The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (68 page)

I had two Jamba Juices with me, orange and a berry flavour. She chose the orange and I had the berry.

She was shy and had a soft, high-pitched voice like a ten-year-old girl. She didn’t look me in the eye when we shook hands, nor when she gave me a tour of the facility. But maybe this is
what submissives are supposed to act like, what did I know?

This dungeon was a 7,000 square foot warehouse split up into various themed rooms. The Bastille Room – a jail cell with a rack; the Elizabethan Room – soft and pink and good for
tickling; the “O” Room – minimal with plain white walls and some hardcore torturing devices; the Mae West Room for clients who liked to cross-dress and that door was closed;
Windsor Hall was a classroom setting with half-a-dozen student chairs, a teacher’s desk and a chalkboard; the Interrogation Room for some hardcore action had quite the fascist feel; Windsor
Stables was the “pony training” area and the biggest – it was like a studio sound stage or small theatre.

“Movies could be made here,” I said.

“Oh, there have been a few that have,” Caroline said, looking at the floor.

“What kind?”

“What do you think?”

“S&M, I guess.”

“And some porn.”

I chose the Marquis de Sade Room, second biggest to Windsor Stables; everything in it was black or purple and there was a rack, cross, shackles, torture tower and a suspended cage connected to
the ceiling and tracks, so it could be pushed from one side of the room to the other. I chose this room because it had a large, comfy couch with pillows. I would have wanted the classroom if
Caroline had been wearing a schoolgirl outfit (she was in white lace) and I could be the perverted teacher and she the naughty nymph.

We went up front and told the fat man which room. “How long?” he asked me. I said half an hour and he said, “A hundred dollars.” I already knew what the prices were going
to be; an hour went for $160 and I almost took that but this was my first time, what if I got bored?

I gave the guy a $100 bill and Caroline took me to the equipment room, where I had the choice of dozens of whips, paddles, leather masks and so on. I had no idea what to do so I went for the
obvious: handcuffs. Then I grabbed some clothespins because I remembered a blog post of Caroline’s about how she liked them clamped on her nipples. Then I randomly grabbed a paddle.
“Ohhh,” said Caroline, “that one’s the worst. It’s so hard.”

It was a pretty heavy paddle and looked like it was made of walnut.

In the room, I said, “OK, look, I told you I’m pretty chary of all this, so I have to say I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, it’s all about fantasy,” Caroline said.

“But what are the dos and don’ts?”

“There’s no nudity, you can’t touch me on my private parts underneath my bra and panties, and there’s no exchange of bodily fluids.”

“Let’s keep it simple,” I said. “What if I gave you a spanking?”

“OK. Where?”

“The couch.”

I sat on the couch and she stood in front of me, looking quite demure.

“And I want you to call me Daddy the whole time,” I told her.

“Daddy,” she said, “lift up my skirt.”

I did. She was wearing white thongs. She lay down across my lap. Her hair smelled like shampoo and I could also smell her pussy.

“Daddy, I’ve been so bad.”

“Yes,” I said, “you have,” and I began to spank her, first on the left ass cheek and then on the right; back and forth like that, soft at first because I knew enough that
you did this lightly and built your way up. Her ass was big and round and pink and her flesh jiggled.

I’ve had plenty of girlfriends who liked the occasional spanking – a smack on the rear while I fucked them in the ass or some playful stuff to get them excited, but I’d never
done a “session” like this before.

As I spanked her harder, my hand began to hurt so I switched to the paddle. The hard wood against her butt made a reverberating sound in the de Sade Room. When I took my first hard swing, she
tensed up and hissed and I saw that her ass cheek was bright red.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “too hard?”

“Not at all, Daddy.”

“Harder?”

“If you wish, Daddy. Hurt me good, Daddy.”

