The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (24 page)

Then nothing. Two or three minutes passed and Mark had neither moved nor spoken. I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and started to squirm in his lap. The gentle pressure of his left hand
in the small of my back was a warning to be still and the fingertips of his right began to stroke and caress me.

They explored the flanks of my thighs, the rounded hills of my buttocks and the horizontal crease where they met. I felt him grab the cheeks of my arse, one in each hand, and begin to knead and
pull at the flesh. Fingers dug in deep, pulling me apart and I knew he would be able to see the whorl of my anus. I blushed with embarrassment and, yes, a rising tide of passion as well. Unbidden
my legs began to part, exposing myself in supplication, willing him to explore.

Mark’s fingers transferred their attentions to my inner thighs, tickling and teasing the creamy skin. Moving upwards, they trailed through the curls of my pubic hair and began to probe at
the swollen, tender flesh of my mound beneath. I found myself pushing back against those fingers and trying to grind my groin into his lap beneath me.

Under the lash of caresses I began to shiver uncontrollably, tiny spasms rippling up and down my body. I was wet and I knew he knew it too.

Again I was forced to break the spell: “I don’t think this is supposed to happen, but you’re actually making me incredibly randy.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied. “That’s because we haven’t really started yet.”

And with that he brought his right hand crashing down on my arse. The blow was so sudden and completely unexpected I had no chance to prepare or brace myself. The impact knocked all the wind out
of me, so there was no shriek in response, just a breathless gasp.

The shock was followed by a blaze of white-hot pain. My parents had never even smacked me as a child so nothing could have prepared me for this. Just one slap and it went beyond imagination. How
could this be? How could I not have known?

Mark simply waited until I had recovered, got my breath back and stopped writhing, then he hit me again, on the other cheek. The shock was less unexpected, the pain every bit as bright, and this
time I did yelp.

A shorter respite and he smacked me again, alternating left and right in a slowly increasing rhythm, blows on top of blows.

Incredibly the pain increased, nerves sending little messages of distress coursing round my body. Then the heat, building and radiating like a furnace. I knew without being able to see that my
backside was glowing crimson.

And still that hand came down, all over my rosy cheeks and then the tops of my thighs as well. I was bathed in perspiration and began to cry, great racking sobs, as tears coursed down my face
and dripped onto the floor.

Suddenly everything shifted with a wrench that was almost physical. Mark was still smacking me and it still hurt, God did it still hurt, but somehow the pain was distant, far away, almost as if
it was happening to someone else. Mark’s beating had lit a fire inside me that was warming, almost pleasant.

I began to
respond
to his rhythm, my body undulating across his lap, provocatively thrusting my bottom to meet the blows, almost inviting them. With a great wordless yell I actually think
I climaxed or something very close to.

Mark stopped immediately, untied my hands, held me close until my sobbing stopped and then carried me upstairs to our bedroom.

He made me strip until I stood naked before him on legs still slightly wobbly and then laid me down on the bed. I remember wincing at the coolness of the quilt against my burning skin. He
undressed and his prick was already rock hard and fiercely erect.

I came as soon as he shoved his prick inside me. My cunt was a well of hot oil into which his manhood plunged and I could feel the walls spasm, clenching and relaxing as I tried to suck his cock
deeper and deeper inside me.

As soon as my orgasm subsided Mark withdrew. He rolled me over onto my stomach, lifted my hips and then took me doggy-style. Hypersensitive, the glowing cheeks of my arse responded to every
thrust as he buttressed up against me.

Mark’s cock swelled inside me. I could feel each fractional increase and knew he was only seconds away from his own release. So I increased my own tempo, pushing backwards to meet each
thrust and hearing my own disembodied voice give a little gasp of pleasure/pain each time I did so.

Finally he came: I could feel that final swell and hardening of his prick that presages orgasm and then each separate squirt as he pumped his spunk into my womb. I don’t recall whether I
came again or not, but I think I must have passed out for a while because the next thing I remember was coming to, our bodies entwined.

That’s about it really. Except to say that my bottom was so sore for a couple of days that sitting down was a real problem. That I promised myself that I had learned a real lesson and I
was
never
but
never
going to let anyone do anything like that again to me, ever.

