Penthouse Uncensored V

by Penthouse Uncensored V (Letters to Penthouse IX

  That was five years ago, and I have still not seen my wife making it with another man. She feels she would just be too self-conscious making love with someone watching.

  I trust Jane and know she would never deceive me or hide anything from me. I think couples like us, with half-open marriages, actually have closer, more honest relationships than most supposedly monogamous marriages where people feel it necessary to keep secrets from one another out of fear that the relationship will be damaged or destroyed.

  Now I may never have seen my wife with another man, but I have heard her making passionate love, more times than I can count over the years.

  I am able to do so for two reasons. First, because most of her liaisons take place in our home while I am there. Second, because of the layout of our house. Through careful saving, we were able to come up with a down payment for our lovely four-bedroom ranch-style house only two months after our wedding.

  All of the bedrooms open off a long hallway that stretches out from the living room. As you leave the living room you come first to two bedrooms and a bathroom that are occupied by the children. As you continue down the hall, you come next to my wife’s and my bedroom. This leaves the farthest bedroom for use ostensibly as a guest bedroom. In actuality it is used mostly by my wife to entertain other men.

  Jane’s first extramarital encounter, in what she refers to these days as her “adult playroom,” occurred only a couple of weeks after we had decided she would try sex with someone new. When we discussed it, she did not have a ready candidate, so we agreed that she would go out to a local night spot, seek one out and then bring him back to the house. She would have sex with him in the spare bedroom at the end of the hall.

  Anticipating her first time with another man, she felt uncomfortable at the prospect of having an audience. She did allow, however, that if I were to hide in our bedroom, it was possible that I could hear what went on through the wall.

  When she made that suggestion, I jumped right into action. I made a small structural modification, cutting a square hole in the wall that separates our bedroom and the guest bedroom. The hole is about sixteen by twenty-four inches, about a foot from the floor.

  I then put air-vent grates over the hole, so that from both sides it looks like just an ordinary air-return vent. You can’t see much of either room, and you can’t see the beds at all. But you can hear anything that goes on in either room from the other. The vent in our bedroom has been my frequent listening post, week in and week out, over the past five years.

  That first night that Jane went out, wearing a short, tight wraparound skirt and a white see-through blouse, I had no doubt she would be able to pick up any man she chose. She is five-five, with shoulder-length blonde hair, a beautiful face and big brown eyes. In her sexy attire, her 37-24-35 body looked incredible. Today, at twenty-five, after having three kids, she has a 37-25-36 figure and can still attract any man she wants.

  That first night Jane went out at eight, and when she returned shortly after ten, I was waiting in our darkened bedroom with the door closed. Not long after, I heard footsteps coming down the hall—two sets, hers and a man’s.

  I heard the door to the spare bedroom open and close, and I waited breathlessly, sitting there on the floor beside the vent. It didn’t take long for me to learn that the guy’s name was Eric. I heard the rustling of clothes and my wife’s soft moans and sighs as she became aroused.

  I then heard her crying out, “Yes, oh God, oh my, oh my,” and I knew that he was eating her out.

  He said, “Oh God, you taste incredible. Oh wow! Do you use a flavored douche, or what?”

  “No,” my wife said, chuckling. She added, “Thank you for saying that, though. I do try my best to keep myself very clean.”

  Next she was crying out, “Now, Eric, now! Oh God, Eric! You’ve got me so hot! Now, Eric, fuck me! I want to feel you inside me! Do it! Put it in me! Fuck me! Fuck me right now!”

  Eric then surprised me and, I must say, even earned some grudging points from me. Instead of just shoving his cock right in her, he took the time to ask Jane if she wanted him to use a rubber.

  “Not unless you want to,” she replied. “You don’t have anything, do you? I know I’m clean.”

  “And I know that I’m fine,” Eric said.

  “Okay,” Jane said, “then why don’t you go ahead and put it in me? One thing, though. You’ll have to pull out before you finish. I don’t want to take any chance of getting pregnant.”

