“Is what?” she said nervously. I realized she was afraid I was backing out.
“Is wonderful!” I said.
Olivia laughed and clapped her hands together. I kissed her.
“Honey, I promise you won't be left out!” she said eagerly. “We can still—”
I stopped her by putting up my hand.
“Wait,” I said. “You haven't read my New Year's wish yet.”
“Oh, of course, I'm sorry. Where is it?”
I had hastily scribbled my new wish on a hotel napkin only a few moments before. I took it from my pocket and gave it to her. It read:
“Olivia, darling—
“I have an idea of what you are going to wish for for the new year. If I am right, I can think of no better time than to wish for something I have wanted for a long time. My wish is to go the entire year without sex. I want to go through twelve whole months without being allowed to touch you sexually. I would like to see you naked from time to time, if that is okay with you; that will make it even more difficult and more exciting for me. I am going to try to get through the entire year without an orgasm. If I am right about your wish, I know you will be satisfied sexually, and that is why I think this might be a good time for me to ask for this. I love you and want to always be married to you. You might think I am nuts to ask for this, and maybe I am—but do you grant my wish?
“Love, Toothpick.”
Olivia read the note slowly and carefully, then read it a second time. Finally she looked up at me and burst out laughing. I laughed too. We kissed.
“Oh, honey,” she whispered. “Of course I grant your wish! But won't your little balls get awfully blue?”
“Let me worry about that,” I said. We kissed again, at the stroke of midnight.
“Happy New Year!” I said.
“Happy New Year!” Olivia replied, then stood up quickly. “I have to go—my date is probably wondering where I am.” And she rushed off.
Several minutes later, I strolled back to the ballroom and looked for Olivia. She was at a table talking quietly with the man she had been dancing with earlier. They were holding hands, and every so often they would kiss. Finally they got up and left. I figured they would probably spend the night together, so I decided I would head home and try to get some sleep.
When I got home there was a message on the answering machine:
“Hi, honey. I just sneaked out to call you and tell you I love you. I told Paul—that's the man whose room I'm sharing tonight—I told him I forgot something downstairs. I wanted to thank you, and also to tell you that I am now an unfaithful wife. Paul's cock is gorgeous. He had it in me ten minutes after we left the ballroom. So another man has fucked me, honey. I hope you like the feeling. I better go now—Paul is waiting. I'll be home tomorrow. Take a cold shower, hon. It's going to be a long year for you! I love you. Bye!”
I listened to the message several times. Then I took off my clothes. I had a raging hard-on, but I wasn't going to touch it. Not for a full year. In an attempt to dissipate my desire, I began to clean the house, room by room.
It is now the middle of June, so it's nearly six months since we embarked on this yearlong experiment. Olivia spends a night away from home once or twice a month, and a couple of times has gone away for a few days. I never ask where she goes or what she does. Sometimes she tells me about the men she's been with, and sometimes she doesn't. I often watch her dress or undress, and if I have a moment of weakness, as I did earlier this evening, she doesn't allow it to come to anything. I am very grateful to her for that.
In the time it took me to write this letter, Olivia finished getting ready and left. With the image of her beautiful naked body in my mind, and knowing that she may even now be fucking another man, my cock is throbbing almost painfully. I think it is again time for me to take off my clothes and clean the house!—N.E., Portland, Oregon
HIS FINE MARRIAGE ONLY GOT BETTER WITH CROSSDRESSING
If you think students are the only people to greet the summer vacation with joy, you probably don't know any teachers. I love teaching computer science as much as my wife loves teaching art, but the second we finished grading the exam papers at the end of last term, we packed up the car and took off.
We had rented a secluded cabin on the beach for the summer, and we were soon settled in, enjoying the serenity and the sea air, with no neighbors in sight. One look at the view had Grete unpacking her easel, and in a jiffy she was on the beach painting in the shade of a great umbrella. Her work can be described as ranging from the whimsical to the bizarre. There is always something in her paintings that makes you see the world in a way you never did before.
