Letters to Penthouse IV

by Letters to Penthouse IV- They Stop at Nothing (epub)

  Stan hates rock, but I figured he was too messed up to care. So I put on my best tape. Before I sat down, I went over to Sharon and suggested she put on her revealing cutoffs and a sexy top. I sat in a chair a few feet from Stan and watched anxiously. I about lost it when Sharon came out in her cutoffs, hiked up on her hips so her cunt bulged against the seams. She had on a flimsy, loose blouse with no bra. I could see her tan little nipples poking out excitedly from her bulging boobs. I didn’t know what to expect, because she turns into a nympho when she’s high. I was a little apprehensive at first, but I was excited and didn’t care. She sat on the carpet with her knees together and her legs drawn up near her well-exposed ass cheeks. She had a few more tokes and soon had that buzzed, seductive look in her eyes. She stretched her shapely long tan legs out on the floor and leaned back on her hands and stared deeply into my eyes. I nodded my approval.

  She bent her right leg up and placed her foot flat on the floor, revealing a big patch of pussy fluff on the inside of her thigh. Then, keeping her eyes glued to mine, she began to rock her leg back and forth in time to the music, exposing the hair outline of her engorged cunt. With each beat she showed more pussy hair.

  Then both knees were drawn up and were spreading apart and back together again in time to the music. Now billows of shiny, fluffy pussy hair were hanging out for all to see. The hair disguised the meaty cunt lips bulging out on either side of the crotch of her shorts.

  We glanced at Stan and saw him drilling a hole between my wife’s bare cunt lips with dazed eyes. Although it doesn’t sound like it, Sharon was being very nonchalant about the whole thing, and that, plus Stan’s stupor, assured me he wasn’t onto us.

  I excused myself to take a piss, which I did loud enough to let Stan know I was out of the room. Then I came back into the living room and stood well behind his chair to get a ringside seat for the show.

  She began to rock her legs back and forth to the beat again, and this time her cunt was well exposed. I was on the edge and wanted more. With my hands I signaled Sharon to really spread them, and as she did, her fuzzy outer lips blossomed like a pink rose. She shot a beaver that would make any man like to blow his wad.

  She was really into it now, and I couldn’t believe it when she reached down and pulled up her shorts so that the inch-wide crotch of the cutoffs was clear over on the inside of her thigh.

  My beautiful little bride’s pussy was spread completely open to the summer breeze drifting through the windows and her plump ass was swaying back and forth with the tune. I was really digging it and massaged my stiff prick through my bulging pants. Just then Stan started to stand up, and I dodged back into a bedroom. He took a piss, and when he came out, he said he wanted to run back to his apartment for more booze. I told Sharon to drive him because he was too stoned. As he followed her bouncing buns out to the car, I saw him reach in his pants and resituate his stiff little bulge.

  When they came back, Sharon suggested we go to Stan’s apartment to watch the fireworks being put on by the local community.

  It was quite a show, especially inside the screened porch. This time my wife decided to show off her firm little tits. As she propped herself up on her elbow while stretched out beside Stan, her loose gauzelike blouse fell aside, revealing her beautiful right breast and swollen nipple.

  As the fireworks exploded, she said, “Did you see it!”

  She rolled over on the back and put her head on my knees so she was partially sitting up. Her bulging left tit stuck out like a spotlight in the semidarkness of the balcony. She turned to Stan and said, “Do you see that one?”

  By now the poor bastard was letting out little groans as if he were coming. Sharon climbed up on my lap, and we melted in each other’s arms and kissed deep and wet. My hand pushed aside the little strip of cloth covering her cunt, and my fingers were buried in steaming hot pussy. Her pubic hair was dripping with her juices.

