I went to the ladies’ room and took out five one-dollar bills. Then I took a red pen and wrote a message on the edge of all the bills. it said: “Hi! Would you like to have a party with a very horny lady? If so, come to Susie’s at nine-thirty tomorrow night.” Then I wrote my address and added, “I’ll be waiting.” I returned to our table and set my plan in motion. The next five studs who danced within my reach got a bill with my message on it.
The following morning I got my hair done and had a facial. I bought three different kinds of wine, and I bought the sexiest and sleaziest outfit I could find. It was made out of black lace and nothing else.
When I got home I dressed, drank some wine and waited. I sat and watched the clock, second after second, minute after minute, hour after hour. When it was only five after eight, I heard a knock on the door. Great, I thought, here’s somebody I’ll have to get rid of fast.
I answered the door and my heart stopped. Standing in the hall was not one, but three of the male strippers from the night before. I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, standing with three incredibly gorgeous guys. I just froze and didn’t say anything.
One of them asked if I was Susie. I replied, “Yes. Come in, please.”
The guy who had asked my name told me that he was Dave, and introduced the others, Jeff and Brad. Dave went on to say that they were sorry they’d showed up early but it would give us all more time to get to know each other. I offered them each a glass of wine.
Before we knew it, one glass led to another, and before long we were all very relaxed and talking as if we all had known each other for some time. I was feeling very fine and I confessed to them that I was very turned on by their performances at the club.
Jeff stood up and said, “Well, we’ll perform for you right now.” Brad tuned the stereo to a different station and began to dance around. I was getting very hot. Jeff pulled me up to him. I took over from there. I grabbed Jeff, pulled his body close to me and kissed him. As I was kissing him, I felt the other two strippers’ hands on my body. One was working on my shirt buttons and the other on my skirt zipper. Things started going the way I’d hoped.
I had only wanted one of them but I sure wasn’t going to turn the others away. I’d thought about having two men at once, but three? I felt like I was the luckiest woman on earth. I was naked and wondering what was going to happen next. Then Don lowered me onto the couch and plunged his thick cock into my pussy.
I was in heaven. Don was fucking me with long strokes, slow and easy. Jeff and Brad each had one tit in their mouths. I never thought I would enjoy having an audience. But to be truthful, the thought of all three of them watching me turned me on even more. When Don shot his load inside me, Brad and Jeff both kept sucking my tits.
I wanted more. I stood up, pushed Jeff to the floor and jumped upon his hard tool. I was riding him when I felt a pair of lips close over one of my breasts and suck my nipple. That got me thinking. I wondered what it would be like to have one cock in my pussy and one in my mouth at the same time. Brad was sucking my tit, so I reached for Don’s cock and pulled him to my mouth. As I sucked Don’s cock, I reached down and started stroking Brad’s cock.
We carried on like this for at least another hour. I was fucked by each of them and sucked by each of them. And you know what? I was right. They did know just the moves that could push a woman over the brink. I never came so many times in my life, even counting marathon sessions with my vibrator. By the time we all fell asleep on the floor, I don’t think there were any positions we hadn’t been in.
When I woke up at dawn, my three studs were gone. But they’d left something behind. Next to a bottle of wine, I found three dollar bills. Each of my studs had left one with his name, phone number, and address written on it in red ink, and an invitation to call any time.
I haven’t decided what to do yet. Maybe I’ll call one of them. On the other hand, I’ve got plenty of one-dollar bills.
FRENCH GIRL
I’m married, forty, with two kids. My wife and I are happy. But we haven’t had sex since our second was born three years ago. I love my wife, need her, and wouldn’t leave her. Yet our lack of a sex life together made the episodes I’m about to relate all the more intense.
Last summer we were visited by Annette, a nineteen-year-old daughter of good friends. She’s from Paris. She was touring the States, hiking and sightseeing, and stayed with us for a week. Annette was pleasant and friendly. Her English wasn’t perfect, but it was fairly good. She baby-sat our kids a couple of nights so we could go out. After that week, she planned to hike from a trail near our home, meeting up with other French students at a hostel some miles to the north.
