Letters to Penthouse XXXXV

by Penthouse International

  I saw a muffin tin through the oven’s glass door, and a bowl of eggshells sat next to the stove, where it seemed Michael was making an omelet. My session with Michael the night before had been intense, and I’d definitely worked up an appetite. I couldn’t wait to sit down to the feast he was preparing.

  Michael handed me a steaming cup of coffee and then hurried to set the dining-room table. He laid out placemats, dishes, and silverware, then pulled out my chair at the head of the table so I could sit. He unfurled a cloth napkin and spread it across my lap, pushed my chair in, and straightened the silverware. Then he went to get the food. It had smelled so good while he was cooking, but when he brought out the serving tray with all the dishes, everything was wrong. Michael knew it, too. I saw the shame on his face.

  The muffin he put on my plate was burnt, the eggs were runny, and the sausage was shriveled up and dripping grease. He kept his head down as he served me, and when he sat at his own place, he refused to look at me. He didn’t say anything as I took bites of everything he’d given me, choking it down to be sure it was actually as bad as it looked. It was. Michael was in a lot of trouble.

  I didn’t bother eating any more. There was no reason to punish myself when I could punish Michael instead. As soon as I rose from the table, he knew what was coming. He immediately pushed back his chair and slid out of it and onto his knees. He crawled over to me and, when he was in front of me, waited for my instructions. He didn’t say a word. He knew better.

  “How could you serve your mistress such a horrible meal?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I don’t care what you meant,” I barked at him. “I care about what you did, and what you did was serve me burnt muffins and runny eggs. Is that any way to treat a woman?”

  “No, Mistress. I’m very sorry,” he apologized.

  “You’re going to be punished,” I told him, and he nodded, letting me know he understood. “Back to the kitchen,” I commanded.

  Michael crawled on his hands and knees to the kitchen, and I followed close behind, watching his boxer-clad ass sway as he went. He was wearing only his underwear and an apron, and it gave me the chance to ogle him. Michael’s the most attractive submissive I’ve ever had, and I savored the opportunity to admire him without giving up any of my authority over him.

  In the kitchen, I told Michael to stand and had him lean forward against the counter. I pulled down his shorts and grabbed the spatula from the dish rack. I showed him the implement I’d chosen and asked if he thought it was a good choice. He said, “Yes, Mistress,” then leaned over further, sticking his ass out for me. I ran my hand across his cheeks, feeling his firm ass quiver under my touch. I caressed him with the flat end of the spatula, letting him feel the smooth plastic, then pulled my arm back and prepared to spank him.

  I waited a moment, letting the anticipation build, but as soon as Michael began to whimper with desire, I flicked my wrist and whacked his ass with the spatula. The plastic utensil made an arousing thwack as it hit him, and when I pulled my hand back, his right cheek was slightly pink where he’d been hit. There were even faint lines denoting the spatula’s narrow slots. I wasn’t even close to done yet, though, and I stepped back and prepared to strike him again.

  Michael tried to keep quiet, but I heard his soft moans of excitement each time I hit his butt with my makeshift paddle. After spanking him a half-dozen times, I sped up my swings and struck him a little harder. His ass turned bright pink, but it still wasn’t enough for him. When I asked if he’d had his fill and learned his lesson, he said no. “I know I burned the muffins, Mistress,” he said, “but I think the eggs were fine.” He knew they weren’t, but he obviously wanted the spanking to continue, and I was more than happy to oblige him. After all, a good punishment was the only way to be certain he wouldn’t mess up my breakfast again.

  Again, I made him wait. I may have been willing to give him what he wanted, but I wasn’t going to do it on his timeline. I walked away from him and went to the fridge to get a glass of orange juice, continuously smacking the spatula against my thigh, making him squirm. I watched him for a minute out of the corner of my eye, and when I felt he’d waited long enough, I put my glass down and walked back over to join him at the counter. The spatula wasn’t going to be enough anymore, so I dropped it in the sink and opened the drawer that holds all my whisks and spoons. Making sure Michael saw what I was doing, I pulled out a long wooden spoon and studied it. His sharp intake of breath let me know I’d chosen correctly, and I closed the drawer before taking my place behind him once more.

