The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions (72 page)

She stood up suddenly and backed away from the bed.

“Get down on your knees, now, in front of me. I want your tongue here and don’t you dare stop until I tell you to.”

I ran my tongue across the surface of that ever-widening opening and, as I did so, Vanessa hooked her right leg behind me and clamped my face onto her lips. I licked and sucked her; she was
soaking so quickly I thought my tongue would drown in her juices but she wanted more. The folds of that velvet-soft pussy just kept contracting and expanding, I felt the raised, hardened nub of her
clitoris against my mouth. My tongue was almost numb; I felt I couldn’t give her any more pleasure but then, with a cry that I was terrified would bring in her husband with a shotgun, she
released me from her grip and I slid backwards.

I still had a huge erection and I was praying she would return the favour to me now. The thought of my cock being devoured by her mouth was wildly erotic, but she had other plans for me.
Motioning me to lie on my back on the floor, Vanessa lingered over me, teasing me, letting first one, then the other of those fabulous nipples brush against my straining cock. Then, she moved her
still wide open, saturated lips onto my shaft and sat back almost savagely. She arched her back even more, until I was completely horizontal inside her. But then, God, she began to almost bounce up
and down on me, her incredible lips controlling, gripping, manoeuvring me. As she bounced, those playboy model type tits bounced wildly. If I had had the strength I would have tried to reach out
and grab them but I knew I was close to coming now and I just knew so was she.

And then we came together and she fell off me, panting but not as much as I was.

Only seconds passed before she gave me that “I give the orders here” look again.

“I can see why my daughter enjoys you. Well, Alex, it’s four o’clock. Only a couple of hours and I might let you get some sleep.”

What? I thought. More? How can I . . . ?

She took my hand in hers and placed them on the still rocklike nipples and, as I began to squeeze them, I watched transfixed as her own hand strayed between her legs and she began playing with
her still wide open lips, vigorously, almost fiercely. I was more turned on than I ever had been in my life and although I needed time to recover, Vanessa was using her other hand to squeeze my
balls, and then it moved up my cock and nothing was going to stop me hardening again. Watching her play with that amazing pussy, feeling her nipples in my hands but most of all shivering at the
expert touch making me as hard as she wanted, I just knew that tomorrow she would be saying a polite goodbye and that maybe I had to find someone else.

Being in bed with Amy was a hell of an anti-climax from then on.

Clarabelle, Winnipeg

You might say I’m good to myself. I make lots of money. I like to eat well and wear nice clothes and drive a lovely old Jaguar type E. I’m tall, buxom, thirtyish
and strong. Lots of lipstick. I dress well, if a little unconventionally, and wear bold clothes and fine boots with big heels that make a lot of noise.

Yes, I call myself a woman. But I have a cock. You can argue about what label to use for me, but at the moment I don’t care. And I’m not in transition from one thing to the
other.

At any rate, I can afford to be choosy, and I am. You might say I tend to attract and take command. I can seduce and dominate. I don’t often want it, but when I do, I want it bad. And I
get it. I wouldn’t even have mentioned all this, but you might find it puts this story into perspective.

It all started with me going for a walk.

I got up that morning, one of those early winter days when fall feels like it’s over, but there’s no snow yet, and after my shower I painted my face, careful to use lots of shadow
and mascara to bring out my white skin and green eyes.

My hair is as black as ebony, and I have it cut like Queen Cleopatra’s.

I hooked myself into my sturdy black under-wire and my wide, waist-cinching black garter belt. Then I pulled on my stockings. Yeah, I’m one of those women who hates pantyhose. In fact, I
don’t even own any. I always wear the more traditional lingerie because it makes me feel special. And I have a bit of a turn-turn that has to be hauled in. What of it? I don’t make a
pig of myself, but I told you I like to eat.

I also pulled my nicest black Jane Belt out of the drawer. A Jane Belt, for those of you unfamiliar with such accoutrements, bundles you all together and pulls it all down, but doesn’t
have as severely binding a nature as a transvestite’s gaff. It is a little like a jockstrap, but without the hard cup, and will hide your bulge if you are wearing a loose skirt. The quality
ones, like mine, are not made of some cheap elastic, but a thick, soft material which comprises a pouch and three wide strands of belt or sash: two that go around your hips and a third that comes
up between your cheeks. You tie all three together in a special little bow: as important a bit of ropery as the four-in-hand is to men and their ties.