Let me tell you about Annette. She’s five foot two, a bundle of energy with short, chestnut hair. She has deep green eyes, a thin, hourglass shape, and never wears makeup. Her breasts are small but very firm, with scarlet brown nipples. Her pubic hair is elongated and wispy. She’s not at all like the women portrayed in explicit movies. In comparison to her, they’re cold platinum. Annette has freckles over her back, arms and legs, and a slightly oversize nose. She’s real.
I saw her, considered her youth, appetite, comeliness, and had the natural thoughts. I also felt the natural inhibitions. Besides the mixed emotions, there wasn’t opportunity. But early one afternoon, my wife took the kids to a party at a friend’s house. She was only supposed to be gone for ninety minutes. I watched over a cooking roast, its hearty odors making Annette and me hungry. We read. She sat in a chair across the room. I admit I was watching her as well, trembling and growing hard. I finally broke through my indecision, got up and pulled a chair up beside her. We talked about her day, her visit. We talked about small things, anything.
I went around the back of her chair and started rubbing her shoulders. She didn’t ask me to. She didn’t object or encourage. She sat there silently. I slid up the midlength sleeves of a Madras shirt, stroking her upper arms, her lower arms, caressing her hands, her fingers. I asked, “Do you mind?” She said at once, “No,” and shook her head slightly, her hair bouncing as she did. “It feels good,” she admitted. My heart leapt.
I moved around in front of her, sitting on the floor between her crossed legs, bare from the thighs, revealed by khaki shorts. I touched her legs, to and fro, above her knees, inside her thighs. I caressed them, and bent over and kissed them, lightly, gently. She spread her legs, and I gave them the same gentle, loving attentions.
Suddenly, we heard the garage door opening. I quickly moved to the other side of the room. I said to Annette, “Sorry.” She looked at me with disappointed eyes, and nodded. The most difficult thing to mask was my very hard cock, and perhaps, our mutual nervousness. I don’t think my wife noticed, and it subsided. No other opportunities presented themselves that week.
Annette left us early the following Sunday, giving us friendly hugs and perfunctory kisses, thanking us for our hospitality and company.
My wife was planning to visit family with the kids that entire week. I was to attend to job and home. They hadn’t seen her parents, who live a three-hour drive away, in over a year. I had no objections at all. I helped pack and load up the car, saying, “Drive carefully” to my wife and admonishing my kids. “Be good at Grandma’s and Granddad’s.”
I went inside and made some lunch. I consumed half the afternoon with chores.
At three o’clock the doorbell rang. I thought it was probably some collector for charity. Frankly I was annoyed at the interruption. I scowled as I opened the door, and then my jaw dropped.
It was Annette.
She asked, “May I come in?”
“Why, Annette!” I said in clutched surprise, swallowing hard. “Yeah, of course.” My thoughts were racing. I restrained them, for fear of frustration. Might I have misread events? Quickly I said, “Sure,” stepping back, beckoning her delectable form through the door, I added, “Is something wrong?”
She stepped inside, her hiking boots falling heavily against the tiles, and sh
e kept her eyes from mine. I closed the door behind her. She took two steps toward the living room, then must have realized she still had on her hiking boots. She said, “Madame and the boys went to Grandmama’s, no?”
I said, “Yes.” My dick was thinking predictable things.
Annette turned and looked me full in the eyes. She said, “I had to come back, Bill.” She stepped toward me. I was frozen in place, my arms stiff as boards. “Can you please, Bill, touch me some more, as you were?”
Her tone was pleading. I stepped forward, put my arms around her and kissed her. She trembled, emitting soft cries of delight. We struggled with her boots, and I carried her upstairs to the bedroom.
We took a lot of gentle time that afternoon, that evening and night. After undressing her, I caressed and licked her to a moaning, shouting crescendo, avidly licking her clit, darting my tongue into and around her. Afterward she urgently guided me inside her, where I exploded immediately. I remained. She rocked, she rolled, I stayed hard. One quality I value most about a woman is the rhythm she uses while fucking, her moans and sounds. I call it her “love song.” All women are different. Discovering that rhythm is a lot of fun. For me, it’s the secret to staying hard and squirting them full of come twice, thrice. Annette’s French-accent love song was beautiful, with her “Ah, hah, ooh, mah, cons, cons!”
