by Huck Pilgrim
Pilgrim Press
Dirty True Confessions © April 2013 by Huck Pilgrim
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.
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DIRTY TRUE CONFESSIONS
Huck Pilgrim
Copyright 2013by Huck Pilgrim
Smashwords Edition
First Edition
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Contents
The Debutante’s Fall
He Sends His Regrets
The Price of Fame
More from Pilgrim Press
Contact
Introduction
These three dirty true confessions have been carefully selected for your entertainment.
This book is dirty. Only by sharing the nitty-gritty, lurid details of a sex life gone awry can you ever hope to help another human suffering with a similar situation. As “Jessica M” from The Debutant’s Fall writes, “Sometimes something good can come of even the most outrageous experience.” These people are looking for redemption, freedom. They want to unburden themselves. Share their shame, their humiliation. They need to expose themselves to you.
This book is true. Or at least as true as I can legally make it. Know, dear reader, that I have changed the names of all the people who have trusted me with their sexual confessions, these three scintillating tales of sexual degradation. I have also changed particular identifying details—like the names of cities, schools, and even the names of certain web sites—so that it’s harder for the curious reader to match the stories in these pages to the real life people who have shared their torrid secrets.
As the editor, I claim the right to title all the stories. There is a reason for this. I am sure Jessica M wouldn’t have selected, The Debutante’s Fall, as the title for her story. But once you read it, you will realize there could be no other. Her confession is about a humiliating fall of the most degrading kind—a fall that continues to reverberate in her life even today. While it’s titillating to read about how she prostituted herself with a black man in her sophomore year of college, the remarkable thing about Jessica’s story is that she might as well still be prostituting herself as the wife of rising Fortune 500 executive, only she doesn’t quite see it that way yet. Or consider Brad W, an undergraduate student who took advantage of his friend when she had too much to drink in He Sends His Regrets. But even if Brad was never convicted by a court, he has spent his days since the incident convicted by his own mind. And finally there is Milton Pearl who writes in The Price of Fame that he has nothing to confess. Don’t you believe him! Someone is responsible for his eighteen year old daughter’s introduction to the porn entertainment industry. Milton may not have held the camera, but he had something else in his hand that leaves him just as culpable. The people who wrote these stories are deviates. Philanders. They are devils and scallywags. You must read between the lines. You must come to your own conclusions about the truth of what they reveal.
This book is better than an episode of the trashiest television talk show. This book was created in the spirit of The Phil Donahue Show, The Oprah Winfrey Show, Geraldo, and of course The Jerry Springer Show.
While it’s true that confession is good for the soul, it’s even better for the libido.
I hope you enjoy yourself.
Huck Pilgrim
The Debutante’s Fall
I am the married mother of two precious little shiny faced girls, age four and six. I live in an upscale neighborhood of a large urban area in the northeastern United States. My husband of seven years is a trusted professional, a pillar of our community, and he knows nothing about any of this. He would have no choice but to divorce me if he ever found out. On its face, it’s a tawdry story: in a party I attended during my second year at college, I went down on a man I hardly knew, as recompense for some drugs that I had taken from someone else earlier that same night. I suppose that’s quite a confession in its own right, but it’s not the meat of the thing that I intend to own up to tonight.
Let me explain.
First, I didn’t want to go down on that man. In fact, I tried my best to get out of it, but there was nothing I could do to prevent it. He had been using drugs and couldn’t ejaculate. It took me forever. In the middle of it, he took a phone call. He was speaking to the guy who had given me the drugs. I know this because at one point they started discussing me. He laughed and said, ‘She’s sucking my cock right now.’ I felt so humiliated. When he finally hung up, he took my head in his hands, pumped his hips, and then filled my mouth with his semen. I know it sounds crazy, but I felt grateful to finally receive his cum. I swallowed it all. I wanted to make him happy. I knew that, where I unable to please him, a much worse fate might lay in store for me. And that’s the deeper story, the story that I want to relate to you. I met a man that night—a man called Bang—and he taught me a lesson about myself, a lesson so deep and fundamental that I believe it may have altered the very course of my life.
Sometimes something good can come of even the most outrageous experience. I am grateful for the opportunity to participate in your study and unburden myself from the guilt and shame I still carry from that night. If my account can help some other young woman who finds herself in a similar situation, then so much the better.
I am a good looking woman. Thin, long willowy blonde hair, and blue eyes. I have delicate features: a sharp chin and a small upturned nose. In my second year at college, my parent’s marriage began coming apart, and I didn’t want to go home for the holidays and listen to them fight. Instead I wanted to party. I went with two girlfriends to an off campus party in a big old brownstone somewhere in North Philly. I wore a pair of leather boots with stiletto heels.
