Letters to Penthouse XVII

by Penthouse International

  Eating isn’t cheating then? I asked myself. So that’s the deal? It’s okay to suck different cocks and swallow extramarital sperm, but no fucking unless it’s your husband? Not one to give up so easily, I fingered her instead, concentrating mostly on her neglected G-spot. In all she came at least four times that I could count. “Oh, I’ve never felt so good!” she’d hollered. “What are you doing to me?”

  By then it was midnight—time to get dressed and leave so she could get some sleep for work. Or so I’d thought. She’d followed me to her front door, naked. “I was hoping you might spend the night with me, since Joseph never seems to want to sleep with me anymore.”

  “But what if he comes home?” I managed to ask.

  “He’s long gone out of town.”

  Though perhaps a bit pudgier than I would have liked, Paula’s twenty-five-year-old body felt exceptionally smooth and tantalizing rubbing up against me. No doubt as a means of changing my mind, she pulled my face close to hers and kissed me. On her lips and tongue still lingered the bittersweet taste of semen, rekindling in my own mind what she’d so naughtily said earlier: Once she found out how yummy it tasted, she was going to swallow it all. Needless to say, my cock was hard as a nail.

  Sensing that I’d changed my mind and was ready to go upstairs with her, she took me by the hand. For no reason I could immediately figure out, I hesitated briefly after she’d taken it. “What are you looking at?” she asked.

  My eyes had inadvertently focused on her husband’s gun case on a nearby wall. “Nothing much. I was just wondering which gun Joseph will use to shoot me once he comes home and catches us together?”

  “But I told you, he’s out of town!” She gave me another hot French kiss and from that point on my cock took charge of my decision-making abilities. Again she grabbed hold of my hand, this time leading me upstairs, to her and Joseph’s bedroom, where we fell in a heap on their water bed. Unfortunately, it was one of the older ones that would slosh forever at the slightest movement. In their only bedroom window I noticed an air conditioner, blocking the only escape route I had on the off chance her husband did come home.

  Since both of us liked sleeping on our left sides, she got behind me and lay down closer to the air conditioner. Thinking that she’d be getting up and going to work in just a few hours, I’d expected nothing more than an extended cuddle session in our sleep. Truthfully though, I’d been both too nervous and too excited to sleep. Not fifteen minutes later, she’d then leaned over and kissed me. “Do you really feel like sleeping?” she asked.

  “Yes, but I’m sure that some pussy would help change my mind,” I’d told her a little more honestly than either of us expected.

  As a surefire way of sidestepping the intercourse issue, she asked me point blank, “Would another blowjob help to change your mind?”

  There I was, in bed with another man’s wife who was perfectly willing to suck me dry for the second time in an hour. “That’ll work!” I’d said.

  She was a bit more creative that time around, going so far as giving my asshole a couple of swipes with her tongue after licking and sucking my balls. “How does that feel? Do you like that?”

  What a stupid question, I thought, though I made sure not to say as much. “It’s the next best thing to coming in your mouth,” I admitted.

  “Would you like to come in my mouth again?” she’d asked.

  “As long as I come in one of your holes I’ll be happy,” I’d hinted.

  “Get up here and fuck my face, so I can taste you again.”

  Using the fingers of her one hand to knead my balls, she’d gently slipped a finger in my asshole with the other, keeping perfect rhythm with my cock sliding in and out of her mouth. “Does that feel good?” she asked teasingly, between slurps.

  Indeed, I told her that it did. She located my prostate soon afterwards, and I quickly filled her mouth with both my semen and my soul—or so it seemed. “Yeah, that’s what I like!” she moaned, still sucking for more.

  While I’ve found that many women swallow, far too few seem aware of the prolonged ecstasy gentle but continued sucking after ejaculation gives men. In spite of her relatively young age, Paula seemed to know this and for that reason alone I wouldn’t have minded keeping her! “That’s it, baby, keep sucking it,” I instructed, my fingers already searching for her G-spot.