But that two or three months down the line I found myself actively thinking of ways that I could provoke Mark so he actually would do it again . . . just to see if it could possibly be as good
and as bad as it was the first time . . . and it was.

These days both of us knows that if I want a good spanking all I have to do is ask . . . either literally or metaphorically.

And if we’re out or at a party and I catch him giving a girl the eye he’ll come up behind me and give me a playful pat, just a little pat, on the backside. But it’s still
enough to set my pulse racing and my pussy churning.

He can go off and flirt with any Tom, Dick or Harriet and I don’t mind at all. I’m not the jealous type any more. Mark’s cured me of that. And anyway I know it’s me
he’s coming home to.

A woman is changed for ever by the first proper spanking from her lover’s hand.

Minds find it impossible to accurately recall the bright, sharp clarity of pain. Marks fade from buttocks within an hour or two, within a day or two.

But bodies remember. And for ever after, if you catch her unawares and trace your fingers gently up between the backs of her legs to that place where buttocks and thighs bisect then you will
feel the tiniest shiver of apprehension, an involuntary tensing of muscles . . . no matter how delicate the caress.

Gerard, Halifax

My whole life I’ve been an indoors kind of guy. After the first wild, late-teenage years I even became the lights-off kind: a pasta tummy is better seen in the dark. Sex
has never been an out-in-the-open activity. Except for this one time.

I had been visiting friends in Europe and was driving my hire car through the mountains. I was feeling on top of the world until the engine started to clank and the temperature gauge crept up to
red. I pulled over on the side of the narrow road and got out. I’m not bad with engines but I wasn’t going to mess with a hire car from another country. My mobile phone had almost no
bars at all and I could not get a signal. I wasn’t sure whether getting higher or lower would be the answer, but after walking up and down the road waving my phone above my head for a few
minutes I decided to try up. Locking the car I set off up the mountain track and into the shade of the trees.

It was a gorgeous day. The sun was hot. The signal flickered in and out and, looking at my phone, I almost stumbled into a wide mountain stream. Looking up I saw I had almost disturbed a woman,
standing in the water. She had her back to me and was oblivious to my presence. She had tumbling brunette hair and was wearing a floral print dress. The water came up to her calves which were
shapely and honey-coloured. She was holding the hem of her dress out of the water, revealing the backs of her thighs. I stood and stared. The breeze blew her dress against her curves. I must have
watched her wade for some time. My cock stirred in my jeans. Then she reached crossways for the hem of her dress and made as if to pull it over her head. I caught a glimpse of white cotton panties
before I cleared my throat in alarm. I didn’t want to be accused of peeping at her.

The girl turned in surprise but when she saw me she relaxed and smiled. For some reason I did not address her and she did not address me, she just waded over until she stood near my bank. Her
face was oval and her eyes feline. She had a light dusting of freckles and a profusion of unruly curls. She was as full in the front as in the back and I saw her nipples harden through the
dress’s thin fabric. The girl was as natural and earthy as the woods around her. She gave me a look, a long, significant look that could mean only one thing, and I dropped my mobile on the
grass at my feet.

Now, as I say, I am a lights-off kind of guy, so when this mountain lovely reached for my belt I was in no way comfortable. Panicked is more like it. Here we were in the dappled sunlight of a
mountain glade, with the birdsong echoing and the water rushing. I looked around in concern but could see no one. She popped my fly and eased down the denim, causing me to sit awkwardly on the
bank. No kiss. No introduction, just a soft hand on my tent pole. She parted the slit of my boxers and brought my penis into the world. Then she lowered her head and covered my cock with her mouth.
I could not believe my luck. Was this a joke? A trick? Being sucked off on a mountainside is quite an agoraphobic experience.

