Letters to Penthouse XXXXV

by Penthouse International

  We were all eager to leave our responsibilities at home and have as much fun as we could manage, drinking and staying up all night, and sexing it up with strangers if that’s how things went. We arrived at the resort and checked in to our suite, then immediately changed into our bikinis and headed to the pool.

  I wanted to appear friendly and approachable, and avoid looking like I was attached to either of my friends. They’re plenty hot, but we’re better off as platonic friends than fuck buddies. We chose side-by-side lounge chairs, and I started checking out the hundreds of women surrounding us. It truly was hot-babe central. I can get into butch or femme women, and as I was looking around, I locked eyes with a woman who had close-cropped gray hair and blazing blue eyes. She was staring right at me, looking like she wanted to eat me for lunch.

  I pretended to look away, to flick my eyes toward my magazine, but I could feel her stare burning through me as strongly as the sun. It was impossible not to notice, and when I chanced a glance up at her, she didn’t smile or wink, but kept staring in my direction. It wasn’t creepy, though. It was like she was letting me know she was going to have me before the weekend—or perhaps even the afternoon—was over. I kept covertly checking her out, waiting for some hot young thing to sidle up to her, but she appeared to be alone.

  Finally, my antics were noticed by my friends, who urged me to approach her. “She’s made it clear that she’s interested, Lesley,” Diana said, encouraging me. “What do you have to lose? But you look hot in that bikini. If that woman doesn’t pounce on you soon, I’m sure another one will!”

  I stood up and shook my hair, took a deep breath, and focused on the horizon just over the woman’s shoulders. I was buying time, desperate to come up with a less cheesy line than: “Come here often?”

  As it turned out, the butch was the first to speak. “I’ve been waiting for you to get that sweet ass over here. I was planning on giving you a light spanking, but now I think you’ll need a more intense punishment because you kept me waiting.” How rude! was my first thought. She was pushy and presumptuous, and I might have told her off, if what she’d said hadn’t made me so hot.

  “What else are you going to do to me?” I still didn’t know her name, and I was aware that our risqué conversation could be overheard by the women who were lounging nearby.

  The handsome butch pulled me down and sat me on her lap, and then whispered in my ear, “I’m going to fuck you with a cock so big it’s going to make you walk funny.” So she’d brought her own toys, too—I liked that!

  “How do you know I want to be spanked?” I asked coquettishly.

  “Well, do you?” she demanded, calling my bluff. I couldn’t lie—well, I could have, but then I’d have been deprived of the joy of being taken over her knee.

  “I do—but only by women who know what they’re doing.”

  “Oh, missy, I definitely know what I’m doing. I think the more important question is: What are you doing sitting here? We should head to my room.” She eased me off her lap, and I watched her walk off, totally confident that I was following her. I turned to wave good-bye to my friends, who were busy with flirtations of their own.

  “I’m Kate, by the way,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Lesley,” I responded, and apparently that was all she needed to know. We’d dispensed with the small talk and were about to head straight to the fucking.

  Kate’s room was right down the hall from mine, so if her equipment was lacking, I knew I could run and get mine. But she had planned even better than I had! She had a whole carry-on suitcase full of toys!

  Kate sat on the bed and had tossed me over her lap within two minutes of us entering the room. “Your ass is going to match your tiny red bikini,” she said, which made me moan. I didn’t want to say, “please,” and sound too greedy, but I guess my wiggling ass said that for me.

  Kate started slapping me with her hand, but when she saw how horny she was making me, she reached for something else. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it sure did sting! She whacked me a few times, and then paused to admire her work. “You like it rough, don’t you, Lesley?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, falling easily into my role. Sometimes I really get off on a powerful woman taking control of me.

  “I think you need something harder,” she said, and the next item to hit the center of my butt, my sweet spot, was mean and stern. It burned, but I liked it, enjoying the steady series of slaps she delivered. “You tell me when you’re ready for me to fuck you,” Kate said, her way of letting me know she wasn’t going to spank me all night. I held out, loving the heat that permeated my backside, until my wet pussy couldn’t be ignored any longer.

