Jeff was patient, and when I began rocking back and forth, urging him to go faster, he finally did. I was a quick learner when it came to fucking, and suddenly I needed him to hammer his dick into me and make me a woman. Jeff paused for a moment, as if making absolutely sure this was what I wanted, before thrusting deep and hard so I felt the reverberations all the way inside me. We moved in sync, my legs locked around his hips as I fucked him back for all I was worth. I’d been lamenting my virginal status, but if waiting so long meant that I got the reward of Jeff’s expert sexual maneuvers, it was worth it.
“Yes,” was all I could say when I felt my orgasm coming on. It was different than the orgasms I’d given myself—fuller, and more exciting. Jeff’s face was contorted in pleasure, and I somehow knew he was also about to come. When he reached between my legs and lightly stroked my clit, I went wild, bucking against his fingers so he had to hold me down with his other hand as I climaxed. It felt like fireworks had gone off all through my body, little explosions of pleasure that created a firestorm of excitement. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before, and when Jeff shot his hot load deep inside me, it made my first time all the more memorable.
“Laura, it’s not that I don’t believe you, but if that was really your first time, that was so incredible. You were so tight and perfect, and those noises you made…” he trailed off, unable to continue as he sank down against me, resting his head on my shoulder.
“I’m so glad my first time was with you. I hope that you’ll be my second, third, and fourth time, too,” I said, smiling as I hugged him tightly.
“I wouldn’t dream of letting you go,” he said, and we settled into the best night’s sleep of my life.
—Ms. L.W., New Haven, Connecticut
“I Love Practice,” says Baseball Coach after Shower Sex with Phys Ed Teacher
As a college baseball coach, I’ve always tried to impress upon the guys the importance of practice, practice, and more practice. After a recent, unexpected incident, however, I’m more convinced than ever of the benefits that can come from putting in those extra hours.
A few weeks ago I was in the men’s locker room, showering after a Saturday morning practice. I stood under the hot, needle-like spray, letting it massage the knots out of my muscles. I had the radio in my office turned up pretty loud, plus the water was echoing off the walls of the shower, so it’s no surprise that I didn’t hear Lucy come in.
Lucy is the women’s P.E. teacher at our school, and there isn’t a red-blooded male on campus—student or teacher—who doesn’t get hard watching her lead the aerobics workouts. Tall and muscular, she has strawberry-blonde hair and a spray of freckles across her nose. She is also renowned for her firm, round breasts and beautiful ass.
I opened my eyes, and there she was, looking at me, a towel in her hand and a smile on her lips. “Hi,” she said. “I came by to get something from my office. I didn’t know you were here.” She held out the towel. “Do you need this?”
I needed the towel, all right, but not to dry off. Lucy was dressed in skintight Lycra biking shorts and a snug-fitting T-shirt that clung to her breasts. I could see her nipples clearly through the thin fabric. I needed the towel to cover the erection that I realized was slowly growing between my legs.
Lucy looked me over, and her gaze locked on my swollen member. Her smile widened. “My, my, my,” she said. “I thought you had put all your equipment away. What are you doing with that baseball bat?” Then, slowly, she set the towel down on a bench and skinned out of her shirt and shorts. She stepped into the shower and moved under the scalding spray next to me. As she looked me in the eye, she reached down and took my cock in her hand. I shivered with anticipation.
Our mouths met, and as she milked my cock and balls, I tasted her sweet tongue. I reached down and squeezed her muscular ass and put my hand between her legs. Lucy moaned with pleasure as I massaged her clitoris with my thumb, and she started stroking my cock in earnest.
I eased her to the tile floor of the shower, and as the water pounded down on us, I buried my face between her legs. Her pussy was slippery wet, and as I tongued her she moaned, wrapped her fingers in my hair and thrust her hips up to meet my mouth.