So I tied on my soft black Jane Belt, wound myself into my heavy-pleated, wrap-around black leather mid-thigh skirt, and pulled on my long, thick, grey sweater with the cowl, which comes down to
the hips.

Then I squeezed into and zipped shut my tall, black leather platform boots and I was ready to go.

Leaves danced and skittered on the city sidewalks as I walked through the Fisby Gate area feeling a sense of – oh, I don’t know – that vague but exciting sense of personal
power and potential one sometimes gets when one has chosen just the right clothes or falls into just the right frame of mind.

Sometimes I get that sense, you see, that something can happen. No, I’m not talking about sex, just that indefinable something. Call it inspiration if you like. It almost never does happen
when you get down to it. I go home, I take off my fine clothes, get into my pyjamas and watch a stupid video. So it goes.

I walked into the little shop and smiled at the old lady at the counter and she nodded back. It was a marvellous little place I went to from time to time, festooned with old-time remedies,
herbal cures, obscure Asian foods in beautiful little packages, unheard of beauty products from the four corners of the earth and deli products. I made my way to the magazines and flipped through a
few.

Then I made my way to the smoked meats section.

I’ve got to admit it. I’m a bit of a shoplifter. Not a real kleptomaniac, but sometimes I just like the thrill of stealing something – the secretiveness of it. Why do I do it?
I just love the kind of smug feeling it gives me. Like I’m getting away with something. And the desire to do it tends to spring forth with that feeling of possibility I just told you about.
OK, so this old lady probably has worked hard all her life and it isn’t fair to her, is it? But I don’t do this very often at any one store. Besides, they overcharge here. She’ll
never miss her salami.

I looked to the right, and to the left.

But I didn’t happen to look right behind me, assuming that no one was there to begin with.

Then I took the salami and slipped it into my purse. I waited a moment, braced for that terrible cry of “You there!” or whatever they say when they spy a shoplifter.

It didn’t come. And I allowed myself a little, secretive smile.

Then I thought I felt my skirt rise at the back, but assumed that since that was impossible, it was just a child or someone gently bumping into me.

There was a tug on the bow of my Jane Belt, and with disbelief, I felt the whole thing unravel with a swish as my cock and balls bounced down to their natural position.

“Huh?” I spun around, dumbfounded.

The old lady was holding my Jane Belt up in one hand, her elbow in the other hand, looking up to give me the evil eye.

“Since you’ve seen fit to steal from me, young lady, I’ll take something from you, if you don’t mind.”

I darted glances throughout the store to see if anyone was looking. Fortunately, not. “Give that back!”

She said nothing, but turned, holding the Jane Belt up and clutched in her fist as if it were testament to some shameful truth only she could expose, and marched off towards the backroom.

“Hey! That’s mine! You have to give it back!” I darted after her, feeling self-conscious about my bouncing genitals despite the fact my skirt was easily long enough to cover
them. Bursting through the swinging door after her, I shouted, “Hey! You can’t just . . .” It was kind of dark back there. I bumped against a stack of pallets, turned, walked a
few steps. “Hello?” How could the old broad have disappeared so fast? “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, old lady, but . . .” I gasped as
something darted under my skirt and grabbed my dick: hard. “Help! Ouch! What the . . . ?”

The old lady was before me and she kept a firm grip as she looked me in the eye in a no-nonsense fashion. “You take my salami, young lady, I’ll take yours.”

To my horror I started to get hard. “What the hell are you doing? Let me go!”

“There’s surveillance cameras in my store just in case you hadn’t noticed, young lady, so you have two choices. I can call the police or . . .”

I was grasping ineffectually at her arm. “Help! Let me go!”

“Huh? Say, you’re getting hard awful fast. Tsk. Young girls are so slutty these days. You know I’m old enough to be your mother, easy. Maybe your grandmother.”

“How dare you! That’s just a natural reaction, it’s just . . . Please! I’m sorry I took your salami. It’s in my purse. I’ll give it back. Or pay for
it.”

