Letters to Penthouse XXVI

by Penthouse International

  From this angle, everything about her was enhanced; her breasts looked bigger and her face prettier. I grabbed her and pulled her on top of me. She giggled as she tumbled forward, and I kissed her, watching with pride as Betty did the same with Mark. Even though we’d never done this before, it seemed perfectly natural to swap partners for the night. Listening to the mewling sounds Betty made as Mark pressed his cock up against her spurred me on. As I got more worked up, I flipped us over so I could really pound into Audrey. She opened her eyes, and they were glassy with lust as I held her arms down at her sides and rammed into her as hard as I could. Acting on pure animal instinct, I pulled back and then arched forward, and she clearly appreciated this roughness, because she wrapped her legs tightly around me and let out a tantalizing moan every time my cock plunged back into her.

  Betty, who was still on top of Mark, reached over to touch my shoulder, and when I looked back at her, we kissed. This kiss connected the four of us and made me feel even closer to my girlfriend, even while my cock was buried inside her best friend’s pussy. I pulled back and watched her slide up and down along Mark’s cock, her pussy lips engorged and beautiful. It was a rare treat to see her from this angle, and as she eyed me up and down, I knew she appreciated this special view of my ass. Mark seemed like he was in a dream as he took in the surroundings. I reached for the camera again, holding it slightly above me to capture all of us in our group-sex glory.

  I didn’t have time to dawdle any longer, because my cock was urging me to continue slamming into Audrey. I looked into her eyes, and she smiled up at me, licking her lips as I felt her deliberately squeezing my cock with her pussy muscles. I heard Mark slap Betty’s ass and glanced back to see him pulling apart her asscheeks, fondling her behind in a way I knew would spark her orgasm.

  I reached beneath me and toyed with Audrey’s clit, feeling the bud harden even more against my fingers as she got even wetter. I fondled her button, trying out different sorts of touches, all of which seemed to drive her crazy with lust. She started to twist her hips and shake her head, beating her fists against the mattress while I maintained my rhythm. Betty was grunting by now, too, the way she always does before she’s about to come. I pressed my thumb against Audrey’s clit, mashing it against her pubic bone while I pushed my cock as far inside her as I could. I was thrilled when I felt her bathe my cock with her juices, and from the look on her face, her orgasm was clearly a powerful one. I could hear Betty’s cries getting louder and the sound of their bodies slapping together, and I came, shooting deep into Audrey.

  We both turned to watch Betty and Mark’s finale. She stretched her hands above her head like a rodeo queen while he bucked and humped beneath her. Their echoing cries of pleasure filled the room as they both reached their peaks. I made sure to capture the three of them in postcoital bliss and took many more naughty pictures that we keep locked away in our bedside drawer. Whenever life seems dull, I look over those photos and remember what a wild girl I’ve got, and what special friends Mark and Audrey are to share that kind of fun with us.

  —T.E., Oakland, California

  EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! REPORTER GETS NAUGHTY IN NAGANO

  I watched as Masato closed the drapes, the expanse of mountaintops being concealed from my view. Before my eyes could adjust to the change in light, Masato had taken me into his arms and pressed his lips to mine. In between kisses and groping, we removed each other’s clothes. I slid my hand up and down the now-familiar terrain of his naked body, his nearly hairless flesh soft and smooth to the touch. As his hands moved down to my chest and he cupped my breasts in his palms, an unslakable need fluttered inside my belly.

  Moving with the alacrity I knew his pulsating cock craved, I dropped to my knees and took his shaft in my mouth. I felt him shiver and saw his legs twitch as I began running my tongue up and down his length. He moaned as my tongue tip slid over his mushroom-shaped head and then ran down the other side of his shaft.

  Masato’s legs began to shake, and he pushed his groin into my face, loving the licking but wanting all of his cock down my throat at the same time. I knew the effect my slow, deliberate licks had on him, and as I witnessed his burgeoning desire, I grew horny as well.

  I stuffed him inside my mouth, allowing my breasts to occasionally brush his smooth legs as I sucked his shaft in and out. Soon he was pushing himself into me with ramrod intensity, his hips nearly knocking me off balance as his cock slid farther down my throat. I grabbed his asscheeks to control his movement, and seconds later he spewed his sweet come into my mouth.