Her mouth was soft but she sucked hard, massaging the base with her fingers. Well, just as the up and down motion was bringing me to a crisis and I was wondering about the etiquette of coming in
her mouth, she lifted up her head, licking her lips, and pulled her dress over her head. I saw she wore plain, three-in-a-pack white cotton pants and a wireless white bra. It made her look
virginal, which she was clearly not. Her skin was that colour which has always known the sun, not tanned as such, but healthy and as rich as pine. I kicked my shoes onto the grass and peeled off my
tangle of boxers and jeans. She was already clambering up the bank and across my lap. Her damp bra rubbed my mouth and I found a nipple through the material and sucked. It was ice cold and hard. My
hand stroked her thigh and buttocks and dipped between her legs, rubbing against a springy mat of hair. I fingered gently and heard her moan into my fringe as a clit shape poked through the cloth.
She pushed me onto my back and crawled along my body, stopping with her pussy over my face.

I knew what to do and taking her bottom in one hand I peeled aside the slippery strip of fabric with the other to reveal dark, curling hair and a slice of inviting pink. She moaned as I curled
my tongue onto her cunt and I responded deep in my own throat. Her taste was wild and pungent, not the fresh-from-the-shower, Saturday night, premeditated pussy-eating taste but a feral,
spice-and-sandalwood, musk-and-resin flavour. It scared and aroused me as I jabbed her large clitoris with my tongue, lapped at her labia and, forcing her bottom down, stretched my tongue up inside
her vagina, all the time conscious of my absurd cock-stand waving in the breeze for all to see. When her hips started to pump I stopped and tried to sit up. Her pants came down and I eased off her
bra, letting a pair of heavy, cool, creamy tits capped with dark nipples loll in my face. Utterly naked she straddled my mouth again. Backwards this time, lowering her deeply clefted bottom onto my
nose. I gave her anus a tentative lick before eating her pussy once more. She knelt up, moaning softly, holding her breasts and rubbing the swollen tips. She fingered her clit and dew poured from
her cunt. I found myself lapping and swallowing as I ate, listening to her sighs. Soon my tongue was fighting for purchase as she shoved two then three fingers up her slippery cunt, leaving me only
juicy knuckles to lick.

Then she stood and pulled at my T-shirt. It was my turn to be totally naked. Again I looked for voyeurs, but we were alone. Nude as a babe she took my hand and stepped into the river. I
followed. It was shocking, like ice, but only came up to my knees. She lowered herself into the stream and let the water touch her pussy, which she opened to its touch. Her middle finger twiddled
her clit and her breasts rose and fell. I sat in the shivery water, gasping with cold and she climbed astride, lowering herself onto my cock. It is testament to her desirability that I stayed hard
in that water, but I did. The icy fingers of the stream were replaced with the warm mouth of her cunt, with its secret supply of lubricant and she sank down with a sigh on my length.

We fucked in the water for nearly an hour, numbed by the mountain stream into a kind of Tantric anaesthesia by the cold, cold water. The pleasure rose and fell but never came. We fucked
missionary on a mossy bank with her legs pointing at the treetops, we fucked woman-on-top in the shallows, the water splashing onto my face and in my eyes. The end came on all fours. She had got
down on her knees in the soft sand and raised her exquisite, goose-fleshed arse to the sky, her legs apart. I mounted her, noticing the bijou perfection of her tiny, dark anus, and pushed into her
cunt. As I thrust, the water lapped her nearly blue nipples and the sand ground into our knees, delightfully abrasive.

The orgasm was like a sunrise, breaking slowly with a feeling of water and sunlight and earth in it, me beginning first, and wild with abandon, licking my thumb and easing it into her anus. She
made a surprised sound and then groaned, tightening her grip on my cock. We came together, yelling like apes, scattering the birds.

My clothes were damp but not too wet to wear. We dried on the grass in the sun, like Adam and Eve, the touch of the daylight lifting moisture from the skin indescribable. Before I left we had
one more slow, languorous session of sixty-nine, which, after our sunbathe, seemed dreamlike and dazed. She licked just the tip of my cock, maddeningly, and I sucked on her long, deep-pink
clitoris, as long as a woman’s pinkie, as if it were a tiny dick. To my delight she ejaculated a fine spray when she came, sobbing with pleasure deep in her chest.

I dressed, waved goodbye and decided to follow the road to the nearest town to see if they had a working phone. We had not exchanged a word.