Sex Confession - Cut & Paste

[bryanlewis]

Greetings,

I'll be posting a series of short stories (cut & paste) to share. The stories has been with me for the past 8years and thought I should share with those who've missed it.

Enjoy reading...

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It was our honeymoon and my first trip overseas. My husband Steve and I had decided to go to Indonesia. After trekking for an exhausting two weeks through Java, we arrived in Jakarta for a couple of days, before heading to Bali. In the relentless topical heat, I was grateful to find accommodation with a western-style bathroom.

After soaking our wearied bodies, Steve and I ventured to the nearest place that served food. It was an up market establishment, but it was relaxed and friendly and the food was good.

As we finished our meals, a local man approached. I thought he was a waiter, as he’d been talking with the waitresses most of the night. He stood behind Steve and began to khead the tired, tight muscles in his shoulders. Steve groans with pleasure.

Then the man moved around to my side of the table and his hands melted into my aching muscles. Just as I was beginning to yield to his touch, he stopped and addressed Steve: “I am Mahjee. I can massage. You both want a massage?”

There was no doubt in either our minds. Mahjee could massage and yes, we both wanted a good massage. We arranged a time for him to come to our room, and when he arrived, Mahjee insisted, “Mister is first.” So I sat outside, reading while I waited for my turn.

Eventually, Steve emerged saying, “Mahjee is magic – you’re gonna love this.” He kissed me as we passed in the doorway. At last, it was my turn.

I removed my sarong and knickers and stretched out on the bed face down, waiting for Mahjee to work on my aching body. The scent of the massage oil was exotic and srotic, claming and exciting.

His hands worked gently, firmly, coaxing my muscles to soften, working them as skillfully as a sculptor works his clay. After who knows how long, Mahjee gently rolled me over and continued massaging. He worked on my shoulder, my arms, my ribs, my waist, my hips, my tights, my tummy, my breast, my nipples. He massage down my sides, crossing over my stomach and hips and crossing again over my pubic area to my tights.

Magic Mahjee, with the magic hands. They swept over my body like a flame flickering its heat up and over my breast – lingering before they firmed into a contour-hugging search down my body to my tights again. My legs fell apart – against my will or at least, my better judgment – and accepted the magic of Mahjee’s touch. This is my honeymoon I thought, but I yielded completely.

How exquisitely magic Mahjee’s touch proved to be. With one hand teasing my nipple, Mahjee’s other hand worked its magic on my most sacred self. I felt myself succumbing to his rhythm, his touch, his magic, as my lips pulsated, begging for more. Mahjee continued his magic massage until I burst with a rapturous orgasm, washing me through time and space until I became a waterfall.

I never opened my eyes. How could I look at him? This stranger who had massage me to orgasm. This is my honeymoon and Steve, my loving, caring, trusting, brand-new husband was waiting just outside the door. I felt a whisper of a kiss just below my navel before Mahjee gently draped my sarong over me and left the room. I heard Steve pay him.

My husband and I have been married for five years now and Steve still tells our friends that the best massage he’s ever had was on our honeymoon. And I still tell Steve that the best orgasm I’ve ever had was on our honeymoon…

[bryanlewis]

My boyfriend Sam and I had just moved in together for the first time and we were celebrating by christening every room in the house. We had already had wet, soapy sex in the bathroom and foodie sex in the kitchen, and were just about to indulge in languorous lounge sex when his parents phone to say that they were coming over to see our new apartment. As they lived about 40-minutes drive away, we decided against the lounge sex, but thought we would just indulge in a quickie on the dinning room table.

We were soon enjoying ourselves and frenziedly making love when my hip clicked out of place, locking my legs around Sam’s body. As I was quietly sobbing in pain, Sam carefully extricated himself from between my legs, leaving me lying on the dinning table with my legs up in the air – not the most dignified of positions,

My legs had locked a couple of times before and I knew it was just a small matter of waiting until the muscle spasm passed, so I wasn’t as shocked as I could have been, but that didn’t really make the situation any better. I wan naked lying on my back with my legs in the air, on the dinning table, and my boyfriend’s parents were due any minute.