  I recalled that evening fondly, as well as the few others I spent with Masato, as I checked out of Nagano First Hotel. Consumed by my thoughts, I walked out into the chilly February air and paused to take a last look at the web of narrow streets. I was enamored by the quaint little neighborhood with its wide array of small shops and restaurants.

  When my car arrived, I hopped in and peered at Zenkoji Temple, shrouded in lush gardens, perched high on a hill above the city. High-peaked mountains greeted the clear skyline, and serene valleys lay below the snow-covered alps. The car quickly swept away from the hotel, and as images began to move past my window, I was catapulted back to the first time I met Masato.

  I was one of four reporters from the newspaper I worked for to be sent to Nagano, Japan, to cover the Winter Olympic Games. Assigned to report on the figure skating and short track speed skating events being held in the Mashima district in southeast Nagano City, I spent a lot of time scurrying around the White Ring—located on the site of the ancient battlefield of Kawanakajima—trying to get quotes and shoot great pictures to be sent home via my laptop computer.

  The atmosphere during the games was intoxicating, with tourists roving the city streets donning Olympic paraphernalia. When I wasn’t in the press box, taking in the events and writing, I was making my way through throngs of tourists and fans in an attempt to do a little local sightseeing and take some photos for my personal album. One morning, while focusing in on the entrance to the arena, a man stepped in front of my camera. I weakly said, “Excuse me,” probably too softly for him to hear, because he did not move out of my way. I tried a second time and he quickly turned to face me.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” he said, rather formally. He smiled politely and moved away, his eyes lingering over me fondly. I looked briefly into his deep black eyes and figured that he was a native.

  When I had clicked the picture, he moved toward me and extended his hand in invitation. “Masato. Welcome to Nagano.”

  “Thank you. I take it you are a resident here.”

  “Yes, I live nearby. But currently I am working here, selling keepsake programs. And you? Are you just here to see the Olympics?”

  “I am a reporter.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said, pointing to the camera and smiling once again.

  “Well, have a nice day,” I said, beginning to walk away.

  “Wait!” He stopped me. “I—maybe we can have breakfast.”

  The restaurant he chose was just a few blocks away from White Arena and, despite the early-morning hour, already bustling with tourists. The estimated wait was a half hour, so Masato suggested that we go back to his place, which was a short walk from there, and he would prepare breakfast. Nothing like a home-cooked meal, I thought, as my stomach grumbled. In minutes we were in his small and cozy kitchen.

  During breakfast, Masato and I barely ate because we were talking so much. He looked so intently in my eyes as he spoke, I thought I would melt right along with the butter on my toast. Soon we had delved into stories about our past romances, and as I imagined him in the arms of a lover, my desire for him became a need so palpable, I could almost taste it.

  The conversation ebbed, but Masato and I continued to sit motionless, staring into one another’s eyes, listening to each other’s breath. And then, finally, Masato leaned over the table and kissed me hard on the lips. I was taken aback, though somewhat conscious of his shirt dangling in his cup o
f coffee, so I pulled away.

  Masato seemed gravely disappointed as I began to stand, and then surprised when I came around the table and plopped myself down on his lap and wrapped my legs around the back of the chair. This time I kissed him, pressing my lips softly to his, and then slowly sneaking my tongue in his mouth. I could taste the coffee he had just consumed—light and sweet, just like his kisses.

  During our kiss, I allowed my hands to play in his hair and then explore the curve of his back, our tongues performing a beautiful dance. Masato’s gorgeous cock had hardened and was jabbing into my crotch as he slid his hands down my back to cup my bottom.

  Soon Masato was kissing my cheeks, my neck, sucking my fingers into his mouth, opening my blouse. I shivered when he unsnapped my bra and glided his fingers delicately over each swollen nipple of my breasts. He slid down to my belly button with just the lightest touch of one fingertip, and then worked his hands down my pants.

  Masato explored the folds of my pussy, my juices allowing his fingers to glide smoothly over my labia and clitoris. His touch was sensational and suddenly I was light-headed. I unbuttoned my jeans to give his hand some room to work, and then unbuttoned his. His cockhead was peeking out of his boxers. I shook hands with it, gripping it tightly before I began to stroke it.