I woke the next morning about half past six, running a bit late for getting to work by quarter to eight. I left Annette slumbering, naked. I did it with some hesitation and desire. My cock was getting hard again just from looking over her in deshabille, her firm ass, recalling how I stroked it, how she rubbed it against my prick in a tease, her disheveled hair, and her salacious, satisfied smile. I took a shower, went to another room, got dressed and skipped downstairs, where I quietly fixed myself some breakfast. I left breakfast out for Annette, along with a note suggesting that she reheat it.
I was readying to leave when I saw pretty, white feet padding down our center stairway, followed by adorable, freckled legs. Annette was dressed in one of my white shirts, open in the front, and nothing else. I kissed her hello, explaining how I had to go, arms wrapped around her. She kissed back warmly. I frowned, saying, “I’m sorry, Annette, I have to be at work today. I’m looking forward to this evening, though, very much.”
Annette said, “Yes, I understand. You must work.” Then she stepped back a half step, thinking, smiling to herself. She said, “I think I give you something so you cannot forget me before this evening no?”
I couldn’t imagine what she had in mind. Having learned that her ability to innovate sexually was exquisite, I was definitely not going to discourage her. She undid my black leather belt, slowly zipped down my fly, and dropped my dress pants to the floor. At this point, I started to grow. She knelt and pulled my briefs, sliding them down ever so slowly. I was rock hard, pointing outward. She rose from her knees and padded over to the kitchen table. She picked up a saucer, spooned some marmalade into it, and returned.
She knelt again, smiled sweetly at me, and dipped a long-nailed index finger into the marmalade, bringing the coated red-painted nail to her open lips, and sucking it off. “Hmm . . . it is good,” she commented sensually. She repeated the dip, but this time she daubed the jelly over the top of my dick. She got some more, and put it farther down the shaft. She put down the dish and gently, expertly, began to smear the jelly all over my manhood. I just spread my legs apart and enjoyed the sensations, the moments when her nails touched my sensitive skin, making me jump, and her giggle.
Then, with a sigh, she knelt, opened her mouth, and started to lick up the marmalade. She did it very slowly and gently, not wanting to miss the slightest bit. At first I could hardly tell she was touching me at all, but the mere idea drove me crazy. She cooed, “How you say, ‘Yum’?” We laughed together as she continued. I must tell you, as this went on and on for fifteen minutes, Annette saw me quivering, shaking, reduced to utter helplessness at her actions. Anyone could have come into the house at that moment and I wouldn’t have cared. Annette was my universe. My cock exuded drops of come. Annette said, “Bill, you are delicious.” She smiled at me devilishly. “Now for the breakfast,” she said, opening her mouth, and took me into it, her tongue working underneath the head. She turned hers slightly, and simply sucked, no longer moving about, but sucking hard, wet, warm. I was buzzing with desire, and my dick felt like it would explode. I gave a great trio of groans when I came, spurting into her mouth like a fire hose.
I thanked Annette and went off to work. You can guess what I thought about during the drive. A buddy of mine pointed out that I must have dropped some marmalade on my slacks during a hurried breakfast. I almost laughed, but I caught myself, and said, “Yes, I’ll have to take it to the cleaners.”
It was genuinely hard to keep focused on work all day. I think the moment with Annette I recalled the most was a quiet time very early in the morning when she cuddled her head against my shoulder, stroking the hair on my chest. I daydreamed about that through lunch. I think every satisfying encounter has a moment when you look in each other’s eyes and realize the lovable, sharing, giving being behind them. This was Annette’s moment, or rather, mine of her. I got out of work at five that night, eager to go home.
As I unlocked the door, I called, “Annette,” but there was no answer. I checked through the mail and dropped my coat and briefcase. I called again, “Annette?” She could have gone out for a walk, but I got an uneasy feeling that I’d find some kind of remorse-filled note in the bedroom.
I walked into the bedroom, and, seeing a feminine form in the bed, covers pulled up over her head, thought that my questions had been answered. “Oh,” I said, “there you are,” but realized she might be sleeping. Quietly, I got undressed and lifted the quilt, sliding under it. As I approached the warm body. I put my hand on her hip, stroking the top of her ass. She lifted her head and turned to me, long blonde hair covering the pillow and tops of her shoulders. This was not Annette.