To make matter worst, Sam’s parents rang to say they were almost at the doorstep. Sam paced the room as I lay there praying for my hips to unlock. When the care pulled up, he finally took action and carried me into the bedroom. He position me on my side and dumped the cover on top of me – telling me rather pointlessly to stay still (like I had a choice) and to be quiet while he ran off to answer the door.

I heard his parents arrived, his mother clucking around and his father making approving noises. Sam told them I was in bed, asleep and too ill to be woken up. His mother fussed a bit, and for one awful moment, I thought she was going to come in and see how I was – but Sam reassured her and the moment of crisis was over.

His parents stayed for the rest of the afternoon, while I lay lock-legged in our bedroom. Eventually, in the early evening, they left. When Sam came in to check how I was, I was livid. How dare he leave me in pain and unattended for hours!

When my hips finally unlocked, I think Sam was wishing my jaw would locked instead, because I gave him such a hard time. As you can imagine, it was weeks before we got around to christening the rest of the house again.

[curiosityz]

gonna camp liaoz

[bryanlewis]

It was a Friday afternoon. I’d been fighting all week with my boyfriend, Max, who I’d been having a fiery relationship with from the beginning. I tried breaking it off with him, but he was persistent, telling me that we should give the relationship another chance and to meet him at the pub after work.

I thought back to the two months I had been with him and kind of agreed. He emailed me at work at least four times a day – naughty emails that, if they were ever found, I would probably get sack for that. And to top it off, he was fantastic in bed. I boiled it down to him not only being hung like a horse, but knowing what to do with it, which to me is the difference between someone who’s great in bed and someone who’s mediocre. I smiled to myself and agreed to meet him.

When I arrived, he said he wanted to take me somewhere else. It was daylight saving and he wanted to make use of the sun, so we walked up the road to a park. We grabbed a patch of grass, lay on top of one another and made out with all the other couples. I could feel him becoming quite hard and I was rather wet. We were having Clayton’s sex, but I started to feel a bit uncomfortable doing it in public. And not really being an exhibitionist, I wanted to go somewhere more private.

I told Max that I was feeling uneasy, so we got up and he led me up a path to the public toilets. I’ve never done this before, but he assured me no one would be around. After all, it was getting late and most people are going home. We entered a cubicle in the men’s toilet, took off our jeans and I straddled him. My senses were instantly heightened: my ears and mind were working overtime and I was conscious of every noise – chatter of children; other people coming and going.

We were heading towards an orgasm when a bang on the door prompted us into reality. “Get your clothes on and get out of here.” I was terrified. We didn’t speak. We automatically dressed ourselves and walked out and came face to face (hot and flushed) with a security guard. “Do you both realized that what you’re doing is illegal?” he asked.

I was petrified. Max tried to take control of the situation and said that we weren’t harming anybody and we were being more discreet than the couple who were making out on the grass in broad daylight. While Max kept nervously rambling on, an idea suddenly came to my mind. I took my ring – that an ex-boyfriend had given me – off my right hand and slid it onto my wedding finger on my left hand.

I interrupted their argument and burst out with, “My fiancé has just proposed to me. We’ve never done this before and we don’t intend to do it again. We’re not perverts, and we don’t hang around public toilets for sex. And after now knowing that it’s illegal, I don’t think we’ll be doing it again.”

He finally let us go, with a warning. As we walked out of the gardens and into the night traffic, Max told me how impressed he was and said that after an afternoon of hard work, we needed a beer or two. I was still quite nervous. What if we had gone to jail? What would I have told my parents? I needed a few drinks…

It was quite a while before we tried it again, but the next time we had sex in public was at Max’s office building’s toilet. It became a lot less scary and heaps more fun. Pretty much because we knew we weren’t gonna get caught in the places we chose to do it. Our only worry now is if, on the times we did do it in the office building’s toilet, there were security cameras rolling. I hope we never have to find out…

[forumer]

thanks for sharing.. :) upped u

[yankim3]

nice. more pls

[bryanlewis]

When I was 17, I was chosen to study ballet at one of the best schools in Australia. After two years of training, I was ready for the performing world, but soon I realize that being professional doesn’t always mean lots of big opening nights and glamorous parties. So in-between the coveted roles I was lucky enough to get, I earned money dancing in nightclubs and strips joints.

