed after the meeting to sip tea and chat, addicts sharing stories and support. Steven left straightaway and I followed him, walking ten to fifteen feet or so behind him, my eyes gazing at the beautiful swaying buttocks in his tight black leathers. He turned left, off the main street. I knew it was down a narrow alley. I turned left, too.
Steven was all over me instantly, his mouth pressed against my lips, his hands pushing me back against the cobbled wall. I squeezed his tight little arse in my hands and raised my knee high so that he was left in no doubt at all that I wanted him inside me. There wasn’t a hint of grace or elegance in his touches. It was raw and animalistic. He didn’t pull my panties off; instead he just pulled my damp thong to one side. I didn’t take off his trousers. I unzipped his fly and tugged his thick hard cock out and pulled it deep inside my open hole. The busy main street, with all the passing pedestrians, was just feet away. Anybody could have seen. I hope they did. He pressed his hand over my mouth to restrain my desperate moans. We were two sex addicts doing what we did best. Steven fucked me hard against that wall until, as he would so bluntly say himself, he exploded inside me.
I couldn’t wait for the next meeting. It wasn’t because of Steven. He was old news as far as I was concerned; just a wonderful memory I could savour when masturbating in the shower. I wanted to see who else attended the sessions. My husband was happy that I was attending regularly. I was showing real commitment to our marriage, he said. If only he knew, I thought. I was just an addict looking for her next good fucking.
But session after session passed with no activity. Everybody seemed to be fighting their urges. The chairman congratulated them on doing so well, for being so strong. I cursed them for being so dull, for being so weak. What was the point of being a sex addict if you weren’t going to have sex? It got to the point where I thought I was wasting my time. I considered quitting.
“My name is Shane and I just can’t stop myself from fucking random strangers. I enjoy it so much I don’t even know if I want to give up, if I’m honest.”
This was the guy; I knew it straightaway. Shane looked like a builder, or even a street fighter. He wore a tight T-shirt that showed off his bulky muscular body, with arms that ballooned and expanded at the biceps. He had blue ink on both his forearms and a black shadow on his cheeks. The guy looked rough and tough, like he ate pussy for breakfast. I felt my panties getting wet just thinking what a guy like that could do to me.
“I was at this posh house last week, doing some work for a friend I knew from the pub, and his daughter, who must have been about seventeen or so, was on the sofa with her boyfriend,” he said. His accent was thick. He was from the south. Again, I can’t recall every single word he said, but I’ll do my best. “She was a classic redhead, with hair down to her arse and this gorgeous pale skin. The boyfriend was about the same age, a posh kid with virgin stamped on his forehead. He was trying to get in her pants but she was having none of it. I had my shirt off and I could see her looking at me, staring at my tattoos and the muscle. She basically threw the young lad out of the house and as soon as she shut the door she was back in the room and I’ll never forget the words she used for as long as I live. She said, ‘So, are you going to fuck my tight little pussy or do I need to pleasure myself?’ You’ve guessed it, I was on her in a second, fucking her against the fireplace. It was amazing. And this was my mate’s daughter, you know?”
Oh, fuck, I thought, my own juices are trickling down my thigh. I wanted this guy to fuck me, just like he fucked that lucky girl. And I wanted him tonight.
Shane was more social than Steven. He stayed and chatted with the other addicts. I kept looking at him and catching his eye. I could see him glancing down at my big tits, at my child-bearing hips, his eyes big, hungry and lecherous. I knew I was going to have to make the move this time. I left the room and just knew that he was behind me.
I walked up the stairs, to the sixth floor, right then left, walking down long empty corridors, my heels clicking against the freshly polished floor. I opened the door to a classroom and sat against the edge of the teacher’s desk, waiting. The door was pushed open and in walked Shane. He was like a caveman. I could already see the massive bulge pressing against the constraints of his trousers. With one long sweep of his arm all the papers and pencils and pens on the desk were pushed to the floor. The brute ripped at my clothes, tearing my bra right down the middle. His lips urgently sucked a nipple into his mouth until it was raw with want. I grazed my fingernails down his back and tugged at the belt on his jeans. I could tell by the way he was digging into me that he was a big boy, and I wanted to feel for myself. I only spoke one sentence to him, and even that was stolen.
“So, are you going to fuck my tight little pussy or do I need to pleasure myself?” I asked.
He looked at me with a grin on his face. I knew I wouldn’t need to pleasure myself. Shane pulled his
trousers down and his cock stood to attention like a stick. I think I gasped at the size of him. I pushed my buttocks down to the edge of the desk so that he could push inside me. I felt like a naughty girl being fucked by his teacher. Shane twisted me around and fucked me over the edge of the desk. His rough hands spanked my pale naked arse as it quivered with his thrusts. I yelped, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh yes,” as he pushed in and out of me. A wet finger probed inside my arsehole and it felt so deliciously dirty I came instantly. I begged him to fuck me in the same hole and I gripped the edges of the table as he entered me, for he felt so big. I am sure that the other sex-hungry addicts could hear us from the floor below, and I knew their cocks would be straining. I came again and again and then swallowed every ounce of juice that Shane had to offer.
At my next chat with my husband I confessed all. I told him that I was still attending the meetings and that I was enjoying them but, more significantly, I had fucked two of the other members. He held up his hands in defeat and said that it was never going to work out.
So, have I finally beaten my sex addiction? Well, I am still dutifully attending my addiction meetings every week, like a good girl.
And you can read into that what you like . . .
Good Vibrations
Sarah, Salisbury
If you’re anything like me, you avoid these ambulance chasers like the plague. You know the ones, the guys standing on street corners asking if you’ve had an accident in the last six months and would like to claim compensation, their pitch aimed at the endlessly workshy and at white-collar psychopaths.
But all that changed the day I saw Jason in that role. He was loitering close to Salisbury’s town hall and looked really awkward. He’d looked equally awkward the last time we’d met when I’d pushed him away . . .
We’d met at a student party to celebrate our graduation and had one date together. I’d been getting hot under the pantyliner from the moment our eyes met as he was literally the most handsome man that I’d ever seen. Think Gerard Butler only with an English accent and international appeal.
The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions Page 50