Begin Reading
Table of Contents
Newsletters
Copyright Page
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
IT CAN’T REALLY HURT IF IT
FEELS THIS GOOD
Begin with a blushing bride on her honeymoon, where she and her lucky groom enjoy the literal bonds of matrimony. Continue with dozens of daring ladies playing provocative games of submission and domination. And heat it up with some sultry S&M acolytes down in New Orleans. Some satisfy their hunger with longtime lovers, others prowl for like-minded strangers, but all of them can’t wait to tell you their kinkiest little secrets. Agony and ecstasy never felt so good.
Introduction
Women love kinky sex—and they love to talk about it. But that’s no surprise to the readers of Penthouse. They’ve long enjoyed the erotic confessions of ladies who crave the sweet surrender of submission, the heady thrill of domination, and the sublime pleasure of sexual fetishes. This edition of Letters to Penthouse presents these women’s wildest adventures in their own words—and their torrid tales are anything but vanilla. From sex slaves with a penchant for pain to dommes wielding wicked whips, these ladies lay bare their lust and spill all the debaucherous details.
This collection kicks off with the steamy story of a blushing bride who recounts her honeymoon, in which she and her new husband enjoy the bonds of matrimony. She’s one of many ladies who choose to explore their decadent fantasies by playing games of dominance and submission. Some satisfy their carnal appetites with long-time lovers, while others look for like-minded strangers, but these women have one thing in common: They can’t wait to tell you their kinky little secrets.
Barbara Pizio
Executive Editor
Penthouse Variations
Blushing Bride Enjoys the Bonds of Matrimony
Most people think that wedding-night sex should be simple and romantic, very traditional. But Will and I aren’t exactly a regular couple, and we couldn’t let our special night be anything less than perfect—perfectly kinky, that is.
Like other brides, I packed my overnight bag with white, lacy lingerie and pristine stockings, all brand-new and only for Will to see. And underneath the wedding-night lingerie were silk scarves—all black, in stark contrast to my ensemble—and a pair of silver handcuffs. As I mentioned, my husband and I aren’t exactly your run-of-the-mill couple.
As soon as we entered the honeymoon suite in the hotel that night, I had Will unzip my dress, and I ducked into the bathroom to quickly change into my lingerie while he stripped himself. My wedding-night outfit consisted of a garter belt and white stockings, and a white, ribbed corset. I pulled my hair down and let it cascade over my shoulders, checked my makeup in the mirror, and went back into the bedroom to join my husband. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with the silk ties in one hand and the handcuffs in the other, clearly ready to get down to business.
He stood up when he saw me, and I saw his dick twitch in his boxers. It was obvious my ensemble aroused him, and I smiled, glad I’d at least taken the traditional route in dressing up for our first night together as husband and wife. We shared a deep, passionate kiss, and I could tell how much he wanted me from that simple gesture. As I leaned into him, I felt his dick growing against my body, and I knew I’d be enjoying more than his kisses in a minute.
Will dropped the handcuffs on the bed and slipped his free hand between my legs, letting his fingers probe my pussy. I got wet fast, his ministrations bringing me quickly to an aroused state. As he fingered me, he guided me toward the bed, his body moving this way and that until I fell onto the mattress. I moved toward the middle of the bed and got on my back as soon as Will let me, and that’s when things went from average to explosive.
My husband locked the handcuffs around my wrists first, the chain between them looping around a slat in the headboard. The hard, cold metal felt incredible in contrast with the delicate garments I’d been wearing all day, and I couldn’t wait for him to start tying the silk scarves.
With my hands pulled up over my head, Will ran his hand down my body, teasing me as he moved to the foot of the bed, where he fastened each of my ankles to the bedposts. As he pulled the scarves tight around my limbs, I felt my entire body tingle, and my cunt began to throb. I could feel the wetness of my pussy as my juices began to dribble out of me, and I wondered if Will could see my arousal between my legs. Not that he needed to see my dripping pussy to know how turned on I was—my moans made it pretty obvious.
As soon as he’d secured my ankles to the bedposts, Will climbed onto the bed with me and started to crawl up my body. I wanted to grab him and pull him to me, force him to kiss me—to fuck me—but I couldn’t. The most I could do was writhe under his touch and beg for more, and I certainly did both.
“Please, Will, fuck me!” I begged. “I need to feel you inside me!”
But he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted so easily. Instead he straddled me, his boxers still on, and teased me. He traced lines over my corset with his fingertips, and he leaned in to place featherlight kisses on my face. I was breathing hard, my breasts heaving against my corset’s boning, and my pussy was practically gushing as I waited impatiently for my new husband to start fucking me.
I struggled against my bonds as I tried to get closer to Will—to no avail. He’d tied me up tight, and there was no way for me to gain the upper hand. But the struggle made the silk ties tighten around my ankles and the metal of the handcuffs press against my wrists, and feeling that resistance turned me on even more. There was no way for me to get my mind off of what was happening now. If Will didn’t take off his shorts and fuck me soon, I was going to go crazy.