As they were hardly the types of performances I could discuss at dinner parties, my fellow dance friend became my confidantes – they were often forced to go for the same jobs. And because the money was great, I couldn’t complaint. Who wants to wait on tables for $10 and hour when you can earn $100 in half the time? The big wad of cash at the end of a job always justified my guilt.

One Saturday morning, on my usual round of scouring the papers for jobs, an ad caught my eye. I rang my friend Catherine and told her about it: “Experienced go-go dancers wanted. City location. Well paid.” We decided to call and were convinced by the owner, Kris, to audition.

The address he gave us was for a beautiful two-level terrace. Inside was a totally different story – a tacky bar and dancing poles. Kris informed us that it was a brothel and we were to entertain the men – before ‘his girls’ escorted them ‘upstairs’. He said we looked OK, and if we wanted the job, we were to start that night. We decided to give it a go. After all, it was only pole dancing.

But I had never danced in a brothel before, so I was a lot more nervous than usual when I turned up for work. Music was playing in the background and a topless waitress – who worked as a legal clerk by day – was serving drinks at the bar. While Catherine and I poled danced, the customers arrived in droves: everyone from 19 year olds to men as old as my grandfather.

A well-dressed guy in his 30s named Phillip chatted to me while I was on a break. He told me he was as wealthy as Richard Gere and was looking for his ‘pretty woman’, He asked if I’d like to be her. “What a jerk,” I thought, he actually believed he could find someone like Julia Roberts her! But at the same time, I kind of felt sorry for him. He seemed like a decent guy.

Kris saw us chatting and smelled dollar signs. He took me aside and said if I went upstairs with Phillip, I could walked out of the door with enough money to pay for my rent for the next month. He also assured me that I didn’t have to go all the way if I didn’t want to. I could simply give him a hand job.

As Kris’s voice rambled on, I imagined paying off my car loan and buying a new TV. I could feel Phillip lip-reading every word I uttered, hoping I’d say yes. I smiled at him and teased him in a haughty kind of way. His eagerness made me feel sexually empowered and my adrenaline pumped fast as I thought about the forbidden territory I was entering. I decided to seize the opportunity. I put my arm out to Phillip and let him lead me upstairs.

The next thing I knew, Phillip was lying naked on his back on the queen-size bed in a room with marble floors and a spa in the corner. He was directing my mouth to his penis and I was his sex slave, thrown around the bed in positions I only ever thought a yoga expert or professional gymnast could attempt. I even had my hair stroked and was ordered to purr like a cat. I remember feeling like a star in a porn film. I was crashing in on someone’s fantasy and I felt good. I even had orgasm.

But as the night progresses, I began to feel riddled with guilt. I thought about my family and the values they had instilled in me and realized that what I had done made me a prostitute. I’d been paid to have sex with a man. After he’d finished with me, I remember Phillip adjusting his tie in front of the mirror, smugly informing me that his wife is waiting for him – she thought he is at a work dinner. As he left, he told me, “You’re the fuck of the century.”

It drawn on me that I’d had sex with a weirdo whose sense of reality was defined by soft porn Hollywood movies. While his wife was at home cooking dinner for him, he was having sex with a stranger. I could imagine him walking through his front door, smiling as though there was nothing better in the world than the sight of his wife’s face. I got into the shower and washed myself till my skin was red with blotches. I had to remove every trace of him from my body.

On my way downstairs, I saw Kris and asked him for my money. Then I walked outside and hailed a cab. I desperately wanted to turn back the clock to a time when I didn’t know so much about a world I should never have entered into. My three hours of curiosity made me totally rethink my career. These days I make my money teaching dance, not performing. And Catherine is still the only person who knows my secret…

[best123]

camping here...upz you...

[bryanlewis]

When a spare room became available in the house I share with my two friends, Sally and Emily, I begged them to let my boyfriend Shawn move in. he practically lived there anyway, and as we couldn’t afford to spilt the rent between the three of us, it seems the perfect solution. As I thought, they have no objections.

