“I . . . I need it,” I panted plaintively. “Inside me . . . I need it in my pussy . . .”
She rolled me over, pushed me onto all fours, and that surprised me, because I didn’t think that was a girl thing, but I was hardly in a condition to argue. The next thing I knew, Kelly was behind me, leaning over me with her breasts brushing against the small of my back as she slipped two fingers into my sopping, desperate hole.
I groaned and shoved back against her, needing the heat of her body just as much as the feel of her inside me. She put her free hand on my back, pushing me down with her palm so my spine was bowed, my shoulders square and my arse stuck out towards her.
“That’s right,” she purred. “Arse in the air, beautiful.”
I loved the way she took charge of me. I’d have done anything she wanted, if she’d told me to. She started to pump then, and it was like she had a homing beacon on my G-spot. It was amazing. She knew every spot to touch, and just how to hit it, and she was ruthless. I was close to coming before I knew it, my arms growing weak and shaky, and I was doing just what she told me: collapsing down onto my elbows, my face buried in the bedclothes. I had my arse in the air and my legs spread, my pussy there just for her delectation. I felt her move, and then Kelly was behind me, crouching down, still finger-fucking me with so much vigour it felt like the best cock I’d ever had. Better than Ant, I thought, and it suddenly hit me that what I was doing was so wrong – that despite the harsh words he and I had exchanged, and all the arguments and mistrust, I was the one who was cheating.
Right at that moment, I was a low-down, filthy, unforgivable whore.
And I loved it.
I guess I should have stopped right then, told Kelly it was all a terrible mistake, got my clothes back on and gone home, but I was much too far gone. All I felt was liberation, as if – for the first time since Ant and I had been apart – I truly owned myself. Sure, it was tinged with plenty of guilt, but it was too late.
I was so wet that the sound of Kelly’s knuckles slapping against my pussy filled the room. She had three fingers in me, crooked to milk every sweet spot I had, and my hole slurped hungrily with every movement. I could smell the heavy, musky mix of my scent and hers swirling together in a thick, intoxicating perfume. I know how turned on she must have been, and that only made me hornier. She got her free hand on me then, alternating between rubbing and pressing down hard on my clit as she pumped, and I lost it completely, letting a shriek rip through the room.
“I’m coming!” I moaned, over and over, but Kelly just kept it up.
“Come for me,” she commanded. “Come on, bitch, come for me!”
And I did. I came like never before, sweating and growling and screaming as she milked my pussy for everything I was worth. My head spun and the whole world seemed to break into pieces around me, until there was just my pussy, and Kelly fucking it, and the overwhelming pleasure she gave me. Everything else seemed to fade away, and I wouldn’t have cared in the slightest if it had never come back.
She kissed me when I was done. Rolled me over – or, I guess, I just flopped against the sheets, all spent and useless – climbed on top of me, and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around her, pulled her close, and loved how we tasted of each other. I could feel her hot, wet pussy pressing down on my thigh, through her soaked black panties, but I couldn’t work out why she still had them on.
I reached down and tugged at the wisp of lace, and that made Kelly grin again. Her smile, all lit up with sex and lust, was so beautiful. She shimmied out of the thong and knelt across me, naked in all her curvaceous power. Her pussy was shaved; pale skin under thin tan lines, and as I dragged myself into a sitting position, I finally got my mouth on her breasts. Mouth, hands, tongue . . . they were everything I’d imagined, and more. As I kissed and sucked at her thick, hard nipples, she guided my right hand to her pussy, and my fingers slipped into her wet, tender folds. She was so smooth. The combination of touching and tasting her – those heavy, soft breasts pressed against my face as her sweet nectar coated my fingers – was incredible, though I knew I wasn’t as skilled as she’d been. I kissed, stroked and fondled her for a while, rubbing my fingertips against the hard little nub of her clit as she began to grind against my hand, but it was clear Kelly wanted to take her pleasure further.
