Confessions 3 Page 3

  I nod to Penny, mouthing the words. She grins, tells Judith it’s time her bottom was bare and down it all comes, fishnets, panties, the works. Now Judith is bare behind, her plump pink bottom filthy with ginger cake, both cheeks smeared, more stuck between, her pussy soiled where it shows between her thighs. The scent is thick in the air too, mixed with perfume and rubber, but mostly with excited girl.

  Penny goes back to spanking Judith and I pause with Cat, rubbing her bottom as I speak to her, “well, how about yours?” She doesn’t answer, and that’s enough for me. She’s in a corset, with black leggings underneath, and to judge by how tightly they cling to the contours of her bottom, no knickers. That’s a shame really, because if there’s one thing I really like to do it’s pull down girls’ knickers.

  Still, trousers are good too, and I savour the moment as I ease Cat’s down to lay bare her lovely, cheeky little bottom, so firm and round and spankable. It would be a sin for her never to give in, and I intend to make the best of her. A gentle pat, another, a little rub just to make sure she doesn’t mind being touched up, and I’ve got the green light. I start to spank in earnest, quite hard now, to make her cheeks bounce and jiggle, to open too, showing off the pouted lips of her pussy and the little pinkish brown wrinkle of her anus. She begins to sigh and I risk the final intimacy, a hand slipped between her thighs to explore, cautiously at first, tickling her bottom hole and cupping her sex, then bolder, my fingers rubbing at her clitoris and my thumb sliding up her wet, ready vagina. She moans.

  They’re ours, completely. We start to have fun with them. First we turn them face to face, to make them watch the faces they pull as they’re spanked. We make them kneel on the sofa, side by side, their bare bottoms lifted and open, pussies on parade, bumholes winking in apprehension for the next smack delivered to their now pink bottoms. We make them kiss and there’s no resistance, far from it. Soon their mouths are open together and their tongues are entwined. I suspect it’s not the first time.

  Now it gets dirty. Judith’s bottom is still filthy with ginger cake and Penny has given up any pretence of the spanking being a punishment or even a gesture of dominance. She goes down on her knees, still spanking Judith’s cheeks even as she buries her face between them, to lick up the cake, from her pussy, and from between her cheeks. To see Penny licking another girl’s bottom is almost too much for me. I’m already rock hard, and I nearly come.

  Judith is going to, moaning and clutching at her breasts as Penny licks her, begging for attention to her clit. She gets it, licked to orgasm with her spanked bottom thrust into the face of the woman who has punished her, and kissing Cat at the same time while I attend to the smaller girl’s rear end, spanking her and masturbating her at the same time. I’d make her come, but that’s not what she wants. She wants a lick. Penny obliges, going down behind Cat just as she did Judith, and for the second time in the space of a few minutes I’m treated to the sight of my girlfriend with her tongue lapping at another woman’s anus.

  It doesn’t take Cat long, and then it’s Penny’s turn. She makes them both do it, sat on the sofa with her thighs spread and her hands twisted into their hair as they take turns to lick her to ecstasy. I’ve got my cock out by then, nursing an erection that feels fit to explode, and what a view to come over. Both Judith and Cat are kneeling, side by side, their bare bottoms pushed out, open and inviting, pussies and bumholes on display. I could fuck either of them, or both. They probably wouldn’t mind, but Penny would. That’s not part of the deal.

  I do get mine though, and how. The moment Penny’s come down from her orgasm I point out that they’ve all come and I haven’t. Judith and Cat start to tease, giggling over how badly swollen my cock is and the desperation in my voice, telling me it’s my own fault for spanking them, flaunting their bottoms and breasts, spreading the lips of their cunts to show me the pink flesh between. Penny takes charge, telling me to sit down on the sofa.