  I angled my body so I would have the best aim, then swung my arm and hit him across his ass. He jumped when the spoon made contact, then sighed happily when he felt its pleasant sting. The next dozen strikes came even more rapidly, and Michael continued to moan.

  Eventually, I thought he’d had enough, and I stopped. “Have you learned your lesson?” I asked.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he assured me. “I’ll never make those mistakes again.”

  Satisfied with his response, I told him that since he hadn’t eaten his breakfast, I’d let him have a snack—my pussy. He turned around and quickly got on his knees before lifting my short nightie and placing his mouth on my cunt. He started licking and sucking me, and his lips and tongue worked me over expertly. Whatever mistakes he’d made with my breakfast, he was making up for with his pussy-eating skills. I shivered excitedly when his tongue circled my clit, and my fingertips dug into my thighs when he then started fucking me with his tongue. I never allow him to use his fingers when he eats me, but he doesn’t need to, he does an excellent job with only his mouth.

  It didn’t take Michael long to bring me to climax. He was more than eager to please me, and he worked harder than ever to make sure I had an incredible orgasm. When I was done, he licked me clean, like a good boy, and then I told him he’d be allowed to come, too—after I had breakfast. He hurried to make a fresh omelet, new sausage, and some toast, and when I was satisfied that he’d served me something worth eating and had cleaned my plate, I rewarded him by jerking him to climax.

  I know that next time I allow Michael to spend the night, he’ll prepare me only the finest gourmet feast. And if he doesn’t, I have dozens of spatulas and spoons that would make wonderful paddles in the event of his punishment.

  —Ms. Bethany C., Shreveport, Louisiana

  Misbehaving Slaves Face Punishment When They Can’t Keep Their Hands off Each Other

  Master Stefan was angry, and with good cause: Ryan and I had been bad slaves. We’d disobeyed our master’s only rule, which is that we never fuck without his permission. After our last session, he’d specifically ordered us not to fuck for a week, something he rarely did. Usually, if we asked nicely, he’d allow us to fuck several times a week. But this time he’d demanded that we control our passions, and we’d failed.

  We’d remained celibate only two days before we gave in to temptation and found ourselves humping like bunnies, going at it until we were too exhausted to fuck anymore. And that’s when we remembered Master Stefan’s demand.

  On Friday night, feeling especially penitent, we arrived at Master Stefan’s at the appointed time. When he opened the door to let us in, Ryan bowed and I curtsied, as is standard procedure. Then we scurried into the apartment and took our places kneeling in front of the couch. As soon as we were settled, Master asked if we had obeyed him during our week apart.

  Ryan and I both froze at the question, and Master instantly knew that we’d misbehaved. A slave only hesitates to answer her master when she’s done something that will displease him, and Master Stefan immediately demanded that Ryan and I tell him what our transgressions had been.

  As Ryan told him of our misdeed, stuttering nervously throughout the explanation, I saw Master’s eyes grow stormy and his face turn red. Then he looked to me for confirmation that what Ryan had said was true, and I had to fight to get the words out becaus
e I was so worried about upsetting him further.

  We’d never done anything so out of line, and I had no idea what Master Stefan would do to punish us. I was excited to find out, though, because as sorry as I was, I was also thrilled at the prospect of a real punishment. Ryan and I both love being submissive to a heavy-handed dom, and now that we’d truly upset our master, I was certain that whatever punishment he chose would be perfectly appropriate—and wickedly erotic.

  Master demanded that we stand up and strip. Then he led us across the apartment to the playroom in the back. The room is set up like a dungeon, with tables for whippings, crosses and hooks for suspension, and chains, ropes, shackles, and cuffs everywhere. It’s a submissive’s fantasyland!

