My boyfriend came to the door looking mildly surprised by my outfit. It was unusual for me to take off my clothes so early in the evening. He followed me into the kitchen and we sat at the table. I showed him the magazine article.
“I've been reading this, and I want a man's opinion.”
“Really?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, trying to be serious. He is the reticent type and, usually, so am I. He wasn't used to me reading anything lighter than Newsweek. He glanced again at my outfit, my nipples showing plainly through the thin cotton.
“It's about a massage for men, and I want to know if it's something you'd like.” He couldn't hide his stunned expression.
I brought the subject up again after dinner, arid handed him the magazine opened to the article on massage. As he read silently, I loosened his clothing and slipped his pants down to his ankles. He began to stroke himself, but I insisted on taking over. I touched him just the way the article had described, first one hand running from the tip to the root, then from root to tip, ten times with each alternating hand and each stroke.
“Just a moment,” I told him, and ran to the kitchen to find some oil. He stayed on the couch. Olive oil was the handiest, and I prayed the odor wouldn't turn him off.
“Here,” I said on returning, and poured the oil over the tip as the article suggested. I stroked him repeatedly, switching hands every single stroke. I'd go outward ten, from the tip to the base of his root, then back, rhythmically. Evidently my motions suited him, He lay back on the sofa and raised his arms above his head, leaving himself totally vulnerable to my touch.
His eyes began to roll from side to side in ecstasy. His obvious descent into oblivion aroused me, too. As his excitement mounted, he reached out for me. To his surprise, I pushed him back to lie on the sofa and continued my hand motions stronger and more rhythmically. The oil seemed to be making him harder than I had ever seen him. I began to squeeze my thighs together in time with the rhythm I was jerking him to. As my hand went up and down on his cock, I could feel my pussy getting wetter. He moaned for me to pump him even harder, and I did until we both couldn't stand the tension anymore. I came with him as he spurted his load up to my mouth. I licked him clean.
The next day I got a phone call at my office. “Now I know why Popeye loved Olive Oyl,” he said. I found it difficult to keep a straight face as my next client entered my office.—T.E., San Francisco, California
Bondage and Discipline
A HAIR-RAZING TALE
A few weeks ago, my girlfriend, Carol, asked me to give her a ride home after work, since her car was in the shop. When I stopped by the hairstyling salon where she works, Carol was just finishing her last cut. I asked her and Becky, the other stylist, why they were still hard at work when Linda, the owner, had already gone home. One of them told me that she was in the back of the shop doing a stenciling job.
“What's a stenciling job?” I asked innocently. The girls just smiled and laughed. After considerable coaxing, Carol explained that Linda had several customers who wanted initials shaved into their pubic hair. I asked if that skill was one they had learned in school. Becky shot back, “No, but if you are volunteering to be my guinea pig, I am ready to learn.” I quickly declined. Just then, Linda and an attractive girl in her early twenties entered the main room. The girl paid Linda and left.
I struck up a conversation with Linda, kidding her about her favorite football team, Michigan, which had been losing recently. Feeling a little cocky, I asked her if she'd like to make a wager: “Linda, are you ready to lose a ten-spot on the Illinois-Michigan game?” I knew that Illinois had beaten Michigan easily in their first two meetings, and I also knew that Linda loved to gamble. Linda quickly agreed, and I thought I'd make an easy ten bucks, but she insisted that a third party hold the money to prevent collection problems. I tried to borrow the money from Carol, but she said that she didn't have enough money with her. Becky offered to put up the ten-spot, but made me promise that if Michigan won I would not only repay the loan but also allow her to practice her stenciling. I agreed without giving it too much thought.
To my surprise, Michigan won the game. The next day, Carol asked me for another ride home from work. When I arrived, Carol told me that she was running a little late and it would be at least forty-five minutes before she'd be through with the perm she was working on. “That's okay. He has a debt to pay off, anyway,” Becky quickly chimed in. I gave Becky the ten bucks I owed her, but refused to let her carve any initials in my pubes. Carol, Linda, and Becky bitched that I was a welsher. Unmoved, I grabbed the newspaper and sat in one of the empty chairs.