Will lay on top of me, and I felt his hard shaft pressing against me through his boxers. I wanted him more than I ever had before, and he could feel it. He still wasn’t going to give in to my pleas for his cock, though, and instead I felt one of his fingers work its way between my wet folds. His digit thrust right up inside me, and my back arched as he pleasured my pussy. Each time he wiggled his finger, my body would respond, twisting this way and that to get more, and every movement caused my bonds to pull me back into place. It was an impossible struggle, but my heart pounded as it aroused me more and more.
By the time Will took off his shorts, I was already on the verge of an explosive orgasm. He slid easily into my wet cunt, and he finally started to fuck me. With each thrust, I was reminded of my bindings, and waves of pleasure washed over me every time I tried to move. Bending my knees pulled at the silky ankle bonds, and reaching for my husband made the metal cuffs tug at my wrists. Even the corset I wore seemed restrictive, and I relished the pressure it created.
My husband was still on top of me, thrusting deep into my waiting pussy, and I pumped my hips in time with his, needing to be closer to him. The more we moved against each other, the tighter the handcuffs and ankle ties seemed, and it felt delicious. I didn’t want the sensations to stop, and I worked myself into a frenzy of passion as I fucked Will enthusiastically.
I’d been on the edge ever since Will had climbed into bed with me, and finally I went over it, crying out happily as I climaxed. It was the most explosive orgasm of my life, and I bucked against my husband—and my bonds—as the feelings of ecstasy rushed through my body. Will
came a minute later, thrusting into me one last time before filling me with his cream.
Even after he untied me and stripped me of my corset, I could still feel the lingering sensation of my bonds, and I loved it. I fell asleep with my husband’s arms wrapped around me, and I dreamed of all the kinky sex games we would play on our honeymoon. As far as I was concerned, it was the perfect start to our marriage.
—Ms. Jasmine K., Via Email
Everyone’s a Winner When They Play Wheel of Misfortune
My husband, Dave, is infatuated with Vanna White. If there is one program that he will not miss, it is Wheel of Fortune. I know Vanna looks great, but I’m not chopped liver. At first, my husband’s obsession with the game-show hostess annoyed me, but it didn’t take me long to realize that his “crush” was harmless to our marriage. In fact, as I began to daydream, I realized that his interest in Vanna could actually improve our sex life. My devious mind began working overtime, and I decided to combine our multiple interests: Dave’s love of Vanna and our mutual interest in dominance and submission.
Dave is thirty-five and I’m thirty-nine. My body is great, and I get many compliments and longing glances from the men in our neighborhood. I fill out a bikini nicely with a shapely 36-29-34 body, and I’m proud to say that I look as hot as I did when Dave and I first met nearly fifteen years ago. Our sex life has been wonderful throughout our entire relationship, mainly because we both love to indulge in Dave’s favorite fetish: spanking. Early on in our courtship, he admitted to me how much he loved being paddled by a beautiful woman, and since I’d long had a desire to dominate men, his fetish perfectly dovetailed with my own.
As I mused about his infatuation with Vanna and how I could make it work to my advantage, I decided to devise my own special game, one that I’d call “Wheel of Misfortune.”
While Dave was on a business trip on the West Coast, I checked out a rummage sale at a local church. Among the items offered was a gambling wheel that had been used for fundraisers. It was perfect for what I had in mind. Barely able to contain my amusement, I purchased the wheel and lugged it home in our minivan. It sure would have been helpful to have Dave’s assistance, but that would have completely ruined the surprise!
Once home, I set up the wheel in the den. I taped over the existing numerals on it and added my own. The numbers ranged from 10 to 100, and I repeated the digits until every other space was filled. Underneath each number, I added photos of our different spanking implements that I had taken with my digital camera, such as a riding crop, a belt, a rectangular leather slapper, and a Ping-Pong paddle. In the remaining blank spaces, I pasted pictures of sex toys, including a blindfold, nipple clamps, and a butt plug.
In the ceiling in front of the wheel, I screwed two eyebolts into a crossbeam, so I could chain Dave’s cuffed wrists over his head. Being frugal, I made a spreader bar for his legs from a broomstick, two eyebolts, and two ankle cuffs, and it was easy to make an impromptu gag by wrapping a sock around a length of clothesline. I hid my toys away and covered the wheel with a sheet, barely able to wait until the big reveal.
In keeping with his infatuation, Dave called me from the airport and asked that I record Wheel of Fortune for him. His flight was going to be late, and the poor dear was worried that he was going to miss his show. I assured him I would, and I eagerly awaited his arrival.
Later that evening, Dave walked in the door with his suitcase. After a quick kiss, he was off to the television in the den to get his daily dose of Vanna. When he got there, he called out to me and asked what was under the sheet. I followed him into the den and told him that if he wanted to watch his show, he had to follow my directions. I snatched up the leather cuffs from their hiding place, and Dave observed me with a smile as I buckled them around his wrists, and suddenly he became much more interested in me than the television.