I was enjoying not only the seascape, but the spectacular view of Grete as she plied her brush wearing nothing but the sunscreen I was applying to her body. I was always eager to run my hands over her smooth, tanned skin, and as I slathered the lotion on, I paid special attention to her nipples, letting them slide through my slippery fingers until they grew and hardened. I savored her taut flesh as I made my way leisurely down her body, pausing to feel her firm ass quiver beneath my fingers, then moving up her back until I once again cupped her lovely tits in my hands.
She laid down her brush as I began to kiss her neck. I knelt in front of her, running my lotion-soaked hands slowly over her stomach. I learned quickly that nibbling on nipples slathered with protective lotion is not a great taste sensation, so I contented myself with riffling my fingers through her pussy hair until she spread her long, athletic legs apart to expose her shiny wet slit.
My fingers slid over her labia, causing her to lean back in anticipation. Her legs spread wider so I could move my head between her thighs and run my tongue around the outline of her soft pussy lips, grazing the hair and inhaling the powerful scent of her womanhood. I lapped her juices with slow strokes, starting at her ass, delving into her lovely slit and caressing her clit before starting over. She began to squirm in her seat, and I concentrated on her clit, feeling it slip beneath my eager tongue. As her gyrations increased, I held her ass firmly so I wouldn't lose contact.
Unlike some women I have known, Grete is not a screamer. She grunts in a sexy voice as climax approaches. She was practically growling as I slid my tongue over her crotch. Her body grew rigid in anticipation until, like a coiled spring relieved of a great load, her energy was released in a vaulting orgasm.
Since I was wearing no more than she, I got up quickly and plunged my cock in her. The flimsy chair she sat on threatened to topple, so I pulled out and lowered her gently to the sand. She reached out and guided me back to her flowing crotch, where I continued fucking her as deeply as I could. Her wetness surrounded my member as I drove deep inside her, panting as she encouraged me with more of her sexy grunts. The warm air of the beach wafted over my rod each time I pulled out of her sweet hole. I would wait a short while, with my prick just brushing her pussy, before I again plunged into her. All too soon I exploded inside her, filling her with my come as she lay in the sand.
We had beautiful weather for the first week of our stay, but of course you can't have a vacation without some rain. When it came, we stayed indoors and watched the low dark clouds, while the angry sea pounded the beach where we had so recently made love. I spent the day at my computer, occasionally walking over to see what Grete had done. Her new painting depicted a tall woman on a foreboding seashore. As it took form, I saw that the still-faceless woman wore a ruffled blouse and long skirt. Her clothing was whipped by the wind as she stared out to sea, a Victorian woman waiting patiently for her sea-captain husband to return.
Grete completed the work just as I was making us dinner, so I didn't really look at it until much later in the evening. When I did, I was startled. I told you that my wife's work tends to the bizarre. Well, the woman in the completed painting had my features!
The painting was strangely compelling. I could almost feel the spray on my body as I studied my canvas counterpart. This strange painting set some old thoughts whirlin
g in my brain, and as I studied it, I admitted to Grete that I sometimes wondered what it would be like to have been born a woman. I don't think she was too surprised, because she knows the crossdressing stories in Penthouse Letters have always turned me on. I had never done anything about these feelings because of my job. A professor at a less-than-liberal college is careful about what he does publicly.
The rain continued the next morning, so we made our way into town for a little shopping. We had a list of things we had forgotten to bring, and we stocked up on fresh fruit and groceries and such. Being in no hurry, we browsed the shops as the rain continued.
We passed a small women's specialty shop that featured, of all things, corsets in the window. They ranged from the heavy boned wrappings of the past to lace confections that practically screamed, “Fuck me!” The thought of screwing Grete in one of those sexy corsets was irresistible, so I followed her eagerly into the shop. I was immediately surrounded by more bras, girdles, slips, panties and lacy froth than I had ever seen in my life.
When an eager young salesman asked Grete if he could help her, I watched in amusement as she flirted with him unmercifully, asking his opinion of how a particular bra would look on her, or if a certain pair of stockings would suit her. The salesman tried his best to remain professional, but a gleam in his eye—and some inspired phrasing in his answers—revealed how taken he was with my wife. As she went to the changing room with a handful of garments, the salesman glanced at me inquiringly. I could only smile and tell him that Grete was her own woman and did as she pleased.