  “Please, fuck me now.”

  “Good girl,” Kate said, pulling me up for a kiss. I ran my fingers through her short hair, then down her back. I wanted to feel her breasts, but she told me to get on my hands and knees. “Don’t worry about being too loud. I like that in a woman.” How did she know I like to scream while getting fucked? Probably because I’d been loud while she’d spanked me.

  I whipped off my bikini bottoms, got on my hands and knees, and thrust my ass in the air. I couldn’t see what kind of dildo she was about to use, but I was pleased when Kate smeared some lube onto my pussy. I didn’t need it, but lube never hurts. Soon a fat dildo was pressing against my entrance. For a moment, I tightened up, but then I looked back at her. She winked and looked so sexy that I put my head down and fully relaxed, allowing her to drive the cock deep into my wet hole.

  I was getting fucked hard, and she was grunting as loudly as I was. “Yeah, take it, take my cock in your tight little pussy.” She kept up a stream of dirty talk, but the dildo felt so good stretching me wide and filling me up that I didn’t pay attention to everything she was muttering. I was so happy to finally be getting properly fucked. Soon I was coming, which earned Kate’s praise. She teased me by pulling out, then slamming back in, and I liked that she could see how wet she was making my cunt. When I’d come three times, she pulled out and ordered me onto my knees to suck her cock.

  She managed to slip a small vibrator under the strap of the harness and used that to get herself off while I tasted my juices on her blue silicone dick. “Swallow it,” she ordered, thrusting deeply into my mouth before tossing her head back and trembling her way to orgasm.

  Afterward, we made out fiercely again before heading to the bathroom. She’d lucked out with a giant bathtub, which was big enough for both of us. “We could bring this with us,” she said, holding up a waterproof duck-shaped vibrator.

  “Why not?” I responded, and then we headed off for another round of fun.

  I spent most of the rest of the weekend with Kate, and she’s promised to call next time she’s in my town, since she travels a lot for business.

  I left the all-night dance parties to my friends while I tried out every toy in Kate’s toy box—and mine. It was one hell of a vacation!

  —Ms. Lesley R., Santa Monica, California

  Sloppy Husband Is Shown the Error of His Ways by His Neat-Freak Wife

  I used to complain that while my husband, Bill, is sexy, successful, charming, and a great cook, his major flaw is that he’s a slob. Even with a housekeeper coming in twice a week, he still managed to make messes that drove me insane. I’d trip over his discarded shoes, or find his boxers in the bathroom, or an empty pack of cigarettes on the table. It wasn’t just annoying, it was insulting—but the more I nagged him, the more he seemed to do it, claiming that he didn’t want to be a “neat freak.” He told me if I wanted a spotless home, I should take matters into my own hands—which is what wound up happening, although not in the way he’d originally planned.

  Initially, I backed off and stopped letting his messiness get to me, but what I discovered surprised me: Bill seemed almost disappointed that I wasn’t yelling at him. What was up with that? One night, I snapped at him to pick up the dirty towel he’d left on the floor, and I noticed that his coc
k got hard. An idea suddenly sparked in my head, a way that perhaps we could both get some satisfaction out of his messy ways, so I stroked his freshly sported hard-on through his boxers. “How was your day?” I asked, and while he told me, I massaged his cock and balls. I didn’t say a word about the state of our home, but the whole time my mind was clicking. I stripped myself and then Bill, got on top of him and rode his dick, holding his arms down and subtly exerting my newfound dominance. I came twice while I writhed on top of him. My husband looked a little startled, but he was excited to have perhaps unleashed a lioness in the bedroom.

  When I came home from work the next day, I found Bill’s briefs lying near the bed and his belt on the floor in the middle of the room. I picked up the offending items and headed to Bill’s home office, which is located in the corner of the living room. He was immersed in chatting with someone online. I stomped on the switch on the surge protector, shutting down his machine, and spun his chair around so that he was facing me.

  “What are you doing?” Bill demanded.