Linda disappeared and returned a short time later. She wandered over to me and pretended to look over my shoulder at the newspaper, but after a few seconds she grabbed my wrist and clamped a handcuff around it. She attached the other handcuff to the side of the chair. With the help of Becky, Linda snapped a second set of cuffs around my other wrist and attached that pair to the other side of the chair. For a few minutes I struggled futilely with my bonds, but I quickly realized that I wasn't going anywhere until they released me.
By now, all four women in the salon were laughing out loud! Carol explained the bet and its stakes to the lady whose hair she was perming. Then Becky asked the woman if she would be offended if payment were exacted before she left. “Be my guest,” was her response. “I've always felt that all just debts should be promptly paid when due.”
After locking the front door, Becky forced the chair that I was in to fully recline. She unbuckled, unsnapped, and unzipped my jeans. Linda tugged on one side of my pants, and Becky tugged on the other. Together they easily pulled them off.
Becky reached between my legs to grasp the crotch of my briefs, and yanked them off with one swift motion, tearing them in the process. The customer loudly gasped, “Oh, my God, you have to move me so I can see his crotch.”
With one hand, Becky pulled my rock-hard erection down between my legs. With the other she grabbed the scissors and trimmed all my pubic hair to about one-half inch in length. Then she placed the “K” stencil slightly above and to the right of the base of my prick. Becky combed out all the hair exposed by the opening forming the “K,” then cut that hair as short as she could. Next, a pink gel was painted over the stencil. When the stencil was removed, a pink “K” covered the remaining stubble. Becky selected a straight razor and carefully shaved the pink area until it was completely smooth. The “L” stencil was placed just above and to the left of the base of my cock, and the process was repeated.
When she finished the second initial, Becky stood back to admire her work and to get a review from the audience. The newly permed lady got up and traced the shaved area on my abdomen with her index finger. “Why, it's just as smooth as a baby's behind,” she remarked.
Carol complained, “You know, he should really have to pay some kind of penalty for trying to welsh on the deal.”
“Yes,” Becky agreed, “but I guess we had better just clean him up for now.”
Becky washed my pubic area with soap and water to remove the remnants of the gel. However, she was not satisfied with cleaning just my pubic hair; she soaped and stroked my bulging cock as well. I came very quickly, shooting several gobs of sperm on Becky's hand. She promptly wiped it on my thigh and rubbed it in.
When Miss Perm realized what had happened, she lamented, “Damn it, if you were going to jerk him off, I sure wish you would have said something so I could have positioned myself to watch him shoot his wad.” Linda appeased her by announcing that she would release my right hand, but, until I had brought myself to yet another climax, she would not release my left hand.
While I was recovering from the shock, Becky went to her car to get her Polaroid instant camera. She took several pictures of her handiwork, making sure that each woman had at least one.
“Okay, Kevin, let's see you beat your meat,” giggled Linda. I slowly slid my hand up and down my limp shaft. Miss Perm lent some assistance un
til I was hard, but then handed me my erection, saying, “It's your show, shoot for the stars.” With the ladies urging me on, I stroked myself with increasing speed and intensity. Becky stood with her camera at the ready. As my prick was engulfed with come, Becky began to take snapshots as my cock continued to pump spurt after spurt. Becky's camera just kept clicking. Carol now tells me that Becky has a lovely pictorial of my payoff displayed in the back room of the salon for all to see. My hair's grown back now, but I'll be damned if Carol ever gets another ride home.—K.L., Gary, Indiana
MEMORIES AFTER MIDNIGHT
How can someone adequately describe the freedom you are granted when you subject yourself to another's will? It is almost impossible to describe the release obtained in turning your body over to another's total control! If you are lucky enough to find the right master, you will experience such sexual ecstasy that you will be hooked for life!
