Penthouse Uncensored VI

by Penthouse International

  I was thinking how I would have to go to one of those dingy missions for derelicts where a Bible-slapping preacher would feed me with soup and warn me about the devil. Something crazy came over me. I stood up and stuck my hand in my pocket. My total remaining estate consisted of a quarter and two nickles. I flung the coins at the magnificent boat, nearly dislocating my shoulder. Then I did one of those lunatic stunts that can only happen when a man is so down and out that he will defy the world. I walked over to the magnificent Evening Star and marched up her gangway. I walked to the back of the boat and ducked down a hatchway to the cabins, trying doors until I found one that opened. I locked it behind me, spread out on the bed, and thought, “Fuck ’em. Just let it happen.”

  Then I passed out.

  Now I sat on the edge of the bed trying to rub the coma out of my wretched face.

  I stumbled across the cabin to the tiny john and began splashing cold water on my stubbled face. And then I heard something—a key scratching at the cabin door!

  I ducked into the shower, pulling the sliding door to. Over the hammering of my heart, I heard a male voice and a female voice. I saw myself being arrested as a thief or a rapist found lurking in the shower and I regretted my folly. Now came a muffled thumping like suitcases being set down and then voices again. A door closed. A lock snapped.

  A sound like a shoe falling caused my heart to start trip-hammering again. Then I heard the other. I peeked carefully around the edge of the shower door. From my angle of vision I could see the bunk. The lock on a suitcase clicked open. A red print dress sailed onto the bunk, followed by a pair of pantyhose. A brassiere landed on top. I was straining to assess the cup size when it occurred to me that the woman might be about to take a shower. I wondered if this cruise ship had a brig—and would I occupy it? I envisioned the shower door opening, and almost heard the scream.

  But right now she was humming. I listened. She had a young voice. Sexy. Despite my predicament, I felt my cock begin to thicken. If I were being shot by a female firing squad I would probably die with a hard-on.

  Then she appeared.

  She was beautiful. And stark naked. She was looking in a mirror I could see, appraising herself front and then back. So was I: redhead in her early twenties, with an astonishing movie-star figure.

  She disappeared.

  I was ready to leap out of the shower and sacrifice all for one more look when she put some more things on the bed next to what she took off. She rolled on a garter belt, then a stocking, and hooked it. Leaning over in this way her ass was a perfect picture. She put on the other stocking, followed by white panties and a pleated mini skirt. Still naked from the waist up, she now began to sample the effect of different blouses against the beige mini. Her breasts were full and tipped with acorn-cap nipples. Scorning a bra, she left them free beneath a flowery blouse.

  She disappeared again. A minute later the door opened and closed and I heard the snap of a lock.

  At least I was spared the hysterical screams and arrest. I exited from the shower with the exhilaration of a free man—though I felt haunted by a strange loss. The fragrance of perfume lingered in the cabin. I had thrown the inside lock on the door and was on my way out when something caught my eye. I picked up a thin gold ear hoop and dropped it into my pocket.

  I went up on the main deck. The passengers were in Bermudas and garish prints, drinks in hand. I hoped I did not seem too conspicuous. My expensive off-white sports coat had been purchased when things were going better. I could wear it with rags and still look all right. Otherwise I wore dirty jeans, no socks, old tennis shoes, and a faded blue shirt.

  I searched on three decks for the redhead and finally found her in the main lounge. She was sitting alone at the bar. Her good looks were almost intimidating. I inhaled the familiar perfume. She looked up at me. “Have you lost an earring?” I asked. Her eyes were green. She glanced at the golden hoop I held in my hand, puzzled for a second, then reached up to her ears and was surprised to find herself with an empty lobe.

  “Oh! Thank you.” She was pleased. “Where did you find it?”

  “It was on the floor. It caught my eye.” She took the hoop and seemed about to say something. “May I join you?” I persisted.

  “Please do.” She purred it, as if hoping I would ask. I sat down feeling a rush of unreality the way you do when something unexpectedly good is happening.

  “I’m Kathleen,” she breathed.