The party was a big rolling affair with people in every room and most of the floors. I settled into a room with one of my friends and three high rollers who had an improbably large supply of drugs. No sooner had we settled in, than my friends wanted to leave. But I didn’t want to go back to the dorm. One of the high rollers, a light skinned black man named Marlo, seemed interested in me, so I asked him to give me some of his drugs. As I asked, I put my hand on the inside of his thigh to make sure he gave me the answer I wanted to hear.
I should say here that the idea of using my sex powers to get what I want has always turned me on. In middle school, I was the girl who traded kisses for lunch money at cafeteria dances. Once down at the Jersey Shore, I let a bouncer secretly grope me, in exchange for backstage passes for myself and some of my friends, so that we could meet a
local band we all admired. Marlo was intelligent and articulate, and I didn’t see any harm in having a secret liaison with him or finding my own way back to the dorm. I considered it an early Christmas gift to myself. I kissed my girlfriends goodbye and made my way back to the little room with Marlo.
Another guy was there, a forgettable nerd with glasses and khaki pants. They introduced me to him, but I almost immediately forgot his name and would never be able to recall it again. We all got stoned. If I wanted more drugs, all I had to do was ask Marlo, and he laid it out for me. He was very generous.
The meek guy with the glasses kept staring at my boots. He had unkempt curly brown hair and seemed like a bore, but he wasn’t an unattractive man. When I get high, I’m a bit of a flirt. I noticed him staring and maybe I teased him a little more than was prudent. He began to fawn on me and Marlo began to glower. One of my problems is that I love to evoke that sort of competitive attention between men, but not every man knows how to deal with it. Marlo certainly didn’t. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, Marlo made it clear that he didn’t want anything more to do with me. What’s more, he said I’d have to repay him for the drugs I’d taken and that he’d struck a cash deal with the nerd: Marlo wanted me to have sex with the nerd to repay my debt.
I was dumbfounded. Marlo had sold me.
He crossed the room and began speaking with another woman, a redhead in a slinky black dress. The guy Marlo wanted me to sleep with came over and acted very contrite and patient. He commiserated with me, then told me that he had his own stash of drugs and invited me into another room. I felt so humiliated that I left with him, but the more I thought about what had happened, the more angry I became.
Fuck Marlo, I thought. Fuck the cute little redhead. And fuck this guy—this whatshisname—too. I wanted nothing to do with any of them.
The boy laid some drugs out on the table and I did them. Not because I wanted to get high, but because I was so upset I didn’t know what else to do. He unzipped his pants, and I watched him pull out his cock. My libido was roaring, but I was also pretty angry at being treated so poorly. I took it out on whatshisname. I mocked him. Pushing him onto the couch, I put the toe of my boot onto his hard cock and pressed. He squirmed, begging me to stop. I sat next to him. Taking his dick in my hand, I twisted it in my fist and berated him. I called him vulgar things and told him I couldn’t remember his name. I may have even scorned the size of his manhood.
It was too much for him. He made himself decent and left the room. I laughed. He was in such a hurry, he left most of his drugs. I helped myself, then made my way to another room and found a bottle of beer in a cooler.
I wandered about until I found an interior balcony overlooking the crowded main floor. Leaning on the rail, I sipped my beer and watched the people below. A muscular man was making his way across the room. This was Bang, although I wouldn’t learn that people called him Bang until a little later in the night. His skin was so black it seemed to swallow every contour in his face. He wore a black leather coat and moved like a large cat. He seemed to know everyone and everyone seemed eager to greet him. He was drop dead gorgeous. He looked up at me and my heart leapt. A beautiful smile, clean shaven, with luscious full lips and a strong chin. He passed out of my field of view and I realized how horny the business with Marlo and whatshisname had left me. I was debating what to do about my arousal when that big beauty of a man stepped onto the balcony and smiled at me.
He glanced at my boots and then closed the distance between us.
He spoke my name and I straightened my back. How did he know my name? He told me that he worked for Marlo, and that he’d been asked to find me. I immediately tried to leave, but he blocked my way. I grew alarmed. My girlfriends were gone and I didn’t have a vehicle. He saw my distress and spoke softly, trying to calm me down. My treatment of the nerd seemed to genuinely amuse him, so I acted fearless and played up my outrageousness. “What do you want from me?” I finally asked.
“Me?” He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.
He put his hands on his hips and squared his shoulders. “I have no problem with you.” He smiled at me, and I felt my face flush with excitement and had to look away.