I ate her furiously for several minutes. I had a hand on each of her creamy ass cheeks to keep myself from being thrown aside by the violence of her movements. When I dipped one finger in her sopping pussy and then carefully worked it into her tight asshole, she gasped and arched her back. She pushed me away from her and quickly scrambled over onto her hands and knees, her glistening bottom upthrust. Water streamed down the crack of her ass and into the curly dark hair of her pussy. Her pussy lips were pink and slightly parted in a luscious invitation. “Fuck me now,” Lucy demanded.
Easing up to her from behind, I held her hip with one hand and slowly guided my now-throbbing cock into her with the other. I slid the whole thing into her in one long, smooth stroke, and as I buried it to the hilt, Lucy was shaken by a tremendous orgasm. I rode it out and, as she hung her head and gasped, I slowly started pumping in and out of her.
It was exquisite. Her pussy was hot and tight, and the sight of my cock sliding in and out of it was nearly enough to make me come. I held back, though, and set up a steady rhythm. Lucy ground her ass back into me with each stroke, and she accompanied each particularly deep thrust with a little groan of pleasure.
After a few minutes, I knew I was again approaching the brink of orgasm, as was Lucy. As I was about to shoot my load, I worked my finger into her ass. She gasped in surprise and, with a moan, came with a shudder. Weak with our passion, we collapsed on the tiles in happy exhaustion.
Moments later, we were brought back down to earth by the suddenly ice-cold water that pounded down on us. We dried off and adjourned to my house, where we took our game into extra innings for the rest of the afternoon and night.
Since that time, I’ve discovered a new authority in my voice when I’m leading the team through a practice, because I know that practice can yield the most unexpected benefits.
—Name and address withheld
Why Getting into His Girlfriend’s Pants Was So Exciting
In college I lived off-campus with my girlfriend, Doreen. Because I had a good paying part-time job, the arrangement was that I would work and pay most of the expenses, and Doreen would keep the house and do the laundry. Well, she proved to be a good housekeeper, a good student, and a terrific sex partner. But I frequently had to remind her to do the laundry. When I was down to my last pair of jockey shorts, I would demand that she do the laundry the next morning. She would grin and reply, “Wear mine until I get it done.” I certainly didn’t want to wear her underwear!
One day, after she had gone to class, I took a shower and opened the dresser drawer for a fresh pair of jockey shorts. There were none. I was furious. I opened her drawer, and it was full of clean panties and bras. Right on top of her panties was a plain white pair with a tiny satin bow on the front. I decided that these would be the least offensive, so I put them on. I began to get hard as soon as I slipped them over my hips. When I put my jeans on, I realized that no one could tell that I had on panties instead of jockey shorts. But I knew what was beneath my jeans. During the day, I forgot about them except when I had to take a leak. The elastic leg of the panties stretched far enough so that it was not much different from pulling my cock through the fly of my jockeys.
When I got home Doreen had dinner on the table and was grinning and humming to herself. After dinner she said, “I’m sorry I was late with the laundry again. Show me what you wore today.” I was a little pissed off, so I told her to go to hell. She came over and gave me a long, passionate kiss. It’s hard to stay mad when you are as aroused as I was at that moment. Doreen knelt in front of me. She unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans, pulling them down to my ankles. She smiled and looked at the panties for a few seconds. Then she removed my shirt and took my jeans from around my ankles.
I was standing there in th
e dining room wearing nothing but my socks and my girlfriend’s white nylon panties. She said, “They look better on you than they do on me.” She rubbed her hands over the panties, then kissed my now-stiff cock through the smooth material before hooking her fingers in the waistband and pulling them down far enough for my dick to spring out. She took it in her warm mouth and gave me the best blowjob ever while rubbing my panty-covered ass.
The next day I still had no clean underwear. This time the top pair of panties in her drawer were pink and trimmed with white lace. I put them on and went to class. Over the next several weeks, I was out of clean underwear more often than not. After about two months, I began finding panties in my underwear drawer while my supply of jockeys dwindled. Because the sex was so hot and because I had begun to enjoy wearing panties, I didn’t object. Soon I had only panties in my drawer.