  Masato and I worked to a steady rhythm, kissing and moaning as the chair began to squeak. My pussy became hot as his hand motion built to a frenzy, and soon I was shaking through a delicious orgasm that I felt from the tip of my toes to the tip of my tongue.

  When my quivering subsided, I felt a little cramped and got up from Masato’s lap. He stood as well, and instead of taking me into the bedroom, he began to remove his clothes and drop them on the linoleum-covered floor.

  Naked, he was quite muscular, and I couldn’t help but reach out and touch his chest and arms. He stared at me longingly and removed my clothes. He clutched his cock and held it out like some fragile offering. Taking my cue, I moved in closer to him until my naked breasts were squishing against his chest.

  Once again our lips met. As he kissed me, his hands lazily danced over my flesh, making my every hair stand on end. Once his fingers had found my sopping wet pussy again, he lined his cock up with my slick hole and steered it right in.

  At first we moved slowly, taking and giving, touching and kissing, our bodies forging a greater intimacy with every buck and thrust. The slowness of it made it more hot, but soon both Masato and I grew hungry for it faster, harder. I could hear Masato’s breath grow ragged just before he moved me backward, pressing my rear end into the sink.

  He took one quick lunge inside me, my weight supported by the sink, and then began pumping his cock with ferocious tenacity. It felt as if he were hitting my kidneys as he moved with the skill of a samurai swordsman, coaxing my wet pussy to spasm again and again. I grabbed his ass as I felt his body stiffen, and pushed him in farther and farther as he shivered through his sweet release.

  In the airplane on the trip home, I glanced out the window at the dramatic peaks that loomed over the sprawling valleys. I picked up the Shinmai paper I had folded in my bag and smiled, thinking that thanks to Masato I’d never forget Nagano.

  —K.P., Brooklyn, New York

  TRIP TO BRUSSELS SPROUTS WILD DESIRES IN FUN-LOVING PAIR

  I stared at Melinda as she lay sprawled across the chaise, her bare legs swaying over the side as she sat, the hotel room-service menu in her lap, writing out postcards to her friends and family at home.

  “What do you think? Dear Mom, Dan and I have been having a splendid time here in Brussels, fucking like crazy.”

  “You might want to be a little bit more to the point, Mel.” I smiled at her warmly as I stood to pull on my boxers. A new desire was already welling within me as I eyed my wife’s naked body, still gleaming with sweat from the exalted experience we had shared just moments before. Breasts bouncing above me, she had ridden me with feline speed to an orgasm of exorbitant proportions. Mel has always been a track star in bed, but this time she beat her own record, and I was still reeling from it ten minutes later.

  Melinda threw her postcards on the floor when she noticed me buttoning up my shirt. “What are you doing, hon?”

  “Well, I figured that since we’ve come all this way, we might like to see what the capital of Europe has to offer.” She knew that I was full of it. I couldn’t care less about bourgeois palaces or baroque guild halls when given Melinda as an alternative option. I’d much rather wrap my lips around one of her gorgeous orbs than be stuffing my face with pommes frites with béarnaise sauce bought from some street vendor. And I know a helluva lot more about human physiology than I do about architecture anyway.

  Melinda, her hair mussed from our sex romp, pressed her naked body to mine, rising up on her tiptoes to deliver a cock-throbbing kiss to my already dried-out lips, and she knew I was putty in her hands. After weeks of perusing travel guide upon travel guide, I thought for sure that Melinda and I wouldn’t find time to breathe during our vacation to Brussels. She had an itinerary written out with the names of restaurants, shops, and museums she wanted to visit, as well as approximated wake-up times and bedtimes. I joked with her about whether or not she had figured in time for us to use the restrooms, but in truth I was more concerned about whether or not I was going to get laid.

  But, suddenly, there we were, the city sprawled out before us right outside our hotel room window, Avenue Louise and its famous shopping district waiting to make friends with our Visa Gold, and my wife was naked, pleading for me to take my clothes off again.