  The next thing I heard, she was letting out a deep moan. I knew that Eric was inside her. As he proceeded with his fucking, she became extremely vocal. She cried out repeatedly in pleasure. She told him how big he was, and how great it felt to have his big, beautiful cock inside her.

  “Am I bigger than your husband?” Eric groaned.

  “Oh God, yes!” Jane said. “You’re much, much bigger!”

  Then he asked, “You like this better with me than with your husband, don’t you?” And she cried out, “Oh yes, yes, I do, yes! Yes!”

  She then kept telling him how she loved having his huge cock inside her. I was beating off like mad as I listened to my wife tell her lover how she loved him fucking her. The bedsprings squeaked as Eric pounded in and out of her.

  Next Jane cried out, “Oh God, I’m coming! Come with me, Eric! Come on, baby! Do it now! Come on, honey! Fill me up, baby!”

  Eric groaned and cried out, “Shit, coming, coming, I’m coming!” They moaned together as he emptied his balls in my wife’s pussy. At that same instant, I spurted gobs of come all over my hand and thighs. For a few moments there was silence. My heard was pounding so hard, I was afraid they could hear it.

  Then I heard the spent lovers talking.

  Eric sounded quiet but confident as he asked: “So you liked my big, bad fuck tool? Liked it better than your husband’s?”

  “Uh-huh,” Jane cooed. “Until tonight, I had only done this with him. It felt so much better with you.”

  Eric said, “Maybe you just graduated up to better and bigger things?”

  Jane giggled and said, “Maybe so. Though I doubt I could have got your big thing in back when I was a virgin. I guess my husband’s prick was the perfect size for a beginner. But I don’t think his prick will ever be enough for me now.”

  Eric sounded triumphant. “So you have graduated to bigger and better.”

  Jane laughed and said, “I guess I have.”

  It was no pleasure to hear my bride tell her stud he was a much better lover than me, and not a whole lot of fun to hear her describe me as being much less of a man in the penile department than he was. But it still excited me sexually to be eavesdropping on their postcoital conversation. I was riveted.

  A few minutes later, I heard Jane moaning again and the bedsprings squeaking again. I beat off again as Eric fucked my wife a second time. He fucked her four times before I finally heard him leave, a little after two in the morning.

  When Eric left, our bedroom door opened and my still-naked wife crawled in bed beside me. Jane snuggled against me, rubbing her wet pubic hair and slit against my thigh. In less than five minutes she was snoring. I put my arm over her and fell sound asleep, holding my gorgeous, very sexually satisfied wife.

  Eric became a regular visitor to our house. Then, a week after she met and bedded him, Jane brought home Sam, a guy she met at a local shopping mall. Two weeks later she brought Anthony home. She now had three stud lovers she would bring home and screw in the spare bedroom while I listened through the vent and jacked off in our darkened bedroom.

  Jane has now slept with an even dozen men during our marriage. She still sees Eric about twice a month or so. Sam and Anthony each screw her on average once a week, and she has a couple of other steady gentleman friends she gets it on with in her “adult playroom.”

  I have listened to her couple with all these guys regularly over the past five years. I still get off, not only on listening to the erotic sounds of the passionate lovemaking, but on the pill
ow talk after they make love.

  I have never directly met any of my wife’s boyfriends, and, as I said at the beginning, I’ve never actually seen any of them make love to her. But I’ve listened to her couple with each of her boyfriends many times, and I’ve overheard their conversation as they lie there in the satisfied afterglow. I’ve shared the intimacy of their talk after they’re all done fucking.

  When Jane’s lovers leave, she comes into our bedroom and snuggles up to me, rubbing her wet snatch and groin against my thigh. Some of the men do sleep over on occasion. In that case, most of the time she still manages to slip into our bedroom at some point. She takes my hand and puts it on her slot so I can feel her snatch. If her boyfriend is not spending the night, she will then cuddle with me, falling asleep in my arms, drifting into a deep, contented, sexually satisfied sleep.