We both enjoyed the show Grete put on that rainy afternoon. The corset she tried on looked even better on her than it had on the mannequin. The sight of her great brown areolae under the sheer yellow fabric of a very low-cut bra almost kept us from noticing the seductive wisps of pubic hair peeking out of the matching panties.
After an hour or so of this, the young salesman had distinct bulges in both his eyes and his crotch. At last the show was over, and as I consider myself a gentleman, I waited patiently for her to conclude her business. I never asked her what happened after I left, but she wore a very self-satisfied smile as she loaded her bags in the car.
I was ready to make a day of it, perhaps taking in a movie and going to dinner, but Grete wanted to return to our cabin, saying she had a surprise for me. I agreed readily, thinking what fun I would have removing her new purchases.
Grete asked me to take a shower as part of her surprise, so I obligingly did so. I returned to the bedroom to find my sexy wife in her new corset, sitting on the bed with her legs spread wide. Like any well-trained lover, I dove immediately for her muff, but she stopped me, asking me to close my eyes and turn around. She is a creative soul, and this sounded like an interesting game, so I did as she asked.
I heard her rise from the bed, and then her arms were around me and her warm breath caressed my ear as she whispered, “Did you really mean it when you said you wondered what it would be like to be a woman?”
This was not where I had expected the game to lead. I stood there speechless, my answer made even more difficult by her soft lips nibbling my earlobe and her hands sliding over my body.
“Well,” she whispered, “did you?”
At last I stammered an answer in the affirmative. She nibbled on my other ear. Her sexy breath invaded my ear as she purred, “Then I'm glad I bought this for you this afternoon.”
Her arms dropped away for a moment. I felt my torso surrounded by fabric. There was a series of tugs and the sound of snaps closing. Before I knew it, I was encased in a heavy Victorian bone corset much like the woman in the painting must have worn. Grete pulled on the laces, and I squeezed my gut in, trying to conform to the shape of the garment. I was a bit breathless.
By this time my eyes were wide open and I was staring at the mirror as it reflected my oddly clad image back at me. I watched dumbfounded as Grete slid a bra over my arms and fastened it behind me, then stuffed it with two grapefruit she had bought earlier.
As I continued to gaze at my image in the mirror, I saw my dong rising incongruously below my corset. Grete giggled and reached around my body to touch my stiffening prick. Her delicate fingers stroked my shaft lightly, and I watched it twitch as she played with it. Her fingers were deliciously warm, leaving tingling paths of delight behind them. Then she took my prick firmly in her hand and began to stroke it, pulling the skin back and forth as she pumped me, her finger squeezing the glans gently with each stroke.
Now she was on her knees behind me, her lips covering my ass with kisses, sometimes nipping playfully as she gave my pecker a quick squeeze. I was tempted to close my eyes and abandon myself to the feeling, but the sight of her jacking me off while I stood there in corset and bra was tremendously exciting. I soon felt her other hand caress my hanging balls, kneading them gently in rhythm with her strokes. Every once in a while those fingers would slide downward, coming tantalizingly close to my anus before slithering back to my nuts to tease me some more.
I felt the spunk rising in my balls and began to thrust my hips forward as Grete's silken hand continued to pump my shaft. Suddenly I was overcome, and a stream of hot come arced from my prick onto the floor in front of me. As the first wave hit, I felt her finger enter my ass and wiggle. I blasted the rest of my load in the air as if it was rocket-propelled.
The pressure of the corset on my belly seemed to add to the pressure that made the come spew out of me. It seemed to go on forever as Grete milked me of all I had, her finger twisting and dancing in my ass. At last I was empty.
I suddenly realized how cool the room was and began to shiver. Grete opened another package and handed me a blouse and skirt, reminiscent of those in her painting. Caught in the spell of her game, I obediently put them on, marveling at how soft and sexy the material felt against my skin. The illusion couldn't survive the mirror, however. It was obvious that I was a man in the wrong clothing, but the sensation was so exquisite, I didn't care. Grete hugged me and again kissed me deeply.
