Confessions 3 Read online

  CONFESSIONS

  VOLUME 3

  A collection of erotic confessions

  Selected and edited by Miranda Forbes

  Published by Accent Press Ltd

  Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2009

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  Digital Edition converted and published by Andrews UK Ltd 2010

  KIERAN — Greenock

  Ice Cream

  I don’t know if anybody remembers when they used to have topless ice cream girls in the south of France. It might even have been in the late seventies, but more likely the eighties. I used to go down there quite a bit at the time, picking up whatever work I could just as long as it kept me in the sunshine and away from having to kick off my career in Dad’s firm. I used to love the ice cream girls, and who wouldn’t? They were picked for their looks, and were usually quite busty, young French and Italian girls doing much the same as I was, by and large, and of course any pretty girl who’s prepared to take her top off has got it easy when it comes to casual work.

  I used to sit in the cafés along the promenade and just drink them in, filling my head up right to the top with pictures of those lovely boobs, not to mention the rest. They had the sweetest uniform, like something out of a fifties American sex fantasy only with a French touch. I remember every detail, white pumps, red-and-white striped socks up to their knees, then bare, golden thighs disappearing in under a little red skirt so short that if you were lucky you could get a glimpse of tight white panties underneath. I actually think the panties were part of their uniform, as I never saw one wearing anything other than big white ones so tight they showed off every contour of the girl’s bum. The skirts had quite high waists, high enough to let the girl rest her ice cream tray at the level of her tummy, while it was also supported by a broad red ribbon that ran around the back of her neck, where she had a little white collar and a red bow tie. Between her tray and her collar she was naked, gloriously naked, the smooth, soft curves of her midriff rising to the swell of her chest, round, naked breasts crowned by pink or brown nipples, so good that just to look made me feel faint. Then there was the final touch, a little red and white hat set high on top of her head, and if she had long hair she had to tie it back in a high ponytail with a big red ribbon.

  I had tried my hand with one or two, but as a lanky, red-haired student with no money I didn’t have a lot to offer, especially as they could always have their pick of the local sugar daddies and Mediterranean beach boys. So I had to be content with my imagination, thinking how it would be to take one of them back to my room, still in her uniform, nuzzle my face in between those warm, bare boobs, lick them and kiss them until I had her moaning, then bend her over my bed, turn her skirt up onto her back, take down those big white panties and slip myself up from behind, to fuck her long and hard with a boob in each hand and my cock up her to the balls.

  My favourite was a very pretty girl with golden brown hair, not that tall, but with good hips and a big, firm bum, and the firmest, proudest pair of boobs I’d ever set eyes on. They were real, which they always were then, and it was amazing the way they stuck out, and the way they only jiggled ever so slightly as she walked. I wanted to hold them so badly, to lick them all over and suck her nipples hard, then to have her fold them around my cock and fuck in her cleavage until I came all over them. I knew I didn’t have a chance though, just from the expression on her face, so haughty, like she was better than everybody else and she knew it, or at least, better than me. I never even tried to talk to her.

  She really got to me, and I wasn’t getting any luck elsewhere either. As the days passed I got more and more frustrated, until I was seriously thinking of trying to scrape enough money together to buy myself a tart. It wouldn’t have been the same though, even if she’d been young and pretty, and I couldn’t really afford young or pretty. What I wanted was an ice cream girl, and the way she’d walk past, smiling at all the tourists and then giving me that snotty look, as if I was nothing, it really got to me. It even started to spoil my fantasies, because I’d be imagining how it would feel to get her stripped down, or fuck her boobs, or have her over my bed, or even I was thinking about one of her friends, and I’d think of that superior little smile and the way she stuck her nose up in the air, but most of all, of her absolute contempt and disgust if she knew I used to wank over her.

  I had to do something, just to wipe the smug expression off her face, not hurt her or anything, but just to bring her down to my level, if only for an instant. What I did was buy an ice cream, and drop it, very deliberately, into her cleavage. I can still see it now, as if it was yesterday, the expression on her face, her mouth stretched wide and shock at the sudden cold and outrage for what I’d done, her body pulled back in an instinctive effort to escape, so that she was up on her toes with her bum stuck out and her boobs swaying forward as the blob of ice cream rolled slowly down between them and fell into her tray with a wet plop, then the trickles of white running down over her golden, slightly freckled skin, one bead touching a nipple which went instantly hard.

  And then she slapped me, right across the face. It was a real stinger, and she took me completely by surprise, mainly because I’d been transfixed by the sight of the ice cream dribbling down her boobs. I went backwards, lost my balance and crashed into a stand of postcards, which came down on top of me. By the time I’d managed to untangle myself she was gone.

  As you can imagine, I didn’t feel too good about what had happened, but I knew who to blame, myself. So when I saw her coming towards me a couple of days later I was trying to apologise before she even reached me. She was looking right at me, not past me the way she always had before. I assumed she was going to have a go at me and was amazed when she apologised, and in English. When I’d heard her speak before it had always been in French, and I’d used the same language when I bought the ice cream, but not when I’d been apologising because I hadn’t had time to think about what I was saying.