Sally and Emily did everything together, so it was nice when Shawn moved in, as I’d sometimes felt excluded by their closeness. To start with, Shawn and I were really discreet, as we were worried that being part of a house couple would ruin the balance of friendship, but everything seems to run smoothly and I soon relax and started to enjoy the benefits of having a live-in lover – always having someone to talk to, sex on tap, no phone slammed down halfway through arguments and someone to put you to bed when you’re drunk and cuddle you when you’re hungover.

To earn a bit of extra money, I work a couple of evenings a week at a local bar. On the nights I was working, it had become a habit that if they weren’t doing anything else, Sally, Emily and Shawn would come in for a drink at the end of my shift and walk me home.

On this particular night, the bar was really quiet and we were over-staffed, so I volunteered to take the night off. I was going to stay and have a drink with some regulars, but I was tired, so I decided to get a taxi home.

The flat was dark, apart from the light in Sally’s room. When I heard giggling, I assumed Emily was in there as well. I knocked and opened the door and for a few seconds, I couldn’t comprehend what I saw: Shawn was lying on the bed with Sally happily sucking his penis while Emily was riding on Shawn’s face (with him licking her). I swear I don’t know how they did it but Emily was licking at Sally’s ass hole. What a “triangular affair”! I ran out of the flat and vomited with shock. I could hear Shawn running down the stairs shouting my name, but I couldn’t face seeing him.

It really felt like someone had kicked me in the gut, but instead of being able to curl up until the pain had gone, I knew I had to get away from the flat. I wandered in a daze to my friend Lucy’s house and knocked on the door. By the time she opened up and asked me what’s wrong, I’d disintegrated into a sobbing heap. I was so hurt. I couldn’t believe that in one night two of my best friends and my boyfriend had betrayed me in such a way.

Lucy, not knowing what happen – just that I was hysterical – called Shawn. When he arrived I just went off at him, sobbing and shouting and calling him every names under the sky. She soon guessed what had happened and threw him out.

The next day was a bit of a blank. Luck and few other friends went round to my flat to collect my stuff and convinced me to ring my parents and asked them to pick me up. After I’d been home for a couple of days, Shawn came to see me. He was crying and saying he was sorry. He said that he was drunk and had it all been a big mistake. I’ve also received letters from Sally and Emily begging my forgiveness, but I can’t forget what I saw…

[~Angel_Dome~]

very juicy nice story!

[bryanlewis]

I’ve always been fascinated and turned on by porn featuring women and the way men respond so strongly to it. Getting the internet connected was an excellent chance to find out more about it. However, after a while I found myself getting bored with commonplace images of women in the vein of Pamela Anderson – blonde, huge breasted and bored looking. I decided to spend time to look at what are known as amateur sites.

These sites intrigued me because they were full of pictures of ordinary women celebrating their bodies in sexual and pornographic situations rivaling the more flashy Playboy pictures, yet remaining very natural and genuine. The women ranged from slender to fleshy to athletic – and showed a natural confidence which appealed to me as a women.

Thinking that I had what it look, I emailed the web master of one of these sites to find out how I could get a site of my own. In fact, I never thought twice about it. Promptly responding, he told me I needed 300 pictures weekly. I asked my boyfriend to take the picture for me to pose on, feeling very aroused and creative at the same time.

It was very exciting for us to work on this together. We included blow-job pictures, anal views, food shots, pictures of me peeing, my legs wide apart, vibrator shots, pictures where I posed in various states of undress around a swimming pool, shower shots, a few foot shots for the feet fetishists, and masturbatory shots.

Having completed these pictures, we sent them to the web master. In less than a week, “Pleasurable Donna’s” amateur webpage was on the net, and through links from some other amateur pages, I began to receive about 2000 hits a day. I received large quantities of email from men and women, all pleased to see another real woman on the net, instead of false, touched-up Pammy look-alikes.

The upkeep of the site is hard work. We have to take about 50 new pictures per week, and always with a different smutty flavor. I perpetually find myself buying clothes and underwear I wouldn’t normally buy in order to satisfy my clientele, like red lace bustiers and suspenders – all the clichés you can think of. I also answer all my own emails too.