One day I found a pink garter belt and tan stockings in my drawer. I put on my panties and went to class. When I got home that night, Doreen was already hot and ready for a good fucking. She said, “Come on. I’ll help you put on your nylons.” I was ready for anything! We both undressed, and I saw she was wearing pink panties with a pink garter belt, both trimmed in white lace, with tan nylons. I saw the identical items on the bed. She took off my panties and put the garter belt on me, hooking it behind me. She then slid the nylons up my legs and fastened the garters. Then she handed me the panties. Taking me by the hand, Doreen led me over to the mirror; I was mesmerized. I saw two beautiful bodies clad in identical panties, garter belts and stockings. The only differences in our reflections were that her breasts were bigger than mine and there was a definite bulge in my panties.
We stared at the mirror for a long time. Then we kissed, standing there stroking our panties against one another. We fell onto the bed and pulled our panty crotches aside. I slid my cock into her hot, slippery pussy. All the while our nylon-covered legs and our panties rubbed together with every stroke. We were both coming in less than a minute.
We did everything that night—69, anal sex, and straight fucking. The next day we stayed home and talked about our experience, although that day was certainly punctuated with frequent fucking, sucking, and licking.
Things progressed from there, and by the time we graduated I was wearing bras, half-slips, teddies, and even short skirts around the house. After graduation, we went our separate ways, but Doreen taught me a lot about dressing like a woman. Today, I have no male underwear, only panties, bras, and garter belts. I always wear sexy lingerie under my male clothes. Many women go wild when they see my panties or feel my garter belt. Let me give you an example:
I went into a peep-show place one night. I was watching the movie and feeding it my quarter when I saw a feminine hand reach through a hole in the wall. This hole was about crotch high. I then noticed a peephole about eye height. I looked through it. In the next booth was a man with a woman sitting on his lap. She had no panties on, and he was fingering her pussy. She made a come hither motion with her finger, so I dropped my pants and moved over to the hole in the wall. She reached through the hole and felt my crotch. I heard her say to the man, “Oh, he’s wearing panties.”
She rubbed my cock through the panties for a few minutes, then tried to pull the panties down. The small hole restricted her movements so I pulled them down for her, letting my cock spring out. I could see him whispering to her, and I heard her say, “He’s wearing a garter belt, too.”
The woman began to jack me off. Then she bent forward, and I felt her take my cock in her mouth. It was warm and wet and terrific. I began to move my hips back and forth, fucking her mouth. I heard her groan when the man asked her if she liked it. After a short time, I came in her mouth. She swallowed it all and licked me clean. She then sat back and, smiling, waved at me. I watched the man finger-fuck her for a while. Then I pulled up my panties and pants and left. Wild!
I am neither gay nor bi. I don’t want to be a woman. I just want to wear her lingerie.
—Mr. D.P., Chicago, Illinois
Moving Experience for Virile Van Man and Pretty Customer
I think it’s safe to say that most women are attracted to men in uniform to one degree or another. Manly members of the armed services, firemen, policemen, even deliverymen can start our pussies purring. And for me, you can add moving men. Well, a special few, anyway. Let me explain:
Last fall, having come into some money, I decided to move out of my cramped studio into a one-bedroom garden apartment closer to the university. Since I didn’t have a lot of furniture, there was no need to hire one of those big, expensive moving companies. But I was also leery of getting involved with a small no-name outfit. A couple of my guy pals volunteered to help me move, saying we could rent a truck and do it ourselves. I toyed with that idea for a bit, finally rejecting it because I knew I’d be uneasy with my stuff, unremarkable as it was, in the hands of two guys who knew absolutely nothing about moving furniture.
It was Doris—a friend I met at graduate school—who helped solve my problem. While helping me pack some of my breakables, she told me about three guys, Bill, Ben, and Bob, graduate students also, who had their own small (one truck) moving company. “They work part-time, on weekends mostly, to make money for school,” Doris explained. “They’re really cool. Reasonable. Careful, too.” Smiling, she added, “The guys moved me a few months ago, and I was, how should I put it… very satisfied. They really know what they’re doing. Especially Ben.”