She shook her head. “Hear me out, dearie. Just letting you go isn’t in the cards. Now a few of the products I make in this store, some of the natural skin products and the longevity
potions, require certain ingredients that are very expensive. I like to get them myself when I can.” She squeezed a little harder and pulled me closer to her.

“Oh! This is so humiliating. Please . . . I promise I won’t come back. I have lots of money in my purse I can give you. Just let me go, please.”

“Shhh. You panic too easy, dear. One of the ingredients I use is the sort that comes right from this thingamajig of yours here. I can get something kind of like it from men, but it’s
not nearly as good. This,” she said, waggling it, “is the real McCoy.”

“You can’t get away with this. What you’re doing is illegal.”

“Yeah, but nobody would believe it, a big strong girl like you. Besides, there are no surveillance cameras in the backroom here, dear. So you see, the cops would be on my side.”

“Please don’t call them. I’ll be ruined.”

“Ruined? Oh. Your reputation, I suppose. Don’t worry, dear, it’s not like we’re in public now. There ain’t going to be any headlines saying,
YOUNG
HUSSY WANKED BY OLD LADY
. Now, let me show you something.”

She pointed to a sturdy rubber hose threaded through a steel loop hanging from the ceiling. One end of the hose led to some kind of machine with a control panel and some kind of motor, it
seemed. The other end dangled downwards, attached to a transparent, flexible plastic cylinder almost ten inches long.

With her left hand she undid my skirt snaps, one after the other, as I writhed helplessly in her grasp, then she carefully dropped the skirt on a table next to us. She reached up and grabbed the
cylinder, then pulled it down, the long sturdy tube following.

“This has already been well lubed, dear, but it’ll be tight. You’re a big one. It should automatically adjust to your thickness in there and give you a nice comfy
hug.”

I still didn’t understand. I knew only that she had her hand on my precious thing. Strong as I was, I could not break her grip on me because she had me by the . . . well, you know. She
began to stuff me in. I’m afraid I squealed. Like a stuck pig. The tube was warm and mooshy, but very firm.

“What are you doing?” I groaned, even as my cock bucked in her grip.

“Whoa, girlie, settle down there, hon’, ol’ Betsy ain’t gonna hurt you. It’s all hygienically clean and lubed for you so don’t worry.”

“That looks like something they . . . they milk cows with, for crying out loud.”

“Same principle, dear. A dick is much like a teat. At least, for my purposes it is. I’m not getting off on this in case you’re wondering – unlike your Jane Junior here
– this is strictly business for me.”

“I am
not
getting . . .”

“Oh, don’t be an idiot. You’re as humiliated as hell and wondering how a fine, intelligent (even if thieving) young woman like yourself is ever going to get over having her
pretty thing shanghaied by a grandmother – but you also like it, so just shut your pretty mouth . . . Dang! If this isn’t a tight fit. Got to go nice and slow with this one . .
.”

“What are you doing? I’ll get stuck! Unh! Oh! You brute! You horrible old . . . You can’t get away with . . .” Finally, my cock was all in.

“So much for the teat. Now let’s see how the cow does. That’s you, dear.” She let go of the cone and took the hem of my long sweater in her hands. In a couple of swift
motions, she had it up and over my head, and then off me. She laid it neatly by the skirt with some comment about it not being in the way any more, and began to make adjustments to the control
panel.

Automatically, I reached for the cone and began to pull at it, desperate to get it off and escape before I, now a helpless cock-slut stripped to bra, garter belt and stockings, shamed myself in
front of her in the most spectacularly possible way. I whined and whimpered, bit my lower lip, couldn’t believe it was all happening . . . “Oh God! I’m stuck!”

Immediately she smacked me hard on my bare ass, and when I yelped and reached back automatically to touch it, she swiftly tied my wrists together with my own Jane Belt.

“None of that now. I’ve got to get this temperamental milking machine going and I can’t have you fidgeting about.” She flicked a switch and immediately there was a
chugging sound. “Feel any suction?”

“God! Yes! What the hell are you doing to me? My cock! Oh my God, my cock!”