“I guess I don't have to ask if you like my little surprise,” she murmured. “But if you're going to be a woman for the day, you get to clean the floor while I start dinner.” With that she shrugged into a dress and left the bedroom.
That corset had to be one of the sexiest garments ever invented. The firm pressure around my waist kept me aroused like never before. When I sat, the upward pressure made me very aware of the brassiere I was wearing, each motion causing the grapefruit in the cups to bounce and shiver. Even raising my fork to eat was an erotic experience, provoking unexpected tugs and pulls from the unfamiliar clothing.
It was my turn to do the dishes. As I stood at the sink, Grete stood behind me and ran her hands over my body. The rain outside had gotten heavier, and I saw occasional flashes of lightning through the window as I worked. I felt my skirt being raised, and I tried to hold on to the dish I was rinsing as Grete insinuated her finger beneath the elastic of my panties and played with my balls. She knelt and kissed my ass again, following the lacy line of elastic until she met the heavier fabric of my corset. Her head was under my skirt now, and I felt her warm breath as she tantalized me.
I finished the dishes at last, and pulled my skirt up to reveal her face suffused with lust. Helping her up, I carried her to the bedroom and removed her dress. When I started to unbutton my blouse, she stopped me.
“Leave it on,” she giggled. “I want to see what it's like to be fucked by a woman.”
I was happy to play the game, so I buttoned up the blouse again and laid her on the bed. I began by massaging her toes, enjoying the feel of her stockings as I rubbed and kneaded her feet. With a sigh she rolled over on her stomach, so I gathered my skirt and knelt on the bed to rub her legs. Again my corset tugged at my body, and as I pounded her calves, the vibrations set my fruitful boobs dancing against my chest. Not only was Grete getting a very relaxing rub, but I was getting extremely turned on in the process.
At last I could stand it no longer.
My hands moved to her ass and delved in her crack. She obligingly spread her legs wider, exposing her swollen pussy lips, and I gazed at the pink flesh surrounded by wispy golden hair. I spread her buttocks, fingering her asshole, and then let my finger slide down until it dipped briefly in her waiting slit. Grete was once again growling encouragement, so I played with her crotch, teasing with my fingers, tracing the outline of hair around her pussy lips. Her crotch was damp, the moisture seeming to sparkle in the flashes of lightning.
When she could stand it no longer she rolled over and begged me to fuck her. But I wasn't quite ready yet. I lay beside her and kissed her beautiful breasts, fondling her nipples with my tongue. My hand sought the softness of her crotch, and after a while it found her waiting clit. I flicked my finger around the soft protrusion for a while, tracing circles round and round Grete's most sensitive spot. Soon I felt her hips arching to meet my fingers as her body shook with desire.
I finger-fucked her soaking cunt, driving one, then two fingers in. She was on the verge of climax, so I withdrew my hand and began to rub her clit firmly through her ample pussy hair. That did it. She cried out and spasmed in orgasm as I kept rubbing, sending waves of pleasure coursing over her body. Before she could come down, she was clawing at my skirt, trying to get it above my waist.
My dick was fully erect, ready to plunge in her from above, but instead she pushed me back and mounted me, driving my boner deep within her as she fucked me. I felt like I was on a trampoline as her body bounced up and down against my groin.
The storm outside was going strong, and the lightning illuminated my lusty wife like a strobe light. Her yellow hair flew about her face as she rode my prick, and her breasts bounced wildly, up and down and around. I felt my own artificial breasts bang against my chest and the bones of the corset dig into my body as Grete pumped tirelessly up and down over my prick.
I erupted in her just as a particularly loud thunderclap shook the house. The dim light in the bedroom flickered and went out. I couldn't believe the intensity of my orgasm. I was wracked with shudders as I blew my load in her wildly gyrating pussy, my balls and prick tightening with each spasm. I felt my come seep out over my crotch as Grete continued to ride my softening pole.
Letters to Penthouse XV Page 12