So I did . . . and I got into it. It took me maybe fifteen minutes to get into what this was all about, and when I did, I loved it. Her butt was turning black and blue and she was crying out and
squealing and sometimes her body went completely stiff and she’d shudder. But in my mind, she was no longer a woman I knew from the internet whom I was paying to do this to; she was Tara, my
ex-girlfriend who had walked out of my life four months ago, who’d abandoned me and our cats and left me with the full rent and utilities to pay, who’d left me alone and never wanted to
see or talk to me. Yes, she was Tara and I was punishing Caroline (Tara) for what Tara had done, for hurting me: I was hurting her back. “You bitch,” I said (in my mind, not out loud)
as I slammed the paddle down, “you cunt, you piece of worthless shit,” and I guess I got too carried away because Caroline said, “OK, OK, that’s too hard, not that hard,
Daddy.”

Her ass was completely red with several black and blue spots. Her body was shaking and covered in sweat. I was hot and sweating too. I felt bad that maybe I’d gone too far, so I rubbed her
back and stroked her hair and ran my fingers up and down her legs; my hand moved between her legs, keeping above the thong panties, and she was wet – I could feel it, see it and smell it. She
was enjoying this, I guess. She said, “Give me some more, Daddy.”

So I did, but not too hard.

“You are bad,” I said and began to use the paddle harder to keep my mind off the hard-on I had that was pressing against my stomach – one that she knew was there because she
began to grind her torso into my crotch.

The buzzer went off, our half an hour was up. I could have gone for another thirty minutes but this was good enough. Caroline stood up; her make-up was smeared and there were tears down her
bright pink face.

“OK?” I asked.

She smiled. “I would’ve been more verbal but I was just trying to survive that paddle. Oh man –” she lifted her skirt and looked at her backside in the mirror on the wall
“– my ass is gonna be a mess tomorrow.”

I got up and we both grabbed some cheap motel-style towels to wipe off sweat and tears. We stopped and looked at each other and then hugged.

I gave her a $50 bill as a tip, hoping it was a good tip.

I then gave her a kiss and she closed her eyes and smiled.

“Thanks for the new experience,” I said.

“Come back again when you’re in LA.”

“I will.”

“Maybe get a second girl, double your fun.”

The other girl was asleep on the couch in the lobby. The fat man nodded at me. I walked out of the dungeon like I was being released from county jail and the sun was very bright. I didn’t
feel dirty like I thought I would. I felt – fuck if I know – cleansed in a way. I felt less angry. I may have even been a little happy.
¹

M.G., Enfield

First, let me assure you, I am not some sort of creepy peeper. I do not make a habit of skulking around spying on young ladies, nothing like this ever happened to me before. It
really was an accident that I discovered her sunbathing habits, and I only approached her because I was sure she had no idea how exposed she was out on her balcony. From there things just sort of
spiralled downhill.

I had best start at the beginning. A friend of mine had offered me her condominium for the week. It was right on the beach with a great view of the sunrises. The “Salida Del Sol”
complex was five high-rise buildings facing the ocean in a giant U shape, the four buildings on the wings were six storeys high and the one at the base stood one floor taller. My friend Cindy
bought into the top floor of the tallest one, just her nature, I suppose.

It was late February, a little early for the college kids’ spring break and still too cold for the oldsters. They tended to migrate further south this time of year. That meant the place
wasn’t crowded and those of us there didn’t hit the beach until midday when it really started to warm up.

Now I tend to be up late and sleep in later so I never expected to catch one of the sunrises that gave this place its name. Best laid plans and all; Sunday night I went out drinking, found a
friendly native and followed her home, I didn’t stumble back to my place until just before six in the a.m.

I stepped out onto the balcony hoping some fresh air would revive me and realized the sun was just about to pop over the horizon. I wasn’t that tired so I went and got my camera equipment
and set up the Nikon on a tripod. The sun rose with all the splendour and majesty the place advertised and I snapped maybe a dozen photos. I was just about to take down my equipment when something
out there caught my eye. A Northern Right whale and her calf were heading north just about 400 yards off the beach. That’s not something you see every day so I quickly flipped on my 500mm
telephoto zoom lens and started following the pair as they headed up the coast. Before I’d focused and snapped five frames, they were disappearing behind the northernmost building of the
complex; that’s when I spotted her.