  Jane and I continue to be two of Penthouse Letters’ biggest fans, and we will keep on buying and reading it, just as she will continue her extramarital liaisons and I will continue listening when she does. I am a big fan of your magazine, so keep printing all those wonderful, intimate letters.

  I am not a wife-watcher, as many men who write to you are, but who knows? Maybe someday I will be. I am something else, though. I am a listener. I may not get to watch my wife’s love-making, but I love listening to her make it with other men.

  So to all those horny wife-watching men out there, I have this message: Keep watching, and please keep those letters coming to Penthouse Letters so my wife and I can read all about your adventures and enjoy them along with you.

  I’ll be eagerly watching for more of your letters. While I do, I may not be watching my own wife, but I can promise you this: I’ll be listening to the action.—C.T., Durham, North Carolina

  A “PRIM, REPRESSED GIRL” RECALLS A COLLEGE AFFAIR THAT WAS ANYTHING BUT

  My husband thinks of himself as daring and uninhibited in everything, including sex—though I suspect he prefers talking about adventures to living them.

  After ten years of marriage he thinks he knows all about me. Since I’m not comfortable talking about sex, I know he’s sure I’m a prim, repressed Catholic girl who would never indulge in forbidden fruit. However, there’s a side of me he doesn’t know.

  Early in our married life, when I was still in graduate school, I had an affair. Chris was tall, athletic, very handsome—and also married. We met in a class and spent a lot of time together when we were assigned to collaborate on a project.

  One evening, after an afternoon of research, he asked me to his house for dinner. He revealed on the way that his wife was away for the weekend, but the news made no impression. We were just friends!

  After dinner we sat by the fire in his living room and talked for some time. Somehow—I still can’t say what happened—we found ourselves kissing passionately. He reached under my skirt and I instinctively opened my legs, wanting his hand against my crotch, his fingers inside my panties.

  I unzipped his pants—something I had never done before— wanting to hold his penis. We didn’t go to the bedroom or even undress. I lay back on the couch, lifted my hips so he could remove my panties and spread my legs. He mounted me, his pants still on.

  I’d had a few lovers, but the sensation of his cock in my vagina was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was as if we had been made to be together. We fucked quickly and both climaxed. Soon I felt his soft penis harden again. We both stripped, and fucked nude for a full hour until he exploded again.

  That was just the beginning. We were so desperate to touch and had so few opportunities to be alone that we never had the time to be inhibited or self-conscious. In our frenzy, we did things we had never done before.

  I had never sucked a cock until one night when we met at the library after a week apart. We went back into the stacks. I was so horny, I reached in his shorts for his cock, and before I knew what was happening, they were around his ankles and I was kneeling on the floor sucking his cock and playing with his balls.

  He had the most fabulously sensitive balls of any man I’ve been with, and he just went through the ceiling when I squeezed and licked and caressed them. I remember him leaning against a shelf moaning as I sucked the juices from his luscious cock. He shouted with pleasure as he shot his load into my warm, wanton mouth. I held his cock in my mouth for at least two minutes, not wanting to let it go.

  Even today I can’t help smiling when I think of myself kneeling in the library with his cock in my mouth. Perhaps my husband will read this letter and realize I’m not the innocent Catholic girl he thinks I am.—E.L., Santa Monica, California

  THEIR HUSBANDS LEARN THAT THE SWINGING GAME IS PLAYED BOTH WAYS

  My name is Debbie. I work in a Midwestern gym as a receptionist. I am twenty-four, medium height, with long, strong hair, and I am very fit. Working in a gym helps keep me in great shape, and a generous husband helps keep me draped in the height of fashion.

  My husband Warren and three childhood friends of his have a long-standing routine of getting together once a month for fun and drinks. They have always brought their wives along. Warren, Buck, Rex and Martin have many things in common—financial success and foxy wives half their age, to name two.

  One particular Friday night, we stayed out a bit late and drank a bit too much. The men had us going with suggestive conversation, and before long persuaded us to make the following Friday night a night of swinging.