  When Master’s eyes rested on me a moment later, I knew I was going to be the first one to do penance. Master led me to a low bench at the back of the room and had me sit and spread my legs so that my pussy was wide open and my feet were in line with the bench’s legs. Then he secured me in place, wrapping bright red bondage tape around my legs to hold them to the bench and taping my arms to my sides. By the time he was done, half the roll was gone and I had several layers of tape running from my ankles to my knees and from my wrists to my armpits. The only thing I could move was my head.

  I knew that wasn’t the extent of my punishment, but before he continued with me, Master moved on to Ryan for a few moments. I had a feeling he would use the rest of the tape on my husband, and I was right. While Ryan was still standing, Master Stefan wrapped his torso in tape, securing his arms to his sides like he’d done to me. Then he had Ryan kneel behind me, facing the opposite direction, and he started to tape his thighs. He described the process as he went, telling Ryan that he was taping over his dick, too, because my husband had already used it more than he should, and there was no reason for it to be available to play with during our session.

  By the time my husband and I were both secured in place and the entire roll of bondage tape had been used, my pussy was dripping wet, and I was sure there would be a puddle of my juices on the leather bench when I was finally set free. I knew my master could see how turned on I was, too, and that he had no intention of doing anything about it. That realization just made me hotter, though, and I felt my empty cunt throb in anticipation of whatever punishment was to come.

  Master moved in front of me then and unzipped his pants, showing me his magnificent dick. Usually he lets me play with my pussy when I suck his dick, but clearly this time would be different.

  I began sucking him hungrily, doing everything I could to give him the best blowjob possible without being able to stroke him or play with his balls. My tongue traced all kinds of designs over his dick, arousing him and getting him thoroughly lubed all at the same time. When his cock was completely coated with my saliva and I could feel his hot dick throbbing wildly against my tongue, it was time to deep-throat him. That’s always been my master’s favorite way to be worshiped, whether it’s me or Ryan doing it, and I knew it would convince him to forgive us sooner.

  Only seconds later, he pulled his dick out of my mouth much sooner than I’d anticipated, leaving me gaping and feeling emptier than ever. “Did you think I would let you taste my seed, slave?” he questioned when he saw my slack-jawed expression. “Certainly you should know better by now.”

  As soon as he’d finished scolding me, he moved on to Ryan. I couldn’t see what was going on behind me, but when I heard the telltale slobbering of a blowjob, I knew that Master had demanded the same treatment from Ryan that he’d demanded from me. So I listened carefully to Ryan’s slurping and our master’s breathing patterns, my pussy throbbing frantically as the sounds grew louder.

  Once again, Master Stefan only allowed Ryan to do so much before he pulled away and scolded him for believing that he would be rewarded for his blowjob after such a grave misstep.

  The punishment wasn’t over yet, though, and when Master demanded that Ryan and I look at him, I turned my head to the side and stared longingly at my master’s beautiful body. His dick was in his hand, and he was slowly stroking that gorgeous cock.

  “Do you see the control I have?” he demanded. “How I’ve just been pleasured by not one but two slaves and still I have not allowed myself release? You must learn such control if you wish to remain in my service!”

  Master then dropped his dick and began removing the tape from my body and Ryan’s, freeing our bound limbs. “Since you seem to enjoy fucking so much, that is your punishment,” he said, confusing us. He saw our looks of disbelief and quickly explained. “If you want to fuck so badly, then you may fuck. But you will do so without coming.”

  Master Stefan directed our movements as he continued to jerk his dick, telling us to lie down on the bench and fuck in missionary position. When he sensed us getting too excited, he made us change positions. We went through doggie-style, reverse cowgirl, scissor position. We did it all, and each time Master noticed our breathing getting faster or our bodies starting to move too frantically, he would stop us, staving off our orgasms and frustrating us immensely—but clearly teaching us a lesson.

  After more than half an hour of constant, unsatisfying fucking, Master told us to stop and demanded that we separate. We’d done a good job, he said, and if we promised not to fuck again until our next session together, he’d let us come before he sent us home. Ryan and I agreed to the conditions, and then Master told us that we could masturbate each other to completion—after we finished making him come.