“Marlo, though,” he said. “That’s another story. He’s upset. Feels like you punked him. You really did.” He chuckled as he said this, smiling warmly at me. I felt my face flushing again, but this time I didn’t turn away.
“Marlo asked me to find you and teach you a lesson.”
I watched Bang’s eyes suddenly go flat. In an instant, all the warmth was gone. I could have been looking at dead fish on a bed of ice. His sudden change of expression terrified me. I swallowed hard and dropped all pretense of bravery.
“And I will,” he said, his smile now gone. “I’m going to teach you a lesson tonight that you will never forget.”
I didn’t want to, but I blew air out of my mouth and it came out in shuddery little half breaths. My legs felt weak. I had to put one of my hands on the banister to brace myself.
“You okay?” he asked. He stepped toward me and put his hand on my elbow. His grip was firm, but gentle. His kindness surprised me.
“What are you going to do to me,” I whispered.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m going to fuck you.”
His coarse language shamed me and I dropped my head.
“Tonight—,” he dipped his head to look in my eyes. I turned my head away, but he put his finger under my chin turned my face back to meet his eyes. “Tonight you are leaving this party with a load of cum inside you.”
He tapped his fingers on his chest. “My cum,” he said. He paused and tilted his head, letting me absorb what he had just said.
After a beat, he added: “You can’t change that. It’s going to happen. And it’s going to happen soon. What you can do, though—what you can do right now—you can change how it goes down.”
I stood there dumbfounded.
“We can do it easy,” he said. “Or we can do it hard.”
Tears started to roll down my cheeks. It was strange because I was still a little horny, but between the pitiless look in his eyes and the straightforward way he ticked off my options, I felt completely powerless. A feeling of such dread washed over me that all I could do was stand there and cry. I tried to hide by looking away. I didn’t make any noise. I grew impatient with myself and wiped my cheeks. My hands shook.
“Let’s go get a drink,” he said.
This caught me off guard. I didn’t want a drink, but I didn’t want to provoke him either. He took my elbow, and we started walking.
He said there was a private club with a band in the basement. I followed him down some stairs. I was so emotionally drained, I couldn’t imagine turning and running back up the stairs. Even if I could have mustered the courage to run, I knew I wouldn’t get far in those stupid boots. As he led me to our destination, I tried to tell myself that it was an adventure. Not really much different than the original spree I had planned with Marlo. But I was absolutely wrong. I was about to experience humiliation and sexual indulgence unlike anything else I had ever known in all my nineteen years.
The club was a large brick-walled basement with red and purple spotlights shining helter-skelter across the space. It was smoky and packed with people. Bang selected a small round table near the stage and sat in a straight-backed chair with his back to the wall.
A waitress came by and he ordered drinks for both of us. I sat letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. The table he selected had a white spotlight shining nearby, making it one of the most visible spots in the room. I marveled at our good fortune of finding an empty table in this densely packed room. I’d soon discover this had nothing to do with luck.
He took out his wallet and placed a small stack of cash on the table. He put his wallet on top of the bills, then took out a small pistol and laid it next to the cash.
He looked at me, raised a finger and crooked it towards himself. I leaned
forward and put my ear near his mouth.
“Climb into my lap,” he said.
I wasn’t sure that I heard him right. Did he want me to sit in his lap? I leaned back and looked into his face. He raised his brow. Crooked his finger again. I leaned forward.
“Straddle my legs,” he said. “Put your pussy right here.”
He sat up and tapped his groin.
I laughed. He wanted me to give him a lap dance. I sat back and shook my head in disbelief. In front of all these people? I wouldn’t. It was just an outrageous request, and I leaned in to tell him as much. I might have to sleep with him. I might have to take his semen inside of me, but I wouldn’t be party to anything as humiliating as a lap dance. I wouldn’t make a public spectacle of myself.
“You can shoot me,” I said, glancing at his little pistol. “But I’m not giving you a lap dance.”
He leaned forward, put his hand on the back of my head, and spoke in my ear to overcome the crowd noise. “If you don’t, I’ll pull your pants down and take you right here.” As he spoke, I saw people were beginning to mill around us. There was no reason for them to draw so near and it made me nervous. I wanted to sit up, look at them—stare them down, see why they were crowding in so close—but I couldn’t pull away from his hand.
“And if I take you here,” he continued, “it’s going to get ugly. I won’t be able to protect you. Someone will use your mouth.”
He sat up unexpectedly, his hand darting out and scooping the gun from the table. Holding the pistol over his head, he said in a commanding voice: “Back the fuck up!”
He twisted his face into a scowl. The crowd of people—mostly men, but I saw a few women too—stopped moving forward. “This is a private dance,” he said. The room grew quiet, but the band continued to play.