  Stan excused himself and headed for the bathroom. Sharon and I decided he was coming down from his high, and we agreed to split. We rushed home, and as she threw her clothes off, I dived into her pussy, eating and fucking all night.—Name and address withheld

  LOVING WIFE LAYS OTHERS AS HUBBY WATCHES

  My husband and I have one of the most unusual and successful sexual relationships imaginable, and I want to share our story with your readers. I am an extremely attractive woman in her early thirties—in fact, I am a well-paid model of high-fashion clothing—and my husband is a handsome, athletic man with a successful business organization.

  During the last five of my seven years of marriage, I have been fucked by more than thirty different men, yet I have never once been unfaithful to my husband! You see, my husband’s biggest turn-on is to watch me fuck other men—and my biggest turn-on is to let him watch me doing it.

  If someone had told me five years ago that this life-style would be my key to sexual ecstasy, I would have thought that person to be a lunatic. I was brought up as a strict Catholic. Until I began fucking other men, I believed that sex was of minimal importance, except for making babies. Before I got married, I’d never masturbated and never had an orgasm. I’d had sex with only two men, on four occasions, and I’d hated every minute of it!

  During the first two years of my marriage, I didn’t come close to climaxing. Eventually, my doctor told me that my fallopian tubes had never completely developed, and that I couldn’t have children. So, for the first time in my life, I had to regard sex as a mechanism for pure pleasure rather than for reproduction.

  For more than a year, my husband and I tried desperately to find ways to bring me to a climax, but I couldn’t reach it, no matter what we did. Soon, we both began to wonder if my problem stemmed from a lack of sexual compatibility with my husband. We discussed, and more often argued about, whether I could have orgasms with another man. Eventually, a marriage counselor suggested that I try it once, under very strict ground rules, in order to put the notion behind us and get on with our future.

  Because of my good looks, I had very little trouble finding willing lovers, but I was uneasy about sleeping with anyone but my husband. I slept with three men in the next two months, but I just couldn’t respond. I kept wishing that my husband were nearby, so that I could feel safe. When I told him of my feelings, he suggested that he should hide in the house when I was with my next lover. He also confessed to me that, during each of my prearranged liaisons, he had had a burning desire to be in the bedroom, watching me. It seemed a weird idea, but as soon as he mentioned it, I became very turned on and asked him to make love to me.

  The next evening, my husband drilled a peephole in the wall between the bedroom and the study, and a little later, he watched me fuck another man. Lo and behold, the thought of fucking another man, with my husband watching, was so thrilling that I came for the first time in my life. Boy, what a difference! I couldn’t wait for the man who was screwing me to leave, so that I could tell my husband that I had come. He was as turned on as I was! We talked about it all week.

  In the following six months, I had four more lovers. Each time, my husband watched from the next room, and my pleasure increased. Moreover, having sex with my husband became marvelous. We shared a wonderful ritual. As soon as my lover left the house, my husband would come into the bedroom and seduce me. He would lick some of my lover’s come from my vagina and then enter me so that he could feel another man’s juices bathe his cock. Then, as he made beautiful love to me, he would ask me dozens of questions about my experience. The conversation was always the same:

  “Did you come?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times?”

  (I would tell him.)

  “Was it good?”

  “Very good.”

  “Better than me?”

  “Yes, better, much better. I love fucking other men. They make me come again and again.”

  And on cue, with those very words, both my husband and I would erupt into intense orgasms. You see, sharing my infideliti
es with my husband so opened me up sexually that my orgasms with him became as good, if not better, than with other men. But his big turn-on was the thought that other men were better suited for bringing me to orgasm, and I let him enjoy his thrilling concepts.

  Finally, I met a man who raised me to a new level of sexual fulfillment. He was my tenth lover, and he was the first with an exceptionally large cock. My husband and my other lovers had average-size ones, perhaps six to seven inches long, while this man had an eight- or nine-inch-long cock that was also very thick. I was both impressed and intimidated when I first saw it. When he entered me, I immediately began feeling new sensations, and I had the ten best orgasms of my life during that first afternoon session with him. The size of his cock pushed my labia and clit down toward the opening of my vagina, and it was pure stimulation on every stroke. I couldn’t remember the details of what happened because I was totally absorbed in the sensation of back-to-back orgasms, but my husband told me that I had laughed and cried uncontrollably, that I had trembled orgasmically every few minutes, and that I had been very relaxed and spacey. All I know is that I hadn’t believed anything could be so good.