  To no small degree she seemed to have gotten off on having a strange cock in her mouth and tasting sperm bearing a new flavor and feeling different from her husband’s. Already she was close to riding the orgasmic highway, so it’d taken only the slightest of stimulations to her clitoris and G-spot from my experienced fingers to send her there. “Wow! What’s happening to me?” she’d hollered. “You’re turning me into a total slut!”

  After calming down, she crawled up next to me, wanting to cuddle. She’d remained quiet for a while as I held her, but I could tell that there was something on her mind. “Do you still want to make love to me?” she’d asked.

  I told her that I wanted to fuck her desperately but that I would need to rest a little first, seeing as how I’d already come twice. She playfully shoved her tongue between my lips, licking around my teeth and gums instead of kissing me.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, positioning herself over my semi-hard cock. I started to tell her I wasn’t ready to have sex again yet because I needed a bit of additional stimulation but I didn’t say a word, thinking that she might change her mind if I did.

  Strangely enough, her opinions concerning infidelity—the whole “eating isn’t cheating” debate—had begun to instill in me a similar feeling. She lowered her married pussy onto my cock and less than two minutes later I went limp as a dishrag. It seemed obvious to me that she’d been in this predicament before, probably with her redneck husband, trying to fuck a cock she’d already sucked the life out of. She went back to sucking mine in a way that seemed utterly routine. Again, she lowered her pussy onto my temporary erection only to feel it go limp. The second time she climbed off to blow me, I lifted my legs, offering her easier access to my spent balls.

  “Would you like me to eat your ass?” she asked, obviously taking the hint even better than I had hoped. Everyone knows my answer to that!

  As one might expect, her flickering tongue traveling up and down my sensitive ass-crack had proven all the encouragement I needed to fuck her, restoring life into my formerly limp cock in a big way. There was no further need for mouth-to-genital resuscitation at that point! With my raging testosterone now calling the shots, I rolled her over and took her from behind, rhythmically keeping time the best I could on top of her sloshing water bed. “I’m not on the Pill,” she warned about ten minutes into a go at doggie-style. “I’ve been off the Pill for over two years now, so I doubt that I can get pregnant.”

  If all you ever do is suck your husband dry in his lounge chair on the weekends, you probably won’t get pregnant, I wanted to say. Anyway, I was divorced with one teenage daughter already so I couldn’t see myself trying for a son—especially not this way. Thinking that nearly every sperm cell I had left was already down her throat, I’d continued fucking her, though at a vastly reduced pace. She’d sensed my apprehension.

  “Maybe Joseph’s the one who’s infertile and not me!” she said.

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” I said sarcastically, slowly fucking her sweet little pussy from behind. “You end up pregnant, but the baby belongs to someone other than your husband!”

  She wiggled her ass from side to side, pushing back and forcing me in her pussy until my balls slapped her vaginal lips. “You know, having your baby instead of Joseph’s wouldn’t be such a horrible thing.”

  Needless to say, her sentimentalism got the best of me and I ejaculated deep inside her, totally mindless of the possible outcome. Flattery will get you everywhere, I thought, even pushing a baby carriage. To this day, as far as I know she’s never gotten pregnant. She and Joseph are no longer married, either. Had it not
been for the wrong woman answering my phone a few weeks later we might still be lovers too.—R.G., Ocean City, Delaware

  IF MARRIAGE SMOTHERS YOU, YOU HAVE TO FIND ANOTHER OUTLET FOR THOSE IMPULSES

  After a few drinks, my friend Brad will offer this precious advice: “When bored, fuck a woman other than your wife. When really bored, fuck another man’s wife.”

  I always laugh as though hearing it for the first time. He’ll go on to brag about the latest woman he claims he’s screwing on the side, and I never question his boasting. There’s sort of an unwritten term of brotherhood among men. We treat each other’s lies with respect. What are friends for, anyway?