  An island band, steel drums and a singer, was playing a soft merengue and she was doing a kind of chair dance to it, moving slow and sexy to the music. I asked if she wanted to dance. Seconds later I had her wrapped in my arms, her breasts crushed into me. People were watching us. I pulled her in, my nose nestled in the burnished curls of her hair. My cock stretched at the thought of returning to the cabin with her, seeing again that luscious body, exploring it, spreading her ivory thighs, sinking my hard cock deep. The prospect of it spun my head and I stepped on her toes. “Sorry.”

  “Yin and yang,” she said, referring to my misstep. “In ecstasy we sometimes have pain.”

  We went back to the bar and had drinks. She told me about herself and what her sign was. I had heard all this before but she took it one step further. “I’m a Druid,” she confided. “I’m one with nature. All the spirits speak and I hear them. The moon warms me at night and the sun warms me in the day. We are all one with the spirit of love—we should erase the borders and make all nations one, feed each other’s hungry, love each other’s children.”

  She went on about these things and all the while her jade eyes were wide and there was something very open about her, as if she were begging me to come into her world. She certainly understood her sexuality. She kept brushing my arm with her breasts. I tuned out most of what she was saying and lost myself in her physical beauty.

  Finally I reached out and cupped her right breast in my left hand. She put her hand over mine as if to say thank you.

  “You want me, don’t you?” She asked it kindly as if she were offering food to the hungry. I did not answer, but only looked at her. “Don’t you?”

  “Very much.”

  “Would you like me now?”

  Kathleen signed the check and we went downstairs. We had a long kiss outside her cabin door. She worked her body against me, giving me her soft lips, holding me tight. We went in and swept the clothes from the bed. I opened her blouse and devoured her breasts. I told her how beautiful she was and sat down beside her, letting my hands satisfy themselves. She lay down almost vibrating with desire, her eyes half-closed, her mouth half-opened, her chest rising, her nipples swollen. I sucked them in and out of my mouth as she squirmed; my hand caressed her stomach and thighs, then moved softly over her clit. I went down and kissed her stomach and the little mound with its sparse tuft of orangy hair. She put her hand on my head.

  “Yes,” she said, “like that . . .”

  She was murmuring with pleasure. Her hand went to the back of my head. I tongued her slowly for a while, and then, when she began to move against me, I began to lick her faster and faster. Her juice frothed around my mouth. And then she came, pulling my head into her and holding me there hard while her body trembled. Moaning and sighing, she went limp, cooing, “Oh, oh, oh. . . .”

  With my tired mouth I kissed her stomach and breasts and then her mouth, giving her back some of the juice that was awash on my face. At the same time I tried to penetrate her. My stone-hard cock, which had waited so patiently ever since my first voyeuristic sight of her in the shower, was about to receive its reward.

  To my astonishment she pushed me away. “No,” she said, “please.” I pulled her back under me but she closed her legs. I fell back in agony.

  “What is it?” I asked. She remained silent. “I’m dying for you,” I gasped. Anger and frustration boiled inside me.

  “Can I just do you with my hand?”

  “What?” I sat bolt upright.

  She looked at me in fright and lowered her hea
d. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I roared.

  “Shhh. Please. Oh Mike, I am so sorry. You see, I’m a virgin.”

  “I don’t give a damn about that. What the hell are you talking about. Virgin? Hey, this was your idea as much as mine!”

  “I know. I liked you. I just thought you’d enjoy me without putting it in.”

  I could not believe what I was hearing.

  “I am a virgin. A woman’s body is a temple of holiness. It’s the entry for creating life and that’s sacred. A Druid woman cannot let a man enter her except for the purpose of creating life.”

  “So you expect me to eat you out all night and settle for a hand job?”

  “Don’t be crude.”

  “Where’s all this love and sweetness you were laying on me in the lounge?”

  In the end she relented. But she had to go to the bathroom first. Poking around in a suitcase, she took something out and left.

  I sat back, propped up on the pillows, lit a cigarette and waited. I heard the sink faucet run for a minute. And then came a zipping—or more likely an unzipping—sound, like that of a medicine kit. Then the toilet flushed. A minute later the door opened and she looked out. Blinking and swallowing, she came ahead.