  “What am I doing? What are you doing?” I asked. “Why was your underwear on the floor? Unless you wanted me to stuff it in your mouth while I whip you with this belt.” I slapped the looped-up leather against my palm for emphasis. He jumped at the sound, and when he glanced from my face to the belt, it wasn’t fear I saw in his eyes but curiosity and excitement.

  “Well, apparently that’s the only way you’re going to learn your lesson. Get up!” I barked. I was suddenly getting into the idea of wielding my power over him; my pussy was really wet.

  Bill didn’t hesitate a second longer. He stood, and I stripped him naked, making sure to lightly rake my nails against his nude body. I ignored the voice inside me that said I was unprepared for such a role, and I welcomed the voice that owned up to the power Bill wanted me to have over him. When he tried to talk, I put a hand over his mouth. “Be quiet. You’ve had plenty of time to talk, but you obviously haven’t mastered the fine art of listening. You will only speak when I tell you to, and if you disobey, I’ll make you be quiet.” I pushed him down so that he landed face-first on the bed with his ass raised high in the air. “You left your belt lying on the floor where I could have easily tripped over it. That was very careless! What do you have to say for yourself?” I snapped the belt in the air, its sound making my pussy ache with desire.

  “I’m sorry, Andrea. I promise it won’t happen again.” My husband’s voice sounded contrite, but he’d acted contrite many times in the past, only to revert to his messy ways immediately. I knew his tricks.

  “Well, ‘I’m sorry’ won’t cut it this time,” I said as I delivered the first blow.

  I was a little nervous about hitting him. How would I know I was doing it right? I didn’t need to worry; apparently, I was a natural, because he moaned in that familiar way, letting me know he liked it. I struck him again, watching his skin turn pink before my eyes. What I really wanted to know was whether being punished was making his cock hard, but I would find out soon enough. I whipped him sternly, and this time he groaned. “Quiet down—you can take it,” I said, and then struck him again in the same spot.

  When Bill moaned loudly, I grabbed the underwear I’d found on the floor and shoved it in his mouth. The look of ecstasy on his face let me know that he wanted this as much as I did. Then I got treated to the sound of his groans muffled by his briefs, which increased my desire to whip him even harder. When I was satisfied—and my pussy was dripping—I placed the belt on the bed next to him. “Now go put this away where it belongs,” I said.

  Once Bill had hung the belt in the closet with his others, I granted him the right to remove the briefs from his mouth and watched him place them in the laundry basket. Only then did I push him to the floor so he could kneel between my legs and lick my pussy. I was amped up from whipping him, and I made sure he gave me all the cunnilingus I deserved for my efforts. I came once and ordered him to swallow all my honey, and then I smiled when I looked down and saw how hard his cock was. “Don’t think you’re going to get to come today. Maybe having to forgo an orgasm will make you think about not being so slovenly. Now keep licking!” I pushed him against my sex, and my dutiful husband showed me that he knew exactly how to get me off.

  Finally, after orgasm number three, I had Bill draw me a bath and make me dinner. I could get used to being treated like a queen, I thought. For a few weeks after that, things were pretty good. Our sex life was hotter because even though it was mainly vanilla, there was a sense that he knew what I was capable of doing to him.

  Not another word was spoken about his messiness until the day I came home to find our bed littered with neckties. Bill had obviously been rushing off to a meeting, tried several on, and discarded them before he flew out the door. I scooped up the ties and put them in our bedside drawer, waiting to pounce until we were in bed that night.

  “So, notice anything different about this room since you last left it?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Um… no,” he said, but with a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

  “Well, it’s more tidy, for one thing. I moved all those neckties off the bed when I got home,” I told him. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Or did you think I would?” I asked as I took a blue-and-white checked tie and roped it around his wrists. At first I just wrapped the fabric around him, but then I tied a tight knot, making him gasp.

  “Babe, what are you doing?” he asked, but the erection sprouting inside his shorts told me that he knew exactly what I was doing.