  What I’ve never told Brad is that for the last five of my nine married years I haven’t been a faithful husband. While I love my wife and value my marriage, I regard monogamy as unnatural and smothering. I weigh risks. I’ve picked up women in bars, had a lengthy affair with a coworker and even paid for prostitutes’ favors when the itch just had to be scratched. But I remain cautious with single women, who may be on the prowl for something lasting when all I need is a roll in the hay.

  When I see that diamond sparkling on a woman’s finger, I perk up. Married women often feel bored, neglected or both, yet are unwilling to risk the marriage in which they are so unhappy. They may be on the lookout for just what I am, a bit of discreet extramarital copulating with someone who’s not likely to mess things up.

  About a year ago I met Eleanor, who while married to one man was having an affair with another. At five-seven, one hundred ten pounds, with long chestnut hair and green eyes, she is close to a femme fatale.

  She began an affair with William after two years of marriage. Soon after, she and her husband filed for divorce, and within a month of the decree coming through, she and William were flying to Mexico to tie the knot.

  At the reception for the returned newlyweds, I congratulated William with a hearty handshake and gave the bride a soft kiss. As William turned to greet another well-wisher, Eleanor cast me a demure glance that sent a tremor through me.

  I had never considered hitting on her until then. A few days later, I went to the lounge she frequents at happy hour and caught her alone. We got a table, and I bought her a drink as I led up to making my pitch.

  “I didn’t just run into you,” I said. “I knew you’d be here. I wanted to see you.”

  “What for?” she asked, batting her eyes at me.

  “Adventure,” I said. “I’d like to take you someplace where we can be alone.”

  “You mean you want to have sex with me?” she said. She reached her hand across the table. It lit on my arm. “Let’s go to my place. We won’t have a lot of time, but William’s at work now.”

  We paid for our drinks, then hurried to her condo. After she closed the door, she sank to her knees, unbuckled my belt, unzipped me and pulled down my trousers and briefs. She put her face to my crotch, took the head of my penis between thumb and forefinger, and lifted the limp organ. The tip of her tongue darted out to my scrotum and gave a feather-light lap that slid up my pole to the head.

  Tingles raced from my privates to my brain. She repeated the unhurried motion. My organ came alive. She took it to her moistened lips and encased it in her mouth. Her head swayed back and forth and side to side. My glans made her cheek bulge outward like a chipmunk carrying a nut.

  With her tongue, she lifted my glans to the roof of her mouth, then formed a seal around it. I stiffened and held her shoulder as I went over the top, pouring semen in her mouth. Her fingernails clutched my buns as she swallowed with a gurgle.

  “That was electric,” I panted. “Let me return the favor.”

  “No,” she said. “We don’t have time. William will be home in half an hour. He’s taking me out tonight.”

  “I must see you again,” I said. “When can I?”

  “Um, maybe tomorrow,” she said.

  The next afternoon we met for lunch. As we ate our sandwiches and coffee, we decided on a motel. At a liquor store we bought some rum, a liter of Coke and some ice. Then we checked in the motel, a few miles away.

  I locked the door and pulled down the shades. We began to undress. Eleanor tugged at her wedding ring.

  “Leave it,” I said. “It feels sexier that way. More sinful.”

  “You’re depraved,” she said with mock disgust. “Just for you, I’ll leave it on.”

  When we were naked, she climbed on the bed on all fours with her rump thrust upward at me. “Take me from behind,” she said.

  “In your vagina?” I asked.

  She shook her head and looked down. I climbed up behind her, planted my knees in the mattress between her calves and gripped her waist. I looked down at her twin moons, then let my gaze traverse her spine to her statuesque shoulder blades. Her head was bowed, strands of hair dangling across her face as she waited for me to enter.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  I guided my glans to the crimson spot, wormed a finger in to loosen the passage, then extracted it to make way for the bulkier plug I had poised for entry. My glans nudged the spot, then pressed forward until her sphincter yielded. She jerked and cried out as I penetrated her. Her pelvis stiffened as though suddenly paralyzed. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  Her body trembled. Guttural sounds from her throat pierced my ears. I thrust in and out until I climaxed in her. The tautness of her sphincter prolonged the ejaculation, until I felt emptied and withdrew from her.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I feel wonderful,” she said. “Let’s shower.”