I thought she’d want me to go down on her, and for a brief moment I was uncertain. I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure I was ready, and then I hated myself a little bit more. There wasn’t time to dwell on it, though, because Kelly was climbing astride my thigh, her arms wrapped around my neck, and her smooth pussy lips spread across my skin, like an open-mouthed kiss, her clit pressing down on me in a hot bead of need and want. Her hair was much longer than mine, and it tangled around the two of us, blonde against red as it got mixed up in my frizzy strands, and we traded wet, sloppy kisses as she started to grind.
Her hot, wet pussy moved over and over on my smooth skin, and when my mouth wasn’t on hers, it was on her breasts. She pushed my face into them, instructing me to kiss, lick, even bite her nipples. I grabbed her thick, heavy arse as she rode me faster, her rhythm always impeccable. We got tangled up in each other as she started to come for the first time, her breaths growing high and fast, followed by a low, guttural moan, but she never stopped. Before I knew it, I was close to coming again, and we ended up rolling around the bed like some demented creature, the two of us pushing skin on skin over and over again, never able to get enough.
As the night moved on, I know at least one of Kelly’s housemates came home. I heard the front door slam as I was pumping two fingers in and out of Kelly’s beautiful, slick cunt, bending my head to suckle greedily at her plump clit. I’d forgotten all my worries, totally consumed by my desire for her, and the salty-sweet, intoxicating taste of her pussy lay heavily on my tongue. I was going to say that someone else was in the house, but Kelly was too busy coming, the walls of her pussy rippling around my fingers and her thighs shaking as she grabbed at those luscious breasts of hers, squeezing out yet another climax with a harsh, panting cry.
I don’t think either of us cared who could hear, and I don’t even remember when we stopped or fell asleep.
Now, I’m not saying I didn’t feel guilty. The morning after, I woke up feeling like the hangover fairy had hit me with a crowbar, but that was nothing next to how bad I felt when I thought about Ant.
I wasn’t sure what to say to Kelly, because she was so incredibly casual about the whole thing. “No strings,” she kept telling me, like what we’d done had barely happened, much less really mattered.
It wasn’t the last time, though. Even after I spoke to Ant on the phone, and we had a long heart-to-heart and talked about why we’d argued, and the strain of not seeing each other, and promised that we wouldn’t let it come between us in the long run, I still couldn’t help myself.
I never told him about Kelly. I wanted to, I think, but I just couldn’t . . . and yet, not two weeks later, I was at her place again, squealing into a pillow as she ate my pussy, drenching every inch of me in sweat as I shook and shuddered through orgasm after orgasm. We spent plenty of nights that way over the next year, and I knew it was wrong. I knew I was cheating . . . and I knew Kelly was using me as much I was using her. We never really dated, or did any “couple” things but, when the urge got too strong, we got together and fucked like animals – and, the whole time, I could safely promise Ant that I hadn’t so much as looked at another guy.
He came up to see me in the summer. I wasn’t expecting it, and had very little time to plan, but I was delighted to see him. You might not believe me, but I did still love him, after all.
Ant was there for two days, and I had plenty I wanted to do with him. Chief among those was what we were up to not an hour after he got off the train: back at my digs, I was bent over the desk in my bedroom, my skirt pushed up and my panties around my knees as Ant fucked me, his bags just dumped on the floor and the smell of trains and travel grime still on him. It se
emed so long since I’d had his cock inside me, and it filled me with a kind of satisfaction that’s hard to explain.
Afterwards, he went for a shower and I stripped off to lie on the bed, waiting for his return, and plotting all the things I wanted to do to him.
“I like these,” he said, picking something off the floor as he came back into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist and his tanned skin glistening with moisture.
I stared, absolutely dumbstruck to realize that a pair of Kelly’s panties was dangling from his fingers – a little wisp of bright blue lace that must have got mixed up with the piles of clothes and books I started to clear up when I knew he was coming.
“Didn’t know you’d started wearing thongs.”