  We got talking. She was called Caroline and she came from Sheffield, which didn’t do much for my fantasy of her as a Mediterranean beauty, but made no difference at all to the sight of her big, golden brown boobs on the opposite side of my table. It seemed she’d been working all summer, and she’d got so used to being topless that she barely noticed any more, except when a man got cheeky with her. I had, and she wasn’t backing down about me deserving a slap, but hadn’t meant it to be so hard and she was worried I’d hurt myself when I fell. I couldn’t stop apologising, but I couldn’t keep my eyes from straying to her boobs either, and after a while she shook her head as if to say what a sad case I was and asked if I was frustrated.

  What could I say? Either I could bullshit and deny it, and she’d have known I was lying, or I could tell the truth and admit it, so I did. She laughed, amused, and started to tell me how different men reacted to her, some polite but enjoying the view, others horny, many indifferent or at least feigning indifference. A few had tried to touch, but she was ready for that. I was the only one who’d dropped an ice cream down her cleavage. For the second time she said I’d deserved my slap, and for the second time I was desperately trying to apologise. She went quiet after that, a bit thoughtful, and soon went back to work.

  After that I could speak to her, and she didn’t mind me ogling her boobs. Sometimes she’d even give me a little jiggle, because she knew she’d got me hooked like a fish on
a line, and like most girls she loved having a man desperate for her. I didn’t even try to hide my feelings, and it was actually quite fun having her tease me when we both knew the score. Once or twice I even tried to get my own back by threatening to ice cream her boobs again, and while she told me straight out that if I did she’d slap me again I could tell it would be more to put me in my place than out of any real anger.

  I’d still never have dared, not if I hadn’t been so very horny that day, and so very drunk. I’d had a lucky break, a big tip from an American for carrying his stuff from his yacht up to his hotel, which was why I treated myself to a bottle of wine with my lunch at my favourite café for watching the girls. There was plenty to see too; girls in summer dresses or tiny shorts, cuties in bikinis so small and tight they hardly need have bothered, and of course the ice cream girls. It was particularly hot and they were doing good trade, parading up and down with their lovely boobs all bare and perky and proud, or jiggling as they ran back to the depot to refill their trays. Caroline was there, a little way further along the promenade at first, until she saw me and swapped pitches with another girl. It was deliberate, just so she could tease me, and she didn’t even bother to pretend otherwise, strutting up and down with a big smile for the customers and making very sure she kept her chest thrust out. She even made them bounce as she walked, right in front of me, and kept striking poses, with one foot back against the railings between the promenade and the beach, then bending over them to serve a man who’d been swimming, but knowing full well the position left her knickers on show to me. I felt like I was going to burst. My cock was so hard I didn’t dare stand up for fear of people noticing and my hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep hold of my wine glass.

  I could have coped with all that, but not what she did when she’d emptied her tray, which was to come over to me and duck down to whisper into my ear. As she did it her boobs swung forward a little, so that one soft curve was just brushing my arm as she called me a dirty little peeping tom and told me I ought to be spanked, not slapped, spanked.

  It was just too much. She moved off towards the depot, deliberately swaying her hips to taunt me, and something inside me seemed to snap. I swallowed the rest of my wine and got up, telling myself that it didn’t matter if she slapped me again, or even if she spanked me right there in the street. No girl should tease a guy that way and expect to get away scot free, so she was getting another ice cream over her boobs, only not just dropped on them, smeared all over them and in her face too.

  I bought one at the café, a triple with extra chocolate sauce. The depot was only a couple of streets back from the promenade and I knew the way she’d be coming back. Sure enough, I’d barely been standing there a minute when she came back out, her tray now loaded up once more. She saw me and she realised what was going to happen straight away. Now if she’d told me to fuck off I’d have been apologising in a second, but she ran, and she was laughing. It wasn’t the laughter of a girl who expects to get caught though, it was mocking.

  I don’t know, maybe she did want to get caught, or maybe she just had such a low opinion of me as a man that she thought she could outrun me. I’m six foot one and at school they used to call me Beanpole. I can run. She was maybe five foot five, built for boys, with bare boobs and an ice cream tray. I could have run her down in seconds. Instead I was sneaky, because she’d taken off towards the back of town, up a flight of steps, and not far from the top of those steps was my place.

  I caught her just before the top. She turned, lifting a finger and about to speak, and caught the ice cream full in the face. I’d meant to go for her boobs, but I’d been running fast and I knew that if I hesitated I’d lose my nerve, so I just threw it as soon as I was close enough. Whatever she’d been going to say turned into a scream, and a second as the main bit of the ice cream fell off where it had lodged over one cheek and her mouth and landed on her left boob. I can still picture her, her mouth a wide, black hole of outrage and disbelief for what had happened to her, her face and boobs spattered with ice cream, her hands spread out in horror.