  Ryan and I got on our knees next to each other and began sucking Master Stefan’s cock, the two of us working together to bring Master to his climax. It took a lot of work, and Ryan had to deep-throat him again while I sucked Master’s balls, but as soon as he’d shot a load of come onto our bodies, decorating our skin with his sticky cream, we were allowed to play with each other.

  We were both so on edge that it didn’t take much to set us off, and I felt my pussy spasm through an intense orgasm at the same time that Ryan spewed a load of semen all over my pumping fist.

  A week later, we returned to Master Stefan’s for our next appointment, this time having nothing to confess, because while we loved our punishment, we love pleasing our master even more.

  —Ms. Sarah M., New Orleans, Louisiana

  She Brings Home Shiny Rubberwear—And a Fellow Fetishist, to Boot!

  I remember the moment my fetish became apparent to me. I was in college, and I’d just received the yellow rubber rain slicker and blueberry-colored boots I’d ordered online. I’d initially told myself that I wanted them to keep me dry on the way to class, and because the bright colors would perk me up on even the dreariest of rainy days. The truth of the matter, though, was that I loved rubber. I liked the way the water slid right off its slick surface, and I adored the feel of the rubber brushing against my skin.

  A few years later, I discovered latex clothing. The shiny material drew me in instantly, and when I tried on my first latex catsuit, I was in love. The suit fit my body like a glove, and as I walked around in it, it felt like every inch of my body was being caressed by that fantastic, skintight material. I had to have it!

  I took the catsuit home and wore it every chance I got. I’d put it on when I was horny and wanted to masturbate, and I’d unzip it all the way so that my hand could squeeze between my body and my new second skin and play with my pussy. I’d wear it before dates to turn myself on faster. I loved it so much that I’d even wear it while working around the house. There just weren’t enough chances to wear my latex suit.

  Then one day the worst thing imaginable happened: I found a tear in my beloved outfit. I didn’t know how it had happened, but I knew it was fatal—at least for my suit. If I tried to put it on, it would only rip further, and I didn’t want to see that happen. It was time for me to buy some new latex clothing.

  The shop I went to was full of latex goodies, and there were at least a half-dozen other people there, looking through the racks. But I was so focused on my search for the p
erfect latex outfit that it wasn’t until I got to the wall of catsuits that I remembered I wasn’t alone in the store.

  Standing a few feet away from me was a really attractive guy, and when I caught him checking me out, I sauntered over to him and struck up a conversation. His name was Kevin, and he had a latex fetish, same as me. He wasn’t into wearing it, though, just seeing other people in it. He’d come to the store hoping to find some fellow latex lovers, and, lucky him, he’d found me.

  We chatted more while I shopped, and Kevin even helped me pick out a new catsuit. Then, when I’d made all my purchases and was ready to go home to play dress-up, I invited Kevin along on a whim. The thought of him watching me put on my latex clothing, his hands running over my rubber-encased body, had my pussy dripping wet in seconds, and I couldn’t pass up the chance to share my fetish with someone new.

  Back at my house, I made Kevin wait in the living room while I ran into the bedroom to put on a latex miniskirt and corset. The corset hugged my curves in all the right places, and the skirt’s hem stopped right beneath my butt cheeks, barely covering me. I spun around as I looked at myself in the mirror and then slipped a hand between my legs, feeling the overwhelming wetness of my pussy. If Kevin didn’t get excited when he saw me in that outfit, I’d have to return him to the store.

  When I walked out again, I wasn’t disappointed—and neither was Kevin. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw me, and as I inched closer, he reached out with one hand to touch me. I kept ducking out of the way, teasing him, but when his finger finally grazed me, it was absolute ecstasy. As his hand caressed my body, it rubbed the latex lightly against my skin, arousing me. When I looked down at him, I realized he was having a very similar reaction, as I could see the impressive bulge beneath his jeans.