On my part, my initiation into master/slave possibilities began innocently enough. But my master, being the adept student of female natures that he is, saw the possibilities in our relationship from the start.
I had known Jesse for a while before anything even remotely sexual in nature ever happened between us. The first time that I found myself in his bed he went easy on me.
Kissing me passionately, our tongues caressing, his hands slipped down to my breasts and he began to gently tug and rub his thumb on the tips of my nipples. Shivers of excitement started to run down my spine, sending bolts of pure lust straight to my pussy. I was dying for him to just touch me there, in the most sensitive part of my being.
Slipping his hands over my hips, and stroking my inner thighs with a feather-light touch, he removed his lips from mine and kissed his way down my neck until his lips fastened on the hardened nub of my nipple. Quite unexpectedly he bit down on that tender bit of flesh, releasing it only to softly chuckle at my shocked gasp! Smiling at me wickedly, he returned his mouth to its task while a finger found its way through the moist fold of my outer lips, then into the dark wetness of my cunt. Oh God! What a feeling his talented fingers brought to me, as his teeth tantalized my aching nipples.
I was really amazed to discover that after the initial shock, his mouth and teeth only brought even greater pleasure as he intensified the force which he used on my nipples. My hips bucked against his hand as I strove for even deeper penetration. Due to the combined sensations from his teeth and his fingers buried deep within me, I was brought with unexpected speed to orgasm. Muscles inside my cunt began contracting, spasming uncontrollably around his fingers, and my breathing turned to ragged gasps while I humped his hand to one of the best orgasms I'd had in a long, long time.
While my breathing was quieting, and my heartbeat returning to normal, Jesse just kind of smiled with a knowing sort of look on his face. Then, with an air of innocence, he suggested that I let him restrain me. Holy shit! I almost came right then and there, as this had been a fantasy of mine for just about forever, but I'd never had the nerve to come out and ask anyone for it for fear of their reaction. Here, at last, my longed-for fantasy was being fulfilled.
Tied spread-eagle to his bed, my eyes obscured beneath a black satin blindfold, my body felt everything with an intensity that I had never known before. I had given to Jesse any control that I might have had over my body, and I was free to just experience the multitude of pleasures that his skill promised. All inhibitions fled me as I responded to his every touch.
First he took something (it felt like a tasseled cord) and started to brush it lightly between my thighs, and over my exposed and now gaping pussy. Using both hands, he pulled apart the outer lips of my pussy, spreading wide that most sensitive area. He started telling me what a nice cunt I had. I had never been so closely examined by anyone before, and it excited me wildly! When he flicked that tassel against my open gap I started coming and coming and coming, as my pussy was begging for him to put something inside it. It felt wonderfully nasty to lie there anticipating his next move, knowing I was helpless to do anything but blindly wait for whatever would come next.
Descending with a much greater force, the cord now lashed its way across my breasts. Gasping, I found myself arching my back to give my breasts even greater access to the punishment Jesse was administering. Unexpectedly the cord changed its target and descended to the swollen bud of my elit. Again my cunt started spasming, sending me over the edge. I screamed in ecstasy until I felt as if I would pass out from the sheer intensity of my sensations.
Even though I had fantasized about bondage, I never realized that the fine line between pleasure and pain could be crossed with such ease. I never imagined that I could be brought to a place where I not only desired pain, but I even begged for it. Jesse had Jesse had initiated me into what he knew that my body desired, and in doing so had made me into his sexual slave. I had never known such freedom and desire as he taught me that night, and continues to teach me to this day.
Since then, my master has shaved my whole pubic area (so it will be open to his gaze, and more sensitive to the touch of his whip). He's used nipple clamps on me and, on a particularly memorable night, he lashed both my nipples and clit with a riding crop before sliding it partially into my cunt. Then he had me suck my own tangy juices off the leather crop as he finger-fucked my ass.
My master tells me that my next initiation is my virgin ass! When I learn to beg real nicely for his cock to bury itself deep within my asshole, he says that I will be really and truly his slave.