  She stayed like that for maybe half a second, and then she was spitting curses at me as she grabbed the first thing she could find on her tray and threw it at me. It was one of those oblongs of ice cream you put in a cornet, fresh from the freezer, and it caught me right in the eye. The next instant she was raining slaps on me, across my face and on my shoulders, but my eye hurt so much I couldn’t even defend myself. I retreated, up the steps and around the corner to where I lived, with her following me every inch of the way and telling me what she thought of me in a lot of detail. She even came into my apartment, which was when she stopped talking to stand there glaring at me, the now liquid ice cream still dripping down her face and chest. I laughed, because she looked so angry, and except for the block of ice cream in the eye she hadn’t really hurt me at all.

  I was going to say she could use my bathroom to clean up, but she had put the tray down and just came at me. My hands went up to guard my face, but she had others ideas, grabbing my wrist and plumping herself down on the bed. I wondered what she was doing for a second, even if our little fight had turned her on and she want to get it together, until she told me straight out what she’d said before, that she was going to spank me. Fuck knows what was going on in her head, but I suppose she wanted to put me in my place, or anyway, what she saw as my place, which was a long way below hers. I’ll put up with a lot, but I wasn’t having that.

  She really thought she could do it, just like she’d thought she could outrun me, but no way. I wouldn’t hit a woman, but the more I resisted the more furious she got, scratching and swearing and slapping and trying to make me obey her by sheer willpower. In the end I had to sit on her. It was the only thing I could do. So there I am, with her bent over the bed, face down with me sat on her back. She was still screaming at me, ordering me to get off and calling me every name she could think of. I was hot, and horny because you’ve got to remember that all this time she’d been topless, so I’d had her bare boobs all over me, but most of all I was angry for the way she treated me, as if I was some kind of joke, just some boy she could amuse herself with when it pleased her, to be put in his place as necessary, even spanked. I mean, for fuck’s sake, spanked!

  I know I shouldn’t have done it, but her skirt was rucked up and I could see the big white panties she was wearing underneath. I wanted to teach her a lesson, and it would have been so easy to give her the same treatment she’d threatened to give me, to take down those panties and spank her bare bottom. How she’d have howled! Of course I couldn’t do that, but her ice cream tray was on the table next to my bed, within easy reach, and hey, what’s a guy to do?

  So I took one of the blocks of ice cream, the same sort she’d thrown at me, only strawberry. She saw what I was doing as I began to unwrap it and began to struggle again, harder than before, but I had my weight on her and she was going nowhere. I was a real bastard about it, just like she was a bitch to me, slowly unwrapping the block of ice cream so that she could see, and believe me, she knew exactly where it was going. Like before, if she’d taken a different attitude she could have stopped me, sounded serious, maybe even apologised. She didn’t. She just kept swearing and spitting and trying to order me like I was some kind of half-witted kid, which was obviously how she thought of me.

  So she got it, a bar of strawberry ice cream down the back of her panties. I did it real slow, lifting up her skirt to show her off properly and then sticking a thumb in her waistband to pull them open. God she had a lovely bum, full and cheeky and golden, and I couldn’t help but stop and admire it for a bit, with her panties held open and half pulled down at the back and the bar of ice cream poised in my fingers.

  I sort of felt I’d gone far enough, and I’d have stopped, except for two things. First she wasn’t really struggling any more, not properly. Second was what she said, “Go on, do it if you dare, you little freak”. S
he wanted it, she had to, and anyway, it’s not easy to hold a block of ice cream in thirty-degree heat. It slipped out of my fingers, right down the back of her panties, to wedge between those gorgeous golden bum cheeks and the white cotton material.

  She gave a gasp of shock, I think more that I’d had the nerve to do it than at the cold, and called me a bastard one last time, only now there was a breathless quality to her voice that was just pure sex. The fight had gone right out of her too, replaced by a sort of resignation, as if now that I’d done it, she’d given up, maybe even wanted more. I wasn’t sure, so I took another block of ice cream and held it out where she could watch me unwrap it, her big eyes round and staring, her mouth set in a resentful pout, but never a word of protest.

  With the ice cream ready, for the second time I pulled open her panties, held it up for a minute so she could see what was going to happen to her and dropped it in. This time she just gave a little sigh, like she was maybe still feeling a bit sorry for herself but didn’t mind, like she’d accepted that I was going to punish her.

  I put a third block down, and a fourth, by which time there was a huge, knobbly bulge in the back of her panties and the ice cream had begun to melt, soaking through the cotton and trickling down her thighs and the slices of bum cheeks sticking out through the leg holes. By then she was obviously horny, breathing really heavily and making little moaning noises every time I did something like pull her panties open or give them a tug to squash the ice cream up her bottom.

  Up until then all I’d really had on my mind was teaching her a lesson, but I couldn’t help reacting to her. My cock had started to get hard, and was poking out of the leg of my shorts, touching her bare back. I was sure she knew, but she didn’t seem to mind. I got up, still taking it slow, but she stayed where she was, not even bothering to turn her skirt down but still with her bum stuck out, her panties bulging with liquid ice cream, and she’d turned to watch me.