  I took another tie and placed it over his eyes so he couldn’t see. “When will you learn? We have a beautiful home, and you sully it every time you leave your belongings scattered everywhere.” I pulled his boxers down to reveal a raging hard-on. Part of me wanted to suck it, but I didn’t want to reward him for bad behavior.

  I ran my fingers along his cock, and then briefly wrapped my hand around it. He moaned, licked his lips, and then said, “Please.”

  “Please? Please give you a handjob? I don’t think so!” I said. “The only thing that cock is good for is fucking me good and hard.” I then got on top of him and sank down in the reverse cowgirl position, gyrating my hips and feeling his hardness slip deep inside me. “And don’t you dare come until I give you permission!” I ordered.

  I used Bill for all he was worth, riding him furiously as I told him about the list of chores I’d make for him and how I was going to monitor his work. I told him I’d fired our cleaning woman and that laundry, vacuuming, and dusting would be his duties from now on. As I bucked atop his stiff erection, I assured him every infraction would result in severe discipline. The very idea made me come in a rush, leaving him covered with my juices.

  Afterward, I slipped into our bathroom to soak in the tub, occasionally taking peeks through the door at my husband, blindfolded and bound on the bed.

  That night I did eventually relent and let him jerk himself off. In the last week or so, our home has been very tidy, but I’m sure that won’t last long. Fortunately, I’m more than ready to punish my slob of a husband again as soon as he reverts to his true nature.

  —Ms. Andrea V., Via Email

  Pinup Bondage Tattoo Is Her First Step toward Finding a Dominant Lover

  When I was choosing a tattoo design for my arm, I knew I wanted something sexy and pinup-inspired. My first ink was my initial with a red rose on my hip, but for this tattoo, I wanted it to say what I’m often too shy to tell people: that I’m kinky. I didn’t want a woman with a ball gag stuffed in her mouth or anything that intense, but a little playful bondage would be okay, especially because my overall appearance is rather mainstream.

  Looking through the artist’s flash book, I found the perfect design: a cute, punky-looking girl who slightly resembled me, but who wasn’t an exact replica, because that would have been too narcissistic. Between when I picked out the design and got the tattoo, I started to think of her as my alter ego, my badass kinky other self, who would dare to
do the things I’d only dreamed about up until that point.

  “What do you like about her?” Tom, my tattoo artist, asked me when I went in to get the design. He was tall and thin, an almost nerdy-looking guy, with black thick-framed glasses and a hint of stubble on his face. I’d heard good things about his shop, and I liked that even though he was only twenty-five—three years older than me—he owned the place. He worked in a very specific style, and if he didn’t like someone’s proposed design, he’d refuse to do it.

  “She’s tough, and goes after what she wants. She looks like she enjoys when things get a little wild—in the bedroom or out. She’s sexy, and she knows it.” I was embarrassed to say the words out loud, but I also liked saying them. I hoped that they would rub off on me, become a part of me, just like the ink would.

  What I didn’t expect was that the process of getting tattooed would turn me on so much. Or maybe it wasn’t the process so much as the man behind the needle. Tom was intensely focused on what he was doing, but I could feel his energy, his body heat, as he worked the needle along my arm. I could also feel my nipples hardening and my pussy getting wetter. Were my endorphins pumping from getting the tattoo, or did I really just want to fuck Tom? Maybe it was both.

  I gritted my teeth and tried not to cry out from the pain, because there were definitely moments when it really, really hurt. He wasn’t too talkative during the process, though we did take a break halfway through, and he seemed to be studying me intently. Maybe he did that with all his clients, but I sensed there was something more. I could barely talk, so when he asked if I wanted a soda, I nodded yes. Sipping my drink gave me a few minutes to observe him. His arms and neck were covered in tattoos in intricate designs that I admired.

  I had seen some naughty tattoo designs in his portfolio, but I’d been so focused on picking out the one I’d wanted that I hadn’t thought much about his inspiration for them. Was he into tying up girls? Would he want to do something like that to me? I finished my soda and wondered if Tom could tell how aroused I was, or whether he thought the color on my cheeks was from the rush of getting inked.