Later that day I went over to see Beryl, but she was out shopping. Jerry was there by himself. He invited me in and offered me a drink. Jerry said that Beryl had told him all about our night out. I saw how he was looking at me and remembered how I’d teased him the night before. Still feeling mischievous, I went up to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. He pulled me closer to him, and his tongue slid in my mouth.
I melted against him and kissed him back. I felt his hard-on against my stomach. Then I remembered my promise to Howie.
“Wait a minute,” I said, pulling away from him. “Listen, Jerry, if you want to go on with this, you’ll have to come home with me, so Howie can watch us. Okay?”
He was kind of hesitant at first, but I convinced him by giving him another kiss, putting everything I had in it! Twenty minutes later we were in my bedroom, with Howie watching avidly as Jerry and I swiftly stripped each other.
We got on the bed in a 69 position, and as I took Jerry’s long slender dick eagerly in my mouth, I felt his lips and tongue devouring my pussy. I was building toward a climax when the phone rang. Howie answered it.
“It’s Beryl,” he said to me. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Tell her I’m busy fucking her husband,” I said. “And tell her if she wants to, she can come over here and fuck mine. Would you like that, Howie?”
“Damn right!” Howie said, and proceeded to deliver the message.
When Beryl showed up, I was on my knees on the bed, with Jerry taking me doggie-style as I sucked Howie’s cock. It was such a thrill to have two cocks inside me at once, something I had never done before. But I couldn’t blame Howie for pulling out of my mouth and turning to Beryl as she got herself naked and joined us.
Watching my husband fuck my best friend made my own fucking more exciting than ever, and I went through a whole series of orgasms. Now I understood why Howie had wanted to watch me with another man.
By the time the four of us had fucked ourselves out that afternoon, we all agreed that Beryl and I should be going out on the town more often.
—H.V., Gary, Indiana
AN AFTER-WORK GET-TOGETHER GIVES TWO COWORKERS THE CHANCE TO GET TOGETHER
Recently some people from my office and I decided to spend a “mellow” Friday evening together after work instead of our usual rowdy, loud night out. We met up at a restaurant where a live band plays on weekends. We had enjoyed some stimulating conversation, an excellent dinner and several rounds of drinks. We started out as a small and intimate group of seven, but after a while, as more and more people left, our group dwindled down to just Timothy and me, like I was hoping it would.
We were left sitting there across the table from each other. He was drinking a whiskey, neat, and I was drinking a cold glass of white zinfandel. I had known for quite some time that Timothy is a man of few, very carefully chosen words, but I’ve found him verbal enough to confirm my idea that his brain is just as powerful and sexy as his body. We had mostly been talking about our jobs, the latest movies, all of the general topics. After we stopped making small talk, the conversation became more and more personal. We spoke about our relationships, our goals and our dreams. And, as usually happens when I’m having a long talk with someone, the most interesting subject of all finally came up: sex.
At first we were just speaking in general terms, about the different philosophies men and women have about sex (how it’s about romance for the woman, conquest for the man). Soon enough we were casually talking about our first experience, the best, the most dangerous place that we’d had sex, and we quickly got into a discussion of our preferences, desires and fantasies. Not wanting to come off as too slutty, I shared a few of my tamer fantasies with Timothy first. I was tempted to tell him that lately my sexual fantasies had all been centered on him, but I thought the better of it and decided to wait until just the right time to make my move.
As we talked, my state of excitement increased. I was having difficulty sitting still and my panties were absolutely soaked with intense sexual longing. Even though I was listening carefully to what he was saying, I longed to reach out and stroke his hands. I couldn’t help but notice the shape of his fingers—they were long as well as thick. I was tormenting myself over comparing his fingers with other parts of his anatomy!
I vaguely wondered if my facial expression was betraying how fascinated I was with him and his body. I noticed that the pupils in his sexy brown eyes had dilated during our discussion, generally an indication that a man likes what he sees. I desperately wanted to glance down at his lap to see if our discussions had aroused him as much as they had me. I wanted to prove my theory that the size and shape of a man’s fingers match the size and shape of his dick, but I held back, partly out of anxiety and partly because I wanted to let the suspense build.
The three-piece band was playing a sensual, bluesy song and Timothy asked if I’d like to dance. It was getting late and there were only a few couples left in the restaurant. I thought for a second and, thinking it might be fun, agreed.
We had come straight from the office, so we were both still in our work clothes. I was wearing a skirt, a sheer blouse and heels, while Timothy was in a dark suit and a white shirt that accented his dark hair, which is streaked with gray at the temples. My spike heels made up for some of the difference in our height.