  I do. She marshals the girls to either side of me and gets down between my legs. This is heaven. I take one warm, plump bottom in either hand, feeling their cheeks as Judith and Cat go work on my cock, masturbating me and squeezing my balls as Penny licks and sucks. I get bolder, slipping the tip of one finger in up Judith’s slippery bumhole as I begin to tickle Cat’s. Neither girl minds, happy for me to touch them as intimately as I please while they handle my cock, and with that it all comes together. I explode, unable to contain myself a second longer, into Penny’s mouth and over her face, soiling both the eager hands on my erection and balls, my fingers in up the girls’ bottoms holes, their cheeks spanked and their pussies frigged, the perfect end to a night I will always remember, a night of filthy, kinky, uninhibited sex. And the final irony? If it hadn’t been for the police trying to put a stop to our filthy behaviour it would probably never have happened.

  PETER — Plymouth

  Just Looking

  I’m a voyeur and I’m not ashamed of it. I know a lot of people think I should be but I just don’t get that at all. After all, I’m just looking. I never touch, I never do anything that could get me arrested. I just like to look.

  When I say I never do anything that could get me arrested, what I mean is that I never do anything that I deserve to get arrested for, like putting a video camera in a holdall so I can film up girls’ skirts or lurking around female halls of residence. When you’re a voyeur you’ve always got to be a bit careful. I remember a sketch on TV, I think it was Russ Abbott, where he says that if he goes out into his garden stark bollock naked and the woman next door sees him he’s a flasher and he gets arrested, but if she goes out into her garden stark bollock naked and he sees her, then he’s a voyeur and he still gets arrested. It really does work that way, sometimes, so you do have to be careful.

  Not that I’m really at risk, because what gets me off is accidental display. Voyeurism’s not just about liking to watch. At one end of the scale there’s paying for it, peepshows and strip clubs, lap dancing and topless bars. That does nothing for me. I’ve never been to anything like that, expect once on a friend’s stag night, and I hated it. For one thing you know the girls are doing it for money, which I find really sordid. Also, they’re showing what they want to show, or rather, what you’re paying them to show, which for me makes it pointless. After all, if I just want to look at bums and tits all I have to do is turn on my computer and I can get an endless procession of both, for free. At the other end of the scale there’s the nasty stuff, which is illegal and just plain stupid. What I like is in between and, I like to think, a bit more refined, accidental display, when a girl shows just that little bit more than she means to, maybe without even realising it, but better still, far, far better, if she does realise and gets embarrassed.

  It doesn’t have to be hardcore. Sure, I quite to like to see a couple at it, especially if they don’t realise they’ve been spotted, but I’m just as happy with an accidental flash of a nipple or even panties. That said, what I really like to see is a bare arse. It’s just that little bit ruder, I suppose. After all, girls go topless on some beaches and think nothing of it, but they don’t often go bottomless, and then of course there’s that perfect view, a woman seen from behind so that not only is her bare arse on display but her pussy shows from behind. To me that view, seen accidentally and for the woman to realise that I’ve seen but be unable to do anything about it, that is perfection.

  It’s also rare, but then perfection should be or there’s a risk of becoming jaded. After all, if girls walked around in the nude all day and didn’t think twice about bending over, then it wouldn’t be a big deal at all. Fortunately for me they don’t, and it is. That’s why I treasure each perfect memory, and there are only three, although I’ve had plenty of lesser experiences, so here are just a couple as a warm-up and to illustrate what I like.

  First, the girls at the temple of Athene on Kos. It’s much like any other Greek ruin, I suppose, with open spaces of cracked pav
ing stones and columns, mostly fallen. What it does have is two levels, one ten or twelve feet above the other, connected by a flight of steps. I didn’t go there specifically to look at girls, although I’m always on watch, but just as a tourist. One look and I’d realised the potential of those steps. There were a lot of girls about and it was hot. Most of them were wearing shorts, and they were well worth looking at anyway, with slices of creamy pink or honey coloured arse cheeks on show, but better still were the ones in the loose, short skirts that were fashionable at the time, or summer dresses.