I love being part of the porn world. I’m turned on by what I do and the idea that thousands of people are seeing me and masturbating over my pictures. I’m going to start selling personal videos soon, where the buyer requests what they want me to do and I fulfill their fantasies on a video made especially for them. I also sell pairs of knickers I’ve worn and stockings too. The market for these items is huge and at $10-$20 each, it can be big business.

The only problem with this fantasy world I’ve created for myself is that, in the real world, I have a job that demands professionalism and commands respect. I lived in apprehension of being discovered by someone I know who could bring my world tumbling down around me and my career. Still, I’ve survived this far and intend to continue living a double and very carnal life.

If I’m unearthed sometime in the future, I will cross that problem when I get to it. But in the meantime, I’m happy to risk that chance of discovery. I’m not hurting anyone, but am providing sexual pleasure mad relief to thousands of people.

In the words of a particularly memorable email: “You’ve made my world beautiful and bring me pleasure each time you add new pictures to your site. Please continue to be exquisite and to decorate my life so stunningly.” Who can argue with that.

[bryanlewis]

My boyfriend Sam had been backpacking overseas for a couple of months and I missed him desperately. We talked on the phone regularly, but I couldn’t wait for him to come back to Sydney so we could do normal things together, like go to the movies and hang out at the pools.

Once Sam had confirmed his flight home, I started planning his homecoming down to the last detail. I’d meet him at the airport, go around to his parents place for a while so that they could catch up, then at the earliest possible, we’ll slip out and return to our flat. I’d cook a fabulous meal which we’d like to eat by candlelight, then we’d make love till the early hours of the morning.

I shouldn’t have worried so much about the details – everything went perfectly. We talked and laughed over a couple of bottles or red wine, then fell into bed together at about 11pm. I don’t think either of us could have waited a minute longer – the feeling of Sam sliding into my body was amazing. We must have had sex two or three times throughout the night.

It wasn’t until the next morning when I got up to use the toilet that I realized my perfect evening hadn’t been quite so perfect after all. Sitting on the toilet, feeling more than a little hungover, I suddenly realized what I’d forgotten the night before – my tampon. I knew I’d had one in when I had met Sam at the airport, but couldn’t remember taking it out before we made love.

I felt around between my legs for the string, but it wasn’t there. “it must be tucked inside my body,” I thought, as I probed the entrance of my vagina with a finger. But no, there was no string. Opening my legs wider, I tried again, pushing my finger deeper. No luck. In fact not only was there definitely no string hanging out of my body, I couldn’t even feel the tampon inside me. Trying not to be panic, I tried to remember if I’d ever heard of a tampon disappearing like this.

Running back to the bedroom, I woke Sam up and, stuttering with embarrassment, told him what had happened. In disbelief, Sam asked me to repeat what I’d just said, then with a kind of sick look on his face, said he’d have a go at finding the tampon. I lay back on the bed with my legs wide open as wide as possible while Sam spread the lips of my vagina open with one hand and started feeling around with the other. Starting to feel sick and uncomfortable, I was overjoyed when Sam told me that he could feel the tampon inside me. The bad news was that, even after 20minutes of trying, there didn’t seem to be anyway to get it out. The only solution was to go to the local doctor.

The waiting room was crowded with people when we walked in, all of them apparently in more need of attention than I was. A harried-looking nurse warned me that there might be a long wait, then pointed to a long row of uncomfortable looking plastic seats. After four miserable hours of waiting, I finally got ushered to see the doctor. When I explained what the problem was, he asked me to put my feet up in the stirrups while he looked into my vagina with a flashlight and one of those cold metal things they use when you have a Pap smear inserted.

When he had finished examining me, the doctor muttered something under his breath and left the room, returning a few minutes later with what seemed like a dozen medical students. Breezing into the room, he explained that my case was a very interesting one for the students to observe and asked if I minded. I wanted to say yes, but I was too mentally exhausted to say anything at all. Instead, I started to cry. I can honesty say that having a room full if people peering between my legs as the doctor removed a used tampon from my vagina with forceps was the most humiliating moment of my life. If I had been possible to shrivel up and die of embarrassment, I would have.

Sam was very sweet about the whole thing, but we’ve both become paranoid about having sex when I’ve got my period. On the one time we did get a bit horny, Sam asked me 10 times if I’d removed my tampon. It totally ruin the mood…