  I took her in my arms, ready to forgive all. Feeling her against me was heaven. If ever anything was designed for pure pleasure, it was her body. But as I mounted her she once again stopped me. “Just a second,” she whispered. She had some cream in one of her hands. It was cold as she rubbed it up and down my cock—but I knew it would soon make the hotness inside her just that much better. “Oh God,” she said, rubbing the cream, “please be gentle.”

  I got on top and was about to try to penetrate her again when she said, “Let me.” She guided my cock to the entry. “Easy,” she pleaded.

  I sank into her, knowing now what had happened. She had inserted me into her anus. The idea did not please me but my cock rejoiced inside her and it was difficult to restrain it—it had a mind of its own now and what it wanted was a whopping good fuck. But I did it slow for a few seconds. Even then she was whispering urgently: “Easy. easy.” When I came, I corked-off royally, exploding into her.

  Then I held her for a long time.

  We docked at Nassau in the morning and said our goodbyes. I didn’t know where I was going next but I knew I would always remember her: harking back to my days as a high school wrestler, I would remember her as the all-time one-hole-barred Greco-French mat experience of my life: The Virgin of the Evening Star.

  THE CASTAWAY AND THE PROSTITUTE

  I was on the bum in the Bahamas, just following the prevailing breezes and trusting to lady luck. I had stowed away on a cruise ship and gotten off in Nassau on New Providence Island, where would I meet the girl they called The Inch.

  But on my first night in Nassau I was very much alone. I had no money for a hotel and like a true castaway slept on the beach. I crashed on the still-warm sand behind the sprawling British Colonial hotel, the dowager queen of the snot-class establishment. Although the moon was out and the palm fronds rattled gently over my head, the experience proved less than idyllic.

  I was hungry as hell but the only eating done that night was by the sand fleas that gnawed me unmercifully. And while the sound of the ocean was all around me, my throat was dry as the Sahara—a condition much aggravated by the sounds coming from the bar of the British Colonial, where the tourists reveled into the wee hours of the morning. Nothing, it seemed to me at the time, carries in the night like the clinking of ice and the soft titter of female laughter. I, of course, imagined these women to be pretty and sexy and my spirit was not helped by the idea that they would be bedding down with other men. Lights flashed on in the rooms upstairs and I got an occasional eyeful of a pretty girl undressing or of clutching honeymooners. But no sooner did things get interesting than the lights went out. Worst of all was the open window on the second floor from which came the sounds of a young woman in the throes of ecstasy. It continued for a long time and it ate at my lonely heart. But I had to hand it to the fellow who was with her, for he had her hitting high Cs that could have broken glass.

  No Oriental torture master could have devised a more cruel night.

  The next day I sold a pair of old binoculars I found to a pawn shop on Bay Street. I only got ten dollars for them, but it was like stumbling on gold. I could eat and have a few drinks.

  And that night I met the girl they called The Inch. Not wanting more flea-bitten misery on the beach, I had wandered away from Nassau, following my nose down a narrow, unlit road until I heard music and soon came to a place called Dick’s the Cat and the Fiddle.

  I walked in and was surprised to be the only white man in the place. I bought a bottle of Pauli Girl beer with my last dollar and leaned back against the bar. I was in an all-night joint where the Bahamian night people go—cocktail waitresses, bartenders, dancers, musicians, and whatnot—to unwind after work. The room was about a third full, some of the patrons still in the costumes of their trade. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke. A small steel drum band was playing and a girl on the floor was dancing by herself. She was so sexy she gave me an instant zing. But she was tiny. Even in heels she was not five feet tall.

  “Cute girl,” I said to the fellow next to me.

  “You’ll be talkin’ at her in about two minutes,” he muttered.

  “How’s that?”

  “Cause you a tourist and she a hooker.”