  In order to look over the ruins, everybody would climb the steps to what had been the main part of the temple on the upper level, but there were also a lot of people just hanging around, including some sitting on the fallen sections of column. One column had fallen beside the steps, and it was quite obvious to me that anybody sitting there would have a prime view up the girls’ skirts as they climbed the steps.

  So I sat there, with my shades on so it wasn’t obvious that I was looking, pretending to read my guide book and enjoying the view. It was some view. I remember a leggy Greek beauty in a white summer dress with a black thong underneath, her perfect, egg-shaped little buttocks quite bare up her dress. Then there was the pair of German students, both in miniskirts, one blonde, one dark, but both with their arses on show, one in white knickers, one in green, one sleek and muscular, one quite cheeky. Best of all was a black girl in a floaty yellow dress, ever so pretty, and when her turn came to climb to the steps an obliging zephyr lifted it to give me a truly divine view up to her neatly turned, brown-skinned bottom. She was bare, no panties, and if she’d only bent forward just a tiny bit at the right moment, perhaps to pat her dress down, my view would have been perfect. It was good though, very good.

  You might think I’m mad, because less than a mile from that temple there were crowded beaches with hundreds of equally beautiful girls in bikinis, walking, sunning themselves, playing in the water, with all but a few square inches of their bodies on show. Go to somewhere a little more secluded and some of them would have been topless, even nude, and on a beach you don’t even need an excuse to just sit there and admire the view. It’s what people do. Don’t get me wrong, that would have been nice, but aside from the occasional accidentally dropped towel or bikini lost in the waves I wouldn’t have seen anything I wasn’t supposed to. For me the temple was better.

  Another good example happened one evening on the platform of a country station in Lincolnshire. I’d just missed my train, which meant a wait of three-quarters of an hour for the next and there was nothing to do but sit in the sunshine and stare into space. After a while three girls came out on to the platform opposite. I suppose they’d been drinking, because they were certainly merry, laughing and teasing each other. One was particularly busty and didn’t seem to have a bra on under her top, which not surprisingly excited my attention, and certainly gave me something better to look at than the tracks. The other two seemed to be picking on her, all in good humour but definitely at her expense. It wasn’t obvious what had happened, not exactly, but somehow the busty girl had lost her bra. The catch had probably broken or something equally mundane, but in my mind they’d been playing strip poker and whoever had got her bra off had refused to give it back.

  That little fantasy would have been enough to keep me amused, normally, but all of a sudden, without the slightest warning, the other two girls grabbed the sides of their friend’s top and whipped it up, baring her ample boobs. She covered up hastily and began to chase the others up and down the platform, making me hope I’d see some suitably juicy revenge, maybe their bare breasts as well, or trousers pulled down, maybe a smacked bottom. Unfortunately the train came soon afterwards, but I was still left with that glorious image of the girl’s big, naked boobs and the rich embarrassment on her face because she was bare and she knew I could see. That was the thrill, you see, because she didn’t mean to show herself off, but I saw her boobs and there was no getting rid of that fact.

  The first of my three perfect moments was not dissimilar and came completely by chance. It was a summer’s day and I’d arrived early for a business appointment just outside London to the south. With an hour to kill I decided to take a walk in the local beech woods, which are famously beautiful. I wasn’t even thinking about sex, and I hadn’t seen anybody for maybe ten minutes after deciding to come off the beaten track and walk between the huge silvery green trunks and among the box bushes growing where the sunlight got in. All of a sudden there she was, right in front of me as I came out from behind a bush. Beyond her was a high bank that bordered a track, as I learnt later, and she’d obviously taken shelter behind it to pee, because her back was to me and as I came around the bush she was in the act of taking down her jeans and panties, with her bare arse pushed out, as good as in my face, her cheeks well spread to show off the pale star of her arsehole and her open pussy.