She was cute, a thirtyish body that was not fat or thin but curvy. A short mop of coppery red hair, a sharp little nose and lips a tad too thick, she wasn’t beautiful, not in the classic
sense, but she was enough of an eyeful to give me pause. The fact that she was stark naked may have lengthened that pause a bit.

Well, she was almost naked; she was lying out on her flattened lounge chair with one of those sleeping masks covering her eyes while she soaked up the early morning sunshine. It was barely
seventy degrees and that seemed somewhat cool to be outside in the altogether. With my big lens, I zoomed in and, sure enough, her nipples were tight little nubs. Yeah, I suspect I could have
counted the hairs on her pubes with that lens; I didn’t try though, she’d shaved. I could almost make out goosebumps on her arms. I only checked because it had to be rather cold out
there. Still I guess someone coming down from Canada or New England might think seventy was warm.

I refrained from snapping the picture; after all, I’m a gentleman, am I not? In fact, after taking inventory for a few seconds I walked away. I was up now so I went in and made my
breakfast. Taking my coffee out to the balcony I casually glanced over. Even without the help of my camera lens, I could see she’d rolled over onto her belly. I went to check her at full zoom
and admired her firm little bottom. No visible tattoos is always a good sign. I tried reading out there on the balcony and checked on her a few more times before I dozed off. When I woke up around
two, she was gone.

The next morning I set my alarm for six. Once again, she was outside before seven catching the early morning sun. I checked on her at regular intervals, not spying on her really, just concerned
that she not be disturbed. She did seem to be sleeping but rolled over several times. Right around noon she got up, slipped on a pink bikini, and headed off to the beach.

I followed along shortly; she seemed to be alone. She flirted with some of the wanna-be surfers and laughed gently when they tried to pick her up. She retreated into one of the condo
association’s striped cabanas, seeking shelter from the midday sun. Stretching out on a beach chair, she seemed to be reading. Around two in the afternoon, she took a brief dip in the ocean
and then went back up to her condominium. To be honest, I’d been working myself up to approach her, but I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do or say.

Wednesday morning I finally did decide to do something. I was concerned about sunburn, and was quite sure she had no idea how many people could be watching her morning ritual. After several
false starts and running an opening speech through my head a couple of times, I set off for her building. I took the elevator up to the top floor and turned left down the corridor. Hers was the
outermost flat, closest to the ocean.

I politely knocked on the door, feeling a bit awkward and imagining how badly she might react to my news.

There was no answer. I tried the bell but heard nothing; I supposed it was broken. I knocked louder but still no response. Just as I was turning to head back to my place, I checked the doorknob.
It turned easily.

That gave me pause. If this was like every other morning, the lady was asleep out on her balcony, quite naked, with her flat wide open. Anyone could walk in on her. I pushed the door open and
gave a tentative “Hello.”

No answer.

Cautiously I let myself in, I didn’t want to startle her, but clearly, she wasn’t aware of just how vulnerable she was. I quietly threaded my way through the suite. The layout was
identical to the one I was staying at and I made my way quickly through the kitchen area and living room. The sliding glass doors to the balcony stood open and I could hear soft snoring coming from
outside.

I stepped onto the balcony and took in the sight of her. She lay face down on the lounge chair, her chin turned away from me, her perky little bottom uncomfortably close. From a distance she had
been a cute eyeful, here in the flesh she was achingly real. I could smell her fresh shampoo, hear her rasping breath, and I reached a trembling hand towards her. I knew in some deep recess that if
I touched her, if I woke her, she’d scream. Then all hell would break loose. Who knew, I could end this vacation at the police station trying to explain what I was doing here. The trouble was
I wasn’t quite sure myself.

In the end, my hand decided for me. I simply couldn’t resist. First, my fingertips touched, and then my full palm stroked that delicate little rump. She tensed, her breath caught at
mid-snore. Belatedly I thought I should have put a hand over her mouth, just to buy a moment before she started yelling. That wasn’t what happened. Without a word, she pushed herself up onto
her elbows. While I ogled her newly exposed breasts, she reached towards her sleeping mask.

“Don’t do that,” I snapped, my voice a little harsher than I intended.