“But . . .” I said. “Where’s . . . ?”
My mystery woman smiled, leaned forward and kissed me, pressing her softness against me. I returned the kiss, still wondering, but enjoying the surprise. I kissed her neck, then shoulders, sliding down to lick and caress large, white breasts, looking like whipped cream-topped sundaes with cherries melted atop them in a cranberry sugar sauce. She sighed and oohed. As I touched and licked, she moved her left hand lazily about my chest, down my side, along my taut abdomen. She moved a warm palm down a leg to the front of my thighs, encountering my stiffness by happenstance. She stroked her discovery as I gently nibbled and circled my tongue about her nipples, almost tasting the cranberries. She lifted a leg and wrapped it about mine, hugging me closer to her, slipping her free hand to the small of my back.
I kissed between her breasts, her stomach, saying how beautiful, how delightful she was. She said, “Bill, I’m dripping,” with a heavy French accent. She knew my name! Her name was Miou, I learned later. She lived only a few blocks away. Annette had given her the key. But at that point I was too unruly with passion to think about explanation. She opened her legs like a butterfly might its wings, yielding her pink warmth to me. I first admired and touched her cunt, her silvery mound of hair. I found her clit among ample folds, kissing either side of the opening with long tongue, then making for it, seeking shelter from the storm. I gradually converged at the top, gently eating, sucking, twirling her pink button, saying, “Hmm, yum,” delighting in her taste. She was indeed wet, and had a familiar, natural-smelling fragrance about her. She was hot, for she crested in no time, muttering incomprehensible, wonderful-sounding French words.
She took my head in her hands, and led me over her, impaling herself with me. Miou flipped me over, still inside her, and sat on top of me, crisscrossing her legs. She began to move her pelvis about, rocking me and spinning my prick, pumping up and down so the bed began to shake. She stared blankly ahead, focused upon the sensations. I felt like my dick was an inflating ballo
on, and I did my share of rocking, trying to reach as many parts of her insides with it as I could. Our rhythm went up, around and down, pushing, relaxing, pushing, pushing. Miou breathed out with a slight cry, then repeated it, “Ahh-eh, ahh-eh!” getting more insistent each time. I groaned loudly. I blew off, arching my back, digging my heels into the bed with the tension. She kept pounding as I settled back, and then threw her head and her hair back with a jerk, groaning as the waves of pleasure rolled over her, compensating her for her efforts. She collapsed on top of me, and we slept almost immediately.
What was special about Miou? She made me feel very male, even by sleeping there, white sheet intertwined and twisted seductively about a leg, half covering her pubic hair, pelvis, and a single breast. I watched her charms move up and down with her gentle breathing. In the window-framed moonlight she looked like some Venetian goddess. I got up to use the bathroom and get water. I pulled on my briefs, out of habit and for comfort. As I walked about, I felt I was all balls and dick, as if these organs were volumes bigger than I realized. I was so conscious of them, so happy I could delve and thrust and shake and rub Miou with my dick, shoot her full of jellied jism, and that she was delighted with my doing so.
Work the next day was even harder that the one previous. On the way home, I stopped by an organic-food store to pick up some bread and things. There was an “Under New Management” sign on the outside. I found what I wanted, and then waited by the register, ringing the bell there. When no one appeared. I just walked about, killing time. They were probably out back in the warehouse, unloading, I thought. Ten minutes went by, and I started to get impatient. I found a door leading to the dock and opened it, softly calling, “Hello?” I heard vaguely familiar sounds from within. I took a cautious step forward. I peeked around a corner and saw a naked, dark-haired, handsome young man, eyes closed and mouth open in pleasure. Annette was kneeling at his feet, naked and tan, her firm ass resting on her heels. She caressed his hairy legs. She had his long prick in her mouth. Then she took it out, licking it slowly along its long shaft to the bottom, and then back again. She didn’t put her mouth over it, just worked her dark pink tongue over its very tip, over and over, lapping up pre-come, saying teasing words in French to the one she was pleasuring. There were clothes scattered on the ground. I stayed quiet, observing, enjoying the voyeurism. My dick grew again, and I was tempted to jerk off, or even to join them. But instead I just watched.
Penthouse Uncensored VI Page 59