  It was over in just an instant, before she realised that there was somebody there and hastily covered herself up before giving me the filthiest look I have ever received, but with her face the colour of a beetroot. Of course I couldn’t apologise enough, and it had been a genuine accident, but I’d seen, and she knew I’d seen, and the shame and resentment in her face for the show she’d given me was made all the more exciting because she was completely helpless to do anything about the situation.

  Normally I wait to get home before holding the image in my mind while I masturbate, and I get stronger orgasms that way than I ever have with a woman, but this time it was just too much. I went back the way I’d come and finished myself off among the bushes, picturing her exactly as she’d been, jeans and panties pushed down, beautiful rounded bottom thrust out right at me, her every so slightly chubby cheeks well spread to show off her arsehole, and best of all, the pouting lips of her pussy. I only wish I’d had my camera.

  The second and third of my three perfect moments happened on the same day at my favourite pool on the moors and they were deliberate. I’m not going to say where it is, even which moors, because if there’s one thing you learn as a dedicated voyeur it’s to keep your best sites to yourself, especially now information can get passed around on the internet so quickly. Suffice to say that this pool is one of several along the same small river as it comes out of the heart of the moor along a steep valley. It’s a good three mile walk to the nearest car park, a lot of it across broken ground, so not many people get there. Those who do tend to be pretty fit and to like a bit of privacy, which often means attractive girls. Both sides of the valley are steep and covered with rocks and thorn trees, but on one side there’s a long ridge of big, broken rocks, which could have been built for a voyeur.

  The only problem is that you need binoculars, or a camera with a powerful lens. Needless to say I own both, and I know all the best spots from which to watch. I suppose it’s a bit like hunting, only I don’t kill anything, which in my view makes what I do more morally justifiable. I can go out to those rocks and stay there all day, just about, watching and waiting. Even if nothing happens it’s not a bad way to spend the time, but on any summer’s day, so long as there’s a bit of sun and not too much wind, you can be pretty sure something will happen.

  I think my best time there was when I arrived at the car park to find two girls who’d arrived just ahead of me. They were both in their twenties, one dark and pretty with freckles and a fleshy little bottom, very cheeky for such a slim girl, the other smaller, also dark, but with tight black curls, big breasts made bigger by her tiny waist and a plump, wobbly bottom. Just in their jeans and tops they looked good, but both of them were carrying towels and it was obvious where they were going. I ached to see them stripped down.

  Now to get to the pool you walk along the river, but if you make straight for the ridge it’s only about two-thirds the distance and of course as far as they were concerned I’d just set off across the moor in a different direction to the one they were taking. That way they had no
reason to suspect I intended to watch them swim, and as they’d never know, no harm would be done.

  I got to my hidey hole well before they arrived at the pool. In fact I couldn’t even see them in the valley and for one frustrating moment thought they might have gone somewhere else, perhaps not to swim at all but to sunbathe. That hurt, to think of them somewhere out there, with miles of empty moor and hundreds of secluded nooks to choose from, because girls who go out to the moors to sunbathe almost always do it nude, and I should know. There was next to no chance of finding them though, as if they’d crossed the river they might be almost anywhere, and would very likely see me coming as well. So I settled down to wait, knowing that even if they didn’t come there was a fair chance that others would.

  Fortunately I was wrong, and I’d no sooner got comfortable than they appeared at the turn of the valley, scrambling rather cautiously over a ledge where a spur of rock pokes out right to the river’s edge. My heart had begun to beat faster immediately, just watching them, even though they were maybe three hundred feet below me and a long way away, and completely decent, just the same way they’d been in the car park. That didn’t matter. I knew there was every chance they’d strip, and if they didn’t realise that anybody was about, well!

  I was edged into a crack among the rocks, comfortable enough and completely invisible unless anybody climbed the rocks directly to either side of me. That was unlikely, and there’s always the excuse that I’d been bird watching, for which purpose I carry a basic guide book on the recognition of birds. I still felt nervous as I set up my camera, but that’s part of the fun, that and the chase, and the triumph of success, all as much as the erotic thrill of what I get to see.