I couldn’t understand why Doris got so dreamy talking about three grad students with a moving truck, but I took the phone number she gave me and the next day called “The Busy B’s.” Of course, I got their answering machine and had to leave a message, but that night my call was returned, and I talked to Bob. I was pleasantly surprised by his professional manner, and when he gave me what I thought was a reasonable estimate, I decided to hire The Busy B’s.
On moving day, Doris was only too happy to station herself at my apartment while I oversaw the action at my new place. Later, in the evening, she would come by and help me unpack the stuff I’d need right away. Worrywart that I am, I must have called Doris a half-dozen times to ask how things were going. The final time I called she breathlessly told me that Bob and Bill were waiting in the truck while Ben “finished up” in the apartment, whatever that meant.
Anyway, I was standing at the living room window when the The Busy B’s yellow and black moving van pulled up outside. I don’t know what I was expecting—three guys in ragged, soiled undershirts and tattered jeans, maybe. What appeared before me took my breath away. Bill, Bob, and Ben seemed stamped from the same mold, each one handsome, muscled and downright appealing in soft yellow T-shirts and solid black slacks with red stripes down the sides. It was a uniform that bespoke of pride and professionalism. I also found it exceedingly sexy, as the shirts and slacks hugged the guys’ hard bodies like second skins.
Hurrying to the front door, I opened it to find Bill (his name was stitched on the front of the T-shirt) smiling. “Ready if you are,” he said, displaying perfect teeth. Still a bit flustered, I smiled back and said, stupidly, “Okay, be careful.” Bill chuckled. “We know what we’re doing.” I’ll bet you do, I thought, as I watched him return to the van where Ben and Bob had begun to unload my stuff.
For the next couple of hours, I watched my empty living room fill with boxes and the furniture I’d had in the studio. I tried concentrating on the move itself, but I was constantly distracted by the sheer sexiness of my hunky movers. It was impossible to decide if I wanted the convertible sofa by the window or in the center of the room, when all I could think about were my wet pussy and the mouth-watering bulges in the guys’ tight uniform pants.
All three were friendly, but Bill was especially nice, and so I wound up talking more to him than the others. At one point we found ourselves in my small kitchen having cold drinks and talking about colleges and career goals. Of course, what we were really doing was flirting, our eyes saying much more to each other than
our mouths. By the time his little “break” was over and he rejoined his pals, I was practically shaking with desire for him. And I knew he wanted me.
When the last of my earthly possessions was safely in my new apartment, Bill suggested that Bob and Ben wait in the van while he and I took care of the paperwork. The guys departed with knowing smiles, and when we were alone Bill said, “Do you want to give me the check now or later?” For an answer, I pressed my body hard against his and, while holding his head between my hands, kissed him with all the urgency I felt at the moment. “You are so damn sexy in that uniform,” I told him when I stepped back for air.
“Maybe I should keep it on,” he joked.
I was out of my shirt, jeans, bra, and soaked panties before Bill could even get his slacks off. “You’re too slow,” I said impatiently, as I dropped to my knees in front of him. I yanked down his slacks, helped him step out of them, and then got his shoes and socks off. Next were his briefs, which I quickly pulled down. And then I was staring at one big, beautiful cock fully erect and throbbing in readiness.
With a moan of desire, I stuffed what I could of his shaft into my hungry mouth and started sucking. It tasted as good as it looked. Bill urged me on as I went after his impressive member with whorish glee, alternately licking and sucking it and his lovely balls. At one point, he placed his strong hands on my head and held it in place so he could fuck my mouth at a leisurely pace.
By the time Bill pulled me to my feet my pussy was positively dripping. He looked around the living room and then at me. “Where?” he asked. It was a good question, given the fact that the room looked more like a furniture warehouse than anything else. “The sofa bed,” I said, thinking quickly. But that wasn’t going to work because there was so much stuff in front of the sofa bed it couldn’t be pulled open. “Shit,” Bill muttered. And then he had an idea.
Letters to Penthouse XXXXII Page 8