I'm begging, master ... I'm begging! Can't you see the way the little rosebud of my asshole is begging for the attention of your massive organ? Maybe if he reads this in your magazine my master will finally believe in my submission to him, and will indulge his slave's desire for him by fucking her in the ass! —S.B., San Diego, California
COME NOW
“I'm afraid that I'm going to come,” I whimpered.
“You should be,” came her calm, patronizing reply.
I strained against the leather straps holding my body spread-eagle against the wall while this blond leather-clad goddess vigorously rubbed my erect cock.
“Don't you come until I give you my permission, or I'll paddle your ass.”
“Oh, mistress, I'm afraid I'm going to come.”
“You should be ...”
Two hours earlier I had been led into the basement by a man who had instructed me to remove all of my clothing. I placed my monetary offering in the wooden bowl and knelt to face the doorway, waiting for my mistress to arrive.
As I knelt there on the floor, I glanced around the dimly lit room. There were large contraptions of wood and leather against the wall. I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into, when I heard voices and the sound of hard heels on the step. Then she came to stand in the doorway.
She gave me a cursory glance, then looked around the room. I felt strange kneeling there, naked under her gaze. She was tall with long blond hair and wore only black: an opened vest that allowed glimpses of her otherwise bare breasts, a skirt with heavy metal zippers on both sides, high-heeled black boots.
She stalked past me and sat down in a thronelike chair, demanding that I turn toward her. I pivoted awkwardly on my knees and came to sit at her feet as she started to read the letter of application I had sent her. She asked me questions to which I was allowed to answer only yes or no. When I nervously responded “yeah” to one question I got a warning sting from her riding crop.
“You will address me as Mistress or Ma'am. Is that clear?”
I looked down at my nakedness and said, “Yes, ma'am.”
“That's better. Now stand up. Now turn for me—very slowly.”
I did as she told me, allowing her to view my body at her leisure. When I was halfway around she told me to stop. I heard her move in her chair, then felt the light touch of her gloved fingers run up the back of my leg. I shivered as she touched my buttock and felt a thrilling stir in the end of my penis as it started to swell.
“Keep turning,” she
commanded. I turned the rest of the way until, once again, I faced her.
“Well,” she said, eyeing my semi-erect cock, “you're quite sensitive. That's good.” She reached up to stroke my nipples, and I shivered again as they immediately stiffened. She gave a small smile.
She left the room for a moment and returned with several leather straps. I watched as she handled the instruments of bondage and discipline—my bondage and my discipline.
“Did you bring any panties?”
I was taken aback. “Just the ones I wore,” I answered, not used to thinking of my underwear as panties.
“Let me see them,” she commanded harshly.
Without turning my back to her, as I was instructed earlier, I retrieved my briefs from the hook I had hung them on. They were designer briefs of sheer white stretch nylon. I handed them to her.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, holding them up. “These look like a man's panties. Put them on.” She watched as I fitted them over my ass.
She reached out and lightly felt my ass through the smooth, tight nylon, then stroked the bulge in front, which expanded at her touch.
“You like how they feel anyway?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Now come here,” she demanded, positioning me in the middle of the room. She roughly fastened broad leather straps on each of my wrists. Turning me around, she fastened my wrists together behind my back, then turned me to face her again. I felt a twinge of fear as I stood there, feeling even more naked with my hard-on so obvious in my sheer nylon briefs. With my hands shackled, I was completely vulnerable.
She smiled and grasped the elastic waistband of my pants and pulled the briefs down under my balls. She squeezed the sensitive tip of my cock between her thumb and fingers. Flicking it, she laughed as my cock jumped. I felt helpless.
She took a strap of rawhide and bound my genitals so that my balls protruded in a tight little hairy package and my cock seemed even more swollen. She spread my legs as she buckled leather cuffs on each ankle. “You have nice legs,” she said. “How do you think they would look in nylon stockings?”
Letters to Penthouse III Page 15