  Needless to say, I was undressed in seconds, and we were wrinkling my slacks with the soles of our feet as we kissed, our bodies pressed together, our hands exploring and petting.

  My stiff cock was nestled between her thighs, being tickled by her thin spread of pubic hair, when she began kissing me from my neck down to my chest. I cupped her firm buttocks in the palms of my hands and pulled her closer to me, my cock pressing into her legs, the fresh dew of her pussy juices gliding onto my shaft. We kissed for a few more moments, her breasts squished into my hard chest, her cunt slathering me with its honey, until I was infused with desire.

  I tore myself away from Melinda long enough to guide her by the hand to the bed, and then I laid her down on the lumped-up bedclothes. I lay on top of my gorgeous wife, our lips seemingly sutured together, as I slipped my cock inside her waiting cunt.

  We began a slow and deliberate bump-and-grind, moving in the knowing rhythm that comes with several years of intimacy, our every buck and thrust collaborating to perform a dance of inexplicable pleasure. My wife’s tight cunt grasped my cock with her every thrust, and she hugged it for a brief moment before releasing it with a swift downward movement of her hips.

  The hot wetness was too delicious to withstand, and in moments my body was quivering in orgasm as all my blood rushed to my head and left me sated and exhausted.

  We carried our afterplay into the tub where we lathered each other’s body with bubbles and fondled each other to yet another orgasm underwater. Then we dressed in fresh clothes and hurried out the door.

  Our trip to Brussels had been inspired by the art nouveau class my wife had taken the previous spring. We had spent our first day in Brussels visiting the Horta Museum and checking out the private house and workshop of Victor Horta, the famous nouveau architect. Today, Melinda wanted to visit the Grand-Place square.

  We walked along the cobbled streets arm in arm, my wife popping pommes frites with curry into her mouth, and occasionally taking out her itinerary (written on various Post-it notes) to check off things we’d seen and make mental notes of the ones we hadn’t. By the early evening I’d had enough architectural splendor to last me a lifetime, and I felt as old as the fifteenth-century Town Hall that had tourists clicking away at their cameras to capture the Gothic essence of its soaring skyline.

  After taking some of our own pictures of the various small statues around the Town Hall, Melinda and I had dinner i
n one of the many luxurious restaurants in the square. We hung around long enough to catch some of the nightly music and light show and then, pretty much pooped, trekked back to our hotel.

  Once we had settled into our bed, though, Melinda was back on the itinerary kick, telling me that she wanted to get some pictures of the “darling” Mannekin-Pis statue before the end of our trip.

  “I have a lot more to offer than that chubby little boy,” I said as I climbed on top of my wife and began kissing her neck.

  “Oh, I am sure you do,” she laughed, still clinging to her various itinerary notes as I slid my tongue up her neck and squished it into her ear.

  I had already unbuttoned my wife’s nightshirt and was stroking one of her full breasts as my tongue outlined the labyrinth of her outer-ear canal. With that, I plunged down to her hips and pulled off her pajama pants. The scent of her freesia body lotion wafted up to my nostrils, and I quickly buried my face in my wife’s blonde muff of pubic curls.

  I kissed her crotch several times before going for the gusto, and I peeked up to see that my wife’s eyes were closed, and all of her sticky notes had been discarded with the exception of one that had stuck to the sleeve of her half-removed pajama top. It amused me slightly, but I could not be distracted for very long from the delicious juicy fruit that awaited me.

  Drawing my attention back to between Melinda’s legs, I began licking up and down the folds of her labia and then sliding my way down to her clitoris. I took the swollen little nub into my mouth and sucked and kissed it, which made my wife moan and writhe with burgeoning pleasure. As I pulled and tugged on her clit, her juices came pouring out, and I dragged my tongue to her hole to lap them up before jamming two digits inside her. Melinda pushed my head down as if to ram it between her legs, and I sucked at her lips, my fingers working in and out of her cunt.

  Soon I could feel her body tremble beneath my oral ministrations, and I knew that she had come. My cock was already rock-hard and leaking pre-come, but I didn’t want just plain sex tonight. I sat up and maneuvered my wife so that she was lying on her stomach. She knew just where I wanted to sightsee, and in seconds was up on her hands and knees offering her ass to me.