I didn’t know what to say. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I just beckoned him to the bed, hoping that having him close would wash away the sudden wave of guilt I felt.
Ant dropped the towel and came to join me. I had always loved how he felt under my hands, with his square, muscular build and his broad, strong back. I was still wet enough that, as he hung over me, kissing my neck as I arched up for him, he could sheath himself in me almost in one stroke. I groaned, loving the sense of being impaled on his dick. He moaned my name as he fucked me, pressing down against me, crushing my breasts to his chest.
I opened my mouth, welcoming his kiss as I knotted my fingers in his hair. He rolled his hips, taking me over and over, deeper and deeper, then bringing one hand to my pussy, pressing his thumb against my tight, needy clit. I gasped, arching my neck, and stars danced across my eyes. We rolled over, and I had him beneath me, looking up at me with such love and affection as I rode his hard, thick cock. I took his hands in mine, brought them to my breasts and encouraged him to squeeze me hard, and he did, moulding my soft orbs in his palms, my hard nipples scraping against his skin. I threw my head back, losing myself in how good it felt, and barely aware of the thoughts creeping into my head. Big, smooth, soft, beautiful breasts, with my face buried between them. Nipples that hardened against my tongue, and the thick, sweet perfume of another pussy rubbing against my own.
I ground my hips in circles, swallowing him up inside me, so eager to be filled and owned, fucked full of him. His cock throbbed in response, his body lifting to meet me as I squeezed my thighs around him. His hands trailed on ceaseless journeys between my tits, waist and arse, fingers sometimes caressing me gently, sometimes a palm smacking at my backside as I bounced. I loved the short, sharp sting of it, and it made me bite my lip and smile as I worked myself off on his dick. The room was quiet, but for the damp panting of our mingled breaths and wet slapping of our bodies. I was getting close, and so was he. Ant gripped my hips, pulling me down hard onto his cock as he thrust up into me, and yet I was thinking of Kelly. I hardly even recognized it at first, but I was. As I reached down, rubbing my clit, heat pooled in my tummy and my pussy walls began to ripple around Ant’s thick cock, while his breathing grew short and ragged. I wanted to make him come. I wanted to ride him to the heights of pleasure that I knew were there, just a little more; just a little further.
“Oh, Kelly!” I panted, as my climax bloomed through me.
Ant was coming then, too, coming with me, and yet being pushed so far away from me. He stared up at me, his mouth open and his dark eyes stained with alarm. I couldn’t believe I’d said it, couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid.
He finished hard all the same, and we parted, still gasping and sweating. I shuddered with pleasure as his cock slid from my slick pussy, the condom already starting to hang off him like a crumpled flag.
I don’t know what I’d thought. Maybe that I could fuck Kelly the whole time Ant wasn’t around – right up until I left uni, “lesbian until graduation”, as the saying goes – and I truly did believe it didn’t have to affect what I had with him. Apparently, it’s called denial.
Of course, we argued. I told him everything; even about the bright blue panties. I don’t know whether he was more shocked, hurt or intrigued. Neither of us had ever thought I’d do something like this. It didn’t really matter, though. Ant left that night, and though we did try to make things right, it never was the same.
Kelly got a new girlfriend soon after, and we stopped messing around. I suppose I was more hurt than I had any right to be, but I had plenty of time to think things through on my own. Now, five years later, I’m finally happy. I have a wonderful partner, Michelle, and I’ve embraced who I am, what I want and the fact I don’t have to hide anything.
But, as for my confession?
The truth is, I don’t regret a thing.
THE FIRST REUNION
Ellie, Boscombe
My name is Ellie and this is what happened when I kept an appointment at The Gypsy Cafe, shortly after my eighteenth birthday. It was an appointment that had to be kept because four years earlier I’d sworn to Queen Shar that I would be there.
I smiled at the thought, sipping strong coffee and knowing deep down that “Queen Shar” probably would not show up and that I, ‘Princess Eleanor’, would not have to face my punishment.