  It was also the biggest turn-on my husband had ever had, and after my large-cocked lover had left, we enjoyed hours of climax-filled fucking and sucking. It was the best and most satisfying love my husband and I had ever made to each other. After several months, I discovered that sex with my husband had become better than with my liaisons. When I told my husband that he had really become the best of them all, he was overjoyed.

  Armed with the knowledge that he was my best lover, my husband got up the courage to ask if I would make love to him and another man at the same time. After several months, when I met a man whom I felt would be compatible with us, I told my husband that I would try a threesome. To this day, I remain thankful that I did decide to go through with it. It was wonderful for all of us.

  My husband and the other man were gentle, loving, and did everything to please me. The man said afterwards that he’d had the best lovemaking of his life, and my husband had had the chance to feel and listen to me as I climaxed with another man. Our mÉnage À trois took place every weekend for five months. They made love to me separately, together, and in every combination. I was fucked/sucked, fucked/ass-fucked, ass-fucked/eaten, ass-fucked/sixty-nined, ad infinitum. Neither man had any inhibitions about eating me or fucking me after the other one had just come inside of me. And I received compliance to a request for the performance of one of my secret fantasies. I watched my husband being ass-fucked while he made love to me—and then I sucked both men clean.

  My relationship with my husband has gotten better and better. It works because we each possess an incredible desire to do that which most pleases the other. And it only works when we do it together—for each other. I know this, because on the fifteen or twenty occasions when I’ve fucked other men without my husband’s presence, I’ve been incapable of attaining a climax.

  At last count, I have been fucked about five hundred times with my husband voyeuring or participating, and every time I’ve climaxed, I’ve done it for us.

  Thank you, my darling husband. You’ve given me the happiest marriage on earth.—Name and address withheld

  CAR FLIRTS HEAT UP TO A HORNY TIME

  Let me offer your readers a pickup technique that was entirely new to me and that worked perfectly.

  I was cruising home from work, thinking about my love life. My girlfriend had recently tossed me aside to marry a rich older man. In a way it was a relief to me to be rid of her, if that was what she was into, but I was feeling pretty horny.

  I made a stop for a red light, and my attention was drawn by the very loud, very sexy disco music coming from the car to the right of mine. It was a cream-colored ‘64 Chevy convertible. It appeared to be in mint condition. It had a pink satin interior, and the top was down. Moreover, the driver was one of the tiniest, most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.

  Her hair was tied up in a scarf, but I could see a few black curls peeping out. I thought her hair had to be very long. Her skin was smooth and creamy. Her lips were the same shiny, deep pink as her car’s upholstery. She looked over at me, bouncing in time to the music, and winked one blue eye and licked her lips. Then she looked down at her left hand.

  My eyes followed hers, and my cock rose to its full height. Her bare hand, with long, long fingers and rosy nails, was doing a lively dance on the outside of her car door. Always in time to the sensual music on the tape, she was miming foreplay.

  She caressed an imaginary nipple with her middle finger. She rolled it in her palm and between her thumb and forefinger. Her pantomime was so accurate that there was no question what she was doing.

  She stroked what I was coming to think of as my chest, tickling it with her nails. She inched her hand down, down, with little nips and pinches of her fingers. I could almost feel it. I had to open my fly before my cock was squeezed to death.

  Suddenly, she grabbed the invisible thing she’d been reaching for, and jerked up and down, hard and quick, her hand tense with squeezing, her arm pumping. It was as close as I had ever been to coming without touching myself or being touched.

  Then the light turned green, and she took off, but fast. I was so distracted with horniness that I almost lost her. Driving is very competitive on that road. But her Chevy, hot as it was, was no match for my Jaguar, and I was soon next to her again. She stared straight ahead, swaying and lip-synching the song “Lead Me On.”