  Steam filled the bathroom as we stood under the hot spray. I glanced down to see her wash a blob of my come from her rectal opening. After scrubbing my groin, she sank to her knees and gave me head, the spray soaking her hair as she bobbed up and down. I stopped her before I got off, wishing to save what was left for glorious intercourse.

  We dried off, then went in the bedroom and sat naked on the bed. I poured us rum-and-Cokes over ice in plastic motel-room glasses. Eleanor took a deep drink. I couldn’t let this vixen slip away without fucking her.

  “Since yesterday I’ve violated two of your openings,” I said. “What do you say we go for the third?”

  “You want to come in my pussy?” she said.

  “You can’t imagine how badly I want to,” I said.

  “I’m not on the Pill.”

  “Your call,” I said. “Hell, if I have to, I can get off watching you bake cookies.”

  “What the fuck, let’s live dangerously!” she said, throwing back the rest of her drunk in two audible gulps. She set her glass down and plopped on the bed, lying on her back. She spread her legs, exposing a wide, thick patch of pubic hair.

  “What a fine crop,” I said.

  “I’ve been thinking of shaving it off,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “Not on my account,” I said. “Shaving may be trendy, but I’m one guy who goes ape for a hairy beaver.”

  My head went to her groin to perform cunnilingus. Gently, I pulled back the hood, exposing her clitoris. My tongue darted out, teasing her hot button. My nostrils felt flushed with her scent. I lapped at her labia, pulling back folds of tender tissue until my tongue sliced into the moist warmth of her slit.

  I mounted her in missionary position and entered her. Her legs scissored around my loins as I penetrated her crack. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Two beautiful tits, nipples erect, rose to massage my chest. The spongy tissue in her mammaries felt sensational, conforming to the contour of my pectorals.

  The walls of her vagina spread apart as I burrowed in her. Her pelvis stiffened, and a sticky flow lubricated her. I plunged in her and went stiff. I erupted, releasing my come inside her.

  “Ooh, that’s the one,” I gasped. “Oh, baby, that’s the one I wanted most of all.”

  She pulled me to her. We fused into a massive sweat-drenched entity. Heartbeats slowed and breathing returned to normal.
After disengaging our genitals, I held her close in postcoital glow, pressing my lips to her forehead, wondering what she was thinking and feeling.

  We stepped in the shower again. She dabbed at her groin with a washcloth, scrubbing my seed away from her opening. The bulk of my load remained lodged deeper in. We got dressed and drove to her car, still parked at the restaurant.

  “I’d like to start seeing you regularly,” I said.

  “What about your wife and my husband?” she said.

  “They don’t need to know,” I said. “We’ll be careful.”

  “Let’s just let things ride for a while,” she said.

  She gave me an affectionate kiss and left. We did not see each other for a couple of months until one day when I met her for lunch. She looked radiant. I said I wanted to pick up where we had left off that afternoon.

  “Not today,” she said.

  “Does that mean no?”

  “It means not today,” she said with an evasive smile.

  What could I say? Eleanor would not give me her consent, but neither had she burned the bridge. The decision of this woman, twice-married and free-loving and yet discriminating, to keep her options open was not surprising. It left me with my spirits lifted.

  Not to worry. I am a patient man, and I have everything to wait for. I will be around.—L. T., Providence, Rhode Island

  EVERY MAN NEEDS TO BE EQUIPPED WITH THE RIGHT TOOLS FOR ALL OCCASIONS

  If there’s one thing I’m grateful to my parents for, it’s good genes. Without working hard at it, I remain healthy and in good physical shape. My full head of hair is just beginning to gray at the temples, and I look years younger than fifty-one.

  My wife and I live in a two-story house that has a detached garage with a side entry that looks across our small yard to our neighbors’ house. The garage is more than a place to park my car. Air-conditioned, equipped with a television, a refrigerator for beer and my shop tools, it’s my getaway. For privacy, I keep the blinds on the two windows closed.