I could quite believe that she was still Queen Shar somewhere in the world but somehow, along the way, I’d become just Ellie.
I’d convinced myself that Shar would have forgotten all about it. I accepted, sitting there waiting, that I was being as naive as I’d been back then when we’d played our last game together. It was the last game because her parents came home early and found me bent over a stool wearing only my knickers, about to be spanked by Shar. As a result, we were forbidden by both our parents ever to meet again, ever to play again.
And that was supposed to be that, except that we did sneak a meeting here one dangerous time after school. We’d sat at this very table in the window of The Gypsy café, sipping grown up espresso coffee in defiance. We made a solemn, tearful pact that we’d meet again in four years’ time on the first day of September at five o’clock.
We’d been playing dressing up games forever. It was fun. Nothing had ever happened until that day we got “found out” by Shar’s parents. I’d no idea what was so wrong about what we’d been “found out” doing or what we’d been found guilty of. Nobody ever told us.
But what I did know was that it seemed like they’d spoilt the purity of our game, of our play.
I remembered how that last game had begun. I knelt before Queen Shar, awaiting her judgement. She was “dressed” in an exotic beach towel and another gorgeous ruby red towel was piled high on her head. She was wearing her mother’s highest heels and stood with hands on hips, looking down on me with all the severity of a Queen about to deliver her verdict.
She was supposed to find me innocent of whatever crime it was I had undoubtedly not committed. We used to bandy phrases around: “Magnificent fairness”; “the purity of justice”; “the benevolence of power”. And then, in gratitude for justice and her wisdom, I would hug her and praise her as befits a true Queen, and that had been the best bit of the game for me.
But she found me guilty! I can remember that moment now as clear as the High Street outside the cafe window.
“Guilty!”
My intake of breath had been genuine, not acted – as was the slice of fear that came with it. This was all new – and inexplicably exciting.
“This court is fair,” Queen Shar had said in a deeply impressive voice not quite her own and sounding vaguely Russian. “What sentence do you feel is right and just?”
I’d had no idea how to reply and, panicking under the weight of her stern gaze, I adapted a phrase my mum always used as a threat when she thought I’d done something wrong. “I think I deserve a proper good spanking.”
“Then it shall be done.”
I remember standing, facing a stool, resigned nobly to accept my punishment, and the slow, deliberate removal of the towel I was wearing, leaving me just in my white school knickers.
She coaxed me to bend over the stool and to grip its legs. I remember thinking this was the most exciting
game we’d ever played. But only moments later it was made shameful and wrong.
Our families argued over who’d led who on and nobody would listen to us.
Shar and her family moved away not long after – not because of what we did, though to me it always felt as if it was.
I had imagined how that unfinished game might have developed so many times over these last four years – the storyline growing not from actual experience but with grown-up knowledge of the world.
I took my cup to the counter and asked for another espresso. As I waited, I realized it was well past five. I suppressed a sharp pang of regret as I collected the coffee and turned to go back to my seat. There she was, outside, walking towards the cafe, my Queen Shar.
It was as if the entire High Street outside had been blurred away to reveal her. It wasn’t the piled-high hair, the tall-heeled boots, the soft, black leather short skirt or well–fitting, all-covering, all-revealing matching leather jacket that told me Queen Shar had arrived, it was her eyes – dark, searching and finally finding me, and me alone, through the cafe window.
The surface of my coffee was shaking as if there was an earth tremor about to shake the entire neighbourhood, but I realized it was just me when I set the cup down on the table and sat. The coffee had stopped shaking but I hadn’t.
She entered. Heads turned. Talk slipped into whispers momentarily as she made her way to my table, her eyes concentrating solely on me.
The feeling in my stomach was unique. I had never experienced anything like it before: huge excitement spiced with streaks of fear running through a tremendous, almost unbearable, anticipation. Yet I didn’t know what to expect.
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotic Confessions Page 21