So there I was, inches away from the chest I had spent months fantasizing about as Timothy held me in the usual dancing pose with the usual polite, required space between us. I can’t tell you how desperately I wanted to hold him close and crush my breasts against his chest. I wanted to caress his body to see if his pecs were as hard as they appeared. Several months earlier, I had “accidentally” touched his bulging biceps and had begun to wonder if his entire body was as hard as the muscles I had encountered.
Most men would describe my figure as voluptuous. My best assets are my eyes and my breasts. My husband has told me that I have bedroom eyes. My C-cup breasts are topped by half-dollar-size, plum-colored areolae. My nipples are always erect and protrude almost a whole inch from my breasts (I know because my husband has measured them). When I wear a sheer blouse, I always have to wear a chemise, but you can still see my areolae through my bra, chemise and blouse. I generally have to wear a sweater, vest or some sort of jacket over my sheer blouse in professional situations.
With my face buried in Timothy’s neck, I soon noticed that he smelled faintly of soap and good whiskey. He moved seductively while we danced—nothing fancy, but there was an athletic grace to his movements that had aroused me for the several months I’d been watching him. We each put a bit of sexual innuendo into our movements. On some level, we both knew where we wanted this to lead.
Halfway through the second song, my willpower gave out. I carefully eased myself forward in his arms, brushing my stiff nipples against the front of his shirt. The way he inhaled, quickly and deeply, boosted my self-confidence. I almost came right on the spot. Timothy eased me closer and I felt his arousal against my belly. Only sheer willpower kept me from grinding my body into his. It was hard, but I had to remind myself that I was in a public place, in a city where I was well-known as a happily married woman. As much as I wanted to I couldn’t take the chance of getting caught.
When he eased me closer, my left hand, which had been resting on his shoulders, caressed the back of his neck. Timothy wears his hair longer on the back and sides than most men do in his white-collar profession, and I gently stroked it. His hair was soft against my fingers. I brought my hand to the front of his shirt and began to caress the sexy spot that lies between a man’s pecs. I could feel how well-defined his muscles were. In my mind I undid all the buttons on the front of his shirt. I couldn’t even imagine if his chest would be hairless or covered with hair, or if the hair would be black or sexily starting to gray, but I was dying to find out.
His hand had been resting on the small of my back when he tightened his hold, bringing my body flush against his. A shudder went through me like a li
ghtning bolt when he first touched me. We both took ragged breaths. I leaned my forehead against the front of his shirt and forced my breathing to slow.
“I think we should either stop before this gets us into trouble or get out of here and find someplace more private,” I whispered. He let out a sexy, confident grin and offered his arm as we headed back to the table. He placed several bills under the ashtray and we nonchalantly headed out the door.
I had left my car toward the back of the parking lot, around the corner from the main entrance. He walked next to me but didn’t make contact. As we rounded the corner, Timothy grabbed my hand and firmly but gently pushed my back against the wall of the building, his hands resting on the wall on each side of my head. I looked up at him in anticipation of his next move. He looked down at me intently while he lowered his mouth to mine, as if judging my agreement.
Our first kiss was tentative and gentle, the soft hairs of his mustache heightening the sensation. He quickly deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the outline of my lips. “Give me your tongue,” he growled huskily. I quickly surrendered. The kiss seemed to go on forever. It was extremely erotic in the sense that only our mouths were touching. There was an unspoken agreement that no other touching would be allowed until we were alone. He straightened himself up, grabbed me by the hand and said, “Let’s get out of here.” Then he escorted me to his silver Thunderbird, ushered me into the front seat and we drove off to begin our night together.
It was a quiet ten-minute drive to his house. When we got inside he poured me a glass of wine and got himself a whiskey and Coke. I wandered around his living room, checking different things for some clues to his personality. The intentional starkness of his house indicated that he was a man who was comfortable with his masculinity, while the rare and impulsive splashes of color indicated he had a sensual side.
He put on a blues CD and asked me to dance again. I knew it was now or never. My legs were trembling as I walked into his arms. We once again assumed a polite position, but this time he immediately eased me forward into his embrace. He began chastely kissing me and caressing my back. I ran my hands and fingers over his chest and upper arms and settled myself into the hair on the back of his head. I reached up and started to undo his tie. Once it was loose enough I slipped it up over his head and tossed it onto the couch. I unbuttoned his dress shirt and pulled his shirttails out of his pants, then watched breathlessly as he took it off. He was wearing an undershirt so I still was frustrated at not being able to see all of his chest, but I knew I would see it soon enough.