  I got together with Mia, Honey, and Cheryl the next day. None of us had any great interest in making it with the other husbands. Wife-swapping was their fantasy. As we kicked it around, we wondered why only they should indulge their fantasies. A plan formed.

  What if we each invited a good-looking young man for Friday night? Our husbands might freak at the sight of them and abandon their plan, which was fine. Or they’d have to play along, allowing us to play with studs our own age. The more we talked, the more it sounded like a plan by which we could only win.

  We were all looking forward to Friday night. I think it was Honey who suggested a prize, to be decided later, should go to the one of us who showed up with the hottest date.

  I called the girls from the gym Friday afternoon to see that everything was in order. I was amazed to find them chickening out! I gave each an earful. How could they let the husbands get away with this sexist behavior?

  “Well, not me,” I told them.

  I rallied all of them, but it was too late for them to find men, I said I would bring a couple of well-muscled hunks from the gym. On Friday the guys are usually pumping themselves up for weekend action. So I watched as all those fit young men walked in and out of the gym. There were lots of studs, but I was looking for strangers who would make me melt with desire.

  I got nervous as my shift neared its close and I had found no candidates. I decided to hit the weight room on the way out and extend invitations to the best men I could find. But the gym was almost empty. I began to regret some of the guys I had passed over.

  Then I heard noise from the basketball court. Four guys, maybe eighteen or nineteen, were finishing a pickup game. They were in high spirits and sweating so heavily I could just about smell them from across the court.

  They were all about six feet and packed with beautifully sculpted muscles and not an ounce of fat. In their rugged way, especially with those athletic juices flowing, they were gorgeous. I could not have gotten my eyes off of them if I had wanted to.

  Their speech, with lots of “dese”s and “dem”s, said they were all working-class guys. I figured that that, in combination with their youth and hot looks, would drive the husbands crazy.

  They were slapping and teasing each other, the winners of the game obviously taunting the losers. As they caught their breath they finally noticed me. As I mustered my courage, I realized they were looking at me with deference. I was an “older woman” to them, and they had all flirted with me unsuccessfully in the past.

  I spoke with confidence. “Nice game, guys.”

  T
hey mumbled in confusion and embarrassment, thinking back, wondering what exactly I had seen.

  Their wet shirts and shorts clung to their powerful bodies. I turned the sexual heat way up. “Have you used up all your energy?” I asked.

  They looked confused.

  “Because I need some real men tonight,” I continued. “Men who can take care of some real women. You guys know any men you think might be up to the assignment?” From the attention they paid to their groins, it looked like they might indeed be “up” to it.

  A brave one found his tongue. “We’ve never had any complaints,” he said, clutching his crotch.

  Perfect, I thought! He had a dimple that was making my crotch wet. I chided myself for not noticing him before, or his cute friends.

  “Well, it looks like I might have to settle for you guys,” I said. I had written out copies of the address earlier. I handed them to the guy who had spoken and gave him the most suggestive smile I could manage.

  “There’s the address,” I said. “Be there at nine. Don’t disappoint me. I hate to be disappointed by men.”

  I stared all of them up and down. There was lots to look at. “Okay?” I said finally.

  The talker had passed the address slips around, and they took pains to keep them from being soaked in the sweat that still poured from their overheated bodies.

  “We’ll be there,” said the talker. “We’re curious to see if you know any real women.”

  “See you at nine then,” I said. My heart pounded and my head swam as I turned and slunk away. I barely made it to my car.

  That night I wore a one-piece backless dress, with six-inch strapped heels. I painted my face and did my hair like a princess. Arriving at the hotel room, I noticed the other girls’ seeming relief that I had no men in tow. I informed them that their dates were on their way, and our husbands wouldn’t like it—or them.

  After a few drinks our husbands began to talk openly about how they were into the wife-swapping. Warren had his sights set on Honey, who jumped to answer when there was loud knocking at the door.