  Soon she slowed down, and I kept pace. I realized she was stalling to catch the next light on red, which suited me fine. I was aching to see more of her act.

  Stopping for the light, she lightly brushed her fingers up and down over “my” chest. I could still feel and respond directly to her motions. I was so horny that I could feel the skin on my balls crawling.

  Then she began to tease that invisible cock that I imagined so vividly was my own. She bent her fingers and held them in a tube shape, sliding them up and down around the shaft. She raised her hand, placing her fingertips around the head and gently kneading it. She formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger, and slid the circle up and down, spiraling around the shaft. She stroked it lightly with the backs of her long, shiny, pink fingernails. She cupped the invisible balls, weighed them, toyed with them.

  I was gripping my steering wheel, afraid to touch my rampant prick, lest I shoot come all over the windshield or onto my face. It was like being tied up by my own willpower. All the fun but no release. Besides, I was saving up my jism in the fervent hope that I could get a lot closer to this hot pussycat in the hot pussy car.

  The light was almost ready to change. Her left hand again took on the shape of a filled fist, and she moved it up and down, twice slowly and then three times fast. The light changed, and she floored her gas pedal again. I was amazed that she could concentrate so well on driving while putting on a sex show at the same time.

  We sailed through the next few lights. I stuck like glue to her, while she pretended to ignore me. A couple of times, though, I nearly caught her eye. I was sure she wanted to pick me up.

  At the next red light, she maneuvered carefully so we would be first in line. As we pulled up and stopped, she took a candy bar from her handbag and quickly unwrapped it. It was a Sugar Daddy, caramel on a stick. Now her hand and her mouth were both very busy.

  She started by licking on the long, narrow, hard sweet. Then she nibbled on the end of it. Soon she was pushing it in and out of her mouth, deep-throating it, stopping now and then to suck on the tip of it or to draw circles on it with her stiff, pointed tongue. It was the first phantom blow job I’d ever had, and I wanted it to go on forever. My cock and balls were so full of hot, heady jism that it was an effort of will for me not to shoot my load. I kept holding myself off, though, mostly so I wouldn’t miss any of the show.

  Her hand was a blur. In contrast to the smooth, even rhythm of the sweet stick in her mouth and the music coming from her car,
her hand was moving in the fast, uneven tempo of a terrific orgasm.

  Suddenly, the fistful got smaller and she dropped it. Then her hand rubbed make-believe jism all over the car door. Now, though, in my imagination, the door had big round tits with long nipples; I could see her playing with them as she massaged the door with her hand.

  I looked at her face. She had shoved that Sugar Daddy clear down her throat and was gobbling and moaning. She jerked a few times on the candy and pulled it out of her mouth, slightly bent and much smaller than when it had gone in.

  Then, still without looking at me, she tossed the half-eaten candy bar right into my lap. My cock throbbed and reared at the unexpected touch, and for the third time I had to concentrate keep from coming. When I looked at her, she winked again, beckoned, and peeled out.

  I stayed right beside her until she turned off onto a residential street. Then I followed her to a house set back among some trees. She parked her car and waited until I pulled in behind her and opened her door for her.

  As for what we did in that house that night, and many nights since, perhaps more later.—CD., Langhorne, Penna.

  FUCKING COUPLE SIGHTED—SEX SPREADS

  I’ve always thought of fantasies as my way of “experiencing” things that are somewhat beyond the possible, of enjoying feelings that most people never really feel. What happened to me one recent Sunday morning has altered the threshold of reality so much that I’m afraid there is nothing left to fantasize about.

  My wife, Julie, and I got up early to drive to a state park we had never visited before. It was a perfect early autumn morning, crisp and clear. The prospects were good for spectacular fall foliage, so we packed our camera and hit the road before seven. Ours was the only car in the parking lot when we started hiking down the main trail at about eight-thirty.