  She was looking straight at me now and I was looking straight back. She danced like she was born to the beat of a drum. Her ass caught every rhythm and upstairs she was moving a small but very saucy set of sidewinders. She wore a micro-mini with a little cut-off top that barely covered what it was supposed to. Her exposed navel bobbed sensuously. It was as if each part of her body was mounted on separate bearings, everything moving to the same beat but in different directions. I never saw a girl move like that and she had as cute a face as I had seen in the islands. I was so turned on I would have sawed off an arm for her.

  When the number ended she approached me, the top of her head coming about half-way up my chest. “You dance like a dream,” I said.

  “I kin dance all night.” She was smiling and looking up out of big doll’s eyes.

  “I’ll bet you can.”

  And so we talked, exchanging names. Hers was Marvelanne, but everybody called her The Inch, she said, because she was so small. She undid one of my shirt buttons and wound a finger in my chest hair. “I be you girl tonight, Mike?” She said this very sweetly.

  “That would be very nice. That would be the nicest thing in the world.”

  “You got twenty bucks, mon, so I can feed my kid?” She whispered this.

  “I’m staying at the British Colonial.”

  “I can’t go in there . . . but I know someplace we can go.”

  “That’s not the problem. I’m sleeping on the beach of the British Colonial.”

  A small furrow creased her brow. She chewed a pretty lip. She looked at me carefully now, my unshaved face, my rumpled clothes. “Hey . . . you broke, mon?”

  “I just blew my last buck.”

  “Shit, mon.” There was real disappointment in her face. “Why you be wastin’ my time?”

  Her words hurt and I turned away. “Sorry,” I said.

  I heard her heels clicking away and pictured the hard-squeeze of her high-buttocked ass twitching above those heels. I huddled miserably over my beer. Fuck it then. I would just finish the beer and head out. I had to find someplace to sleep.

  But where? I remembered passing a pair of parked dump trucks a half a mile down the road. Maybe one of them was unlocked.

  I killed the beer and stood up. The Inch was sitting with another girl across the room, her crossed legs showing a fine milk chocolate thigh. She looked at me expressionlessly. I blew her a kiss and left.

  Outside the night was muggy and breezeless. A mosquito sang in my ear. It was going to be another long ni
ght. I headed down the road toward the dump trucks.

  “Hey, mon!” She didn’t walk, she ran—a kind of kid’s skip-jump run. She grabbed my arm in both her hands. “Hey, mon, you can’t go sleep on no beach.”

  “No?”

  “No, mon,” she said, shaking her head. “I gone take care of you.”

  Well, son of a bitch, I thought.

  And take care of me she did. She got a bottle of Vat 19 rum and four cold cokes and we cabbed to the Paradise Hotel, a dilapidated rundown hotel on the outskirts of Nassau. The room had plastic curtains, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, a small oscillating fan, a squeaky floor, and an even squeakier bed—the mattress little more than a pallet. But for me that night, it was paradise.

  And The Inch was incredible. We made that bed squeak like a mouse, bark like a dog, and, before we were through, we had it shrieking like a caveful of bats, the feet of the bed whamming on the floor like we were tearing the hotel down around us. Oh, what a fuck that was! The Inch, hooker that she was, had a quince as tight as a choir girl and she could manipulate it like a milking machine. I came like a fire hose and fell back exhausted.

  And then I could not believe what happened. The Inch was playing with herself! I never gave a girl a better fuck and there she was, her eyes glazed, her breath catching, three fingers in and really going to town with it, her palm whapping her clit, throwing her butt up to it. I thought I had worn her out, but there she was, masturbating right before my eyes.

  I sat up and poured myself a rum and coke and watched her. God, but she was pretty. But crazy. Look at her go. I wondered if she even knew I was in the room anymore. She started to whimper and then it really got weird. She began to spank her pussy! She would three-finger herself like a dervish and then pull it out and spank herself with the other hand. But really spank herself. She would slap her cunt four or five good hard ones and then the three fingers would go back in. She began to toss around on the bed, whimpering and squeezing her tits, and then she spread her legs wide and again began to slap her pussy. Only this time she did not stop. She must have spanked it twenty times, harder and harder, sobbing and gasping, and then she got off.