He undid the top three buttons on my blouse, exposing my cleavage and the top of my lacy chemise. He slowly ran his finger over my breast where it meets the top of my chemise, then undid the rest of my blouse and pulled it off. I slowly but deliberately pulled his undershirt over his head, laughing softly as I struggled with it.
Finally! There was the beautiful chest that I had spent so many lazy hours fantasizing about. It was well-muscled and sprinkled with a layer of sexy black hair, just like I hoped it would be. A thin line of black hair ran from his chest down his washboard stomach to his navel, disappearing into his pants. I traced my finger down the hair and started to unfasten his belt buckle. I leaned forward and took his nipples into my mouth, one by one.
My chemise went next, then my bra. Timothy’s eyes sparkled as he got a good look at my breasts. The feeling of his hairy chest against my breasts when he pulled me close to him made my heart pound and my legs start to shake. Our hands were all over each other. I could feel him trembling. Our kisses became more and more labored until both of us were breathing heavily. He sucked on my tongue and rubbed his lips softly against mine, whispering how sexy I was and how much he wanted me. I’m not sure how the rest of our clothes disappeared, but soon enough we found ourselves naked.
I remember thinking briefly that my theory was right. His penis was long, thick and hard, just like the fingers that had intrigued me for months. Timothy had a thick, dark thatch of wiry pubic hair surrounding the base of his manhood. I cupped his balls in my palm and swirled my finger through the droplets of pre-come beading at the tip of his penis before wrapping my hand around his shaft.
I wanted to fuck him so badly. I tried to pull him down to the Oriental rug so we could get down to it. He chuckled against my mouth.
“Aren’t we even going to the bedroom?” he asked.
“There’s no time,” I replied. “I need you to fuck me now.”
We paused long enough to pull a condom out of his wallet, and I helped him slip it on. I lay back and pulled him on top of me, my legs spread wide. He laid his body over mine, bracing his weight on his forearms. His penis lay against my slippery opening, driving me to distraction for wanting him inside me. He thrust his cock into me and we both moaned with a temporary sense of relief. I knew that the best was yet to come.
He began thrusting long and deep and slow. I knew I would come easily and I urged him to fuck me harder and faster. The tingling started slowly, in the depths of my body, until my orgasm finally reached the boiling point and overtook me. He looked briefly surprised when I groaned, “I’m coming.” I watched his face as I began that slide into the few seconds of oblivion which an orgasm provides me with. My climax was hard and prolonged; I hadn’t come that strongly in a long time. A few hard, quick thrusts later, Timothy’s body tensed and tightened. I could feel his penis pulse as he came. He moaned slowly in my ear, a sensual feast that I love to hear but don’t get to experience enough with my husband.
After we had both climaxed, we slowly came down to earth. I noticed that my backside was feeling wonderful. I loved the feel of the rug rubbing against my skin causing a sexual friction that sent me into the throes of delirium. Our bodies sweaty and sticky only heightened the passion. Timothy eased his penis from inside of me. It was still rock-hard, which I found pretty amazing for a guy in his late forties. He discarded the condom and pulled me into the bathroom.
We showered together, soaping each other up and caressing all the delicious spots we had missed earlier in our rush for that first orgasm. He stayed erect during the shower, giving me the opportunity to lick and suck his glorious penis and balls. His moans told me he was enjoying what I was doing. He was surprisingly talkative during our foreplay, giving me lots of explicit directions about what he wanted and lots of praise when I did it. I whispered that the erotic noises he made when we were fucking turned me on all the more.
When we hit the bed, we began discovering each other’s body all over again, only with a little more finesse. He spent a lot of time caressing my nipples with his tongue, which quickly brought me back to the brink of orgasm. I was writhing on the bed underneath him, desperate to have his cock back inside me. He caressed and licked my entire body except the one spot I needed licked to help make me come. A few excruciating, heavenly minutes later, I was pleading with him to get me off.
Together we applied another condom and then I got down on my hands and knees. He eased his cock into me and began to slowly pump in and out. It was a sensual delight—the noise of his balls slapping against my butt, the slide of male against female, the musky smell of our sexual juices mixing together. All at once I felt a finger softly rubbing against my clitoris and another pressing at the opening to my ass, catapulting me into a series of climaxes. My orgasm put him over the edge, and he groaned as he released another load of come.
That night was the first of many that Timothy and I were able to spend together, and it was one that I won’t soon forget. Many times real life doesn’t come close to my fantasies, but that one managed to exceed all my expectations.
—L.B., Cincinnati, Ohio
er: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
Letters to Penthouse XVI Page 30