When both cuffs were fastened, I pulled his shirt off and strung him up to the crossbeam. He looked at me with a lustful grin as I removed his shoes, socks, pants, and briefs. Once he was completely naked, I attached the spreader bar to his ankles. By the time I’d finished securing his bonds, he had a huge erection. Knowing that Dave was secure and wouldn’t be going anywhere, I excused myself and went to our bedroom to slip into a vivid red evening gown and matching four-inch red high heels. I quickly styled my hair, applied my makeup, and confidently strode back into the den.
When I returned to my bound hubby, I removed the sheet to reveal the “Wheel of Misfortune,” and he gasped in surprise. Before he could ask any more questions, I announced that we were ready to play my game. I switched on the DVR and started to play that night’s show. After the first toss-up round, I paused the show and spun my wheel. It swirled around several times and landed on a space marked with a twenty-five and a belt. I administered twenty-five lashes to Dave’s ass, making him count each one out loud. He swayed in his bonds, rocking in time with each lick of the belt as his swollen cock danced in front of him. The belt was wide and it only marginally reddened his cheeks, and I know that for him, the whipping was over far too soon. I assured him that the night was still young—we still had the whole show to watch!
I pressed “play” on the remote, so we could watch the next round, after which I paused the show and spun my wheel again. Dave’s next treat was thirty-five whacks with a Ping-Pong paddle. In the middle of his paddling, Dave began to moan and futilely buck his hips, his hungry cock seeking some sort of contact. I told him that all of that noise was distracting me, so I stuffed my makeshift gag into his mouth and finished delivering the thirty-five swats. Now his ass had a little more color, and his cock was harder than I’d ever seen it. I could tell that Dave was enjoying my game.
The third round delivered a minor reprieve for my husband’s well-spanked cheeks because the wheel landed on the photo of a five-inch butt plug. I greased up the toy and slowly pushed it into his rectum, relishing his moans of delight. After a few moments of fucking his ass with the toy, I switched the DVR back on for the bonus round and asked Dave if he was ready. He nodded, his cheeks flushed and his cock still enticingly erect.
I told Dave if the contestant won, he would also get a prize: another spin of my wheel and a special treat. If the contestant lost, then Dave would have to wait an entire month before he was allowed to have an orgasm. Fortunately for my husband, the contestant won a car, and Dave moaned excitedly around his gag. My husband watched eagerly as I spun the wheel, which landed on fifty whacks with the leather slapper—his favorite toy. I slowly spaced out every swat, making sure to completely cover each of his cheeks and occasionally tap against the butt plug that was nestled in his tight back hole.
Halfway through his spanking, I slickened up my hand with lube and began to massage his balls and rock-hard cock, even though I was tempted to untie him and use his erection for myself. My pussy was aching for action; I was so aroused at the sight of him trussed up and at my mercy that my thighs were damp with the honey of my arousal.
As I continued to tease his dick, he moaned with ecstasy, and I administered the next twenty-five whacks while continuing to stroke him. When I reached the fiftieth whack, Dave shuddered and groaned. His cock twitched in my fist and spat out stream after stream of hot come.
After his release, I unfastened his bonds and ordered him to eat me to orgasm. As he lapped at my cunt, I explained he was allowed to watch Vanna any time he wanted, but on Friday night we were going to watch together and play “Wheel of Misfortune.” He happily agreed and proceeded to lick me to an earth-shattering climax as a show of his gratitude.
Since that evening, Dave has been strung up every Friday. Sometimes the wheel is merciful to him; sometimes it’s not—but either way, we both wind up winners.
—Ms. Ginger K., Virginia Beach, Virginia
Her Slutty Apron and High Heels Turn Her into His Perfect Submissive
I’m a strong-willed woman in charge of a crew of salespeople. I bring home a six-figure paycheck and the headaches that go with it. I want to
get this information straight before I explain my erotic cravings. All day long, I boss people around. Not out of meanness, or any sadistic pleasure. My team reports to me, and I take the praise for jobs well done or suffer the brunt of the displeasure of my own bosses. I’m a tough chick—what you might call a hard-edged bitch—when I have to be, which is what being in charge takes sometimes.
That said, when I’m home, all I want is to release the reins. I want my man, Aaron, to take charge of me. To tell me what to do. To put me in my place. Fortunately, Aaron is more than up to that challenge.
On weekends, I like nothing more than to be Aaron’s love slave. I serve his every whim, his every need, and I even try to predict what he is going to want before he can formulate the idea himself. Usually, while Aaron lounges in bed, I make his favorite breakfast, which I deliver on a tray. This is our regular Saturday routine, and it gives me as much pleasure as it gives him.
But this weekend, I decided to do something unique. After cooking his breakfast, I stripped naked and tied on an apron that I had special ordered from a lingerie catalog. I kicked off my slippers and slid into a pair of acetate high heels, the type favored by strippers. Finally, clad in my little slut apron, high-heeled shoes, and nothing else, I strode down the hall.
Aaron sat up in bed as I entered the room. He was definitely expecting breakfast, but he wasn’t expecting me to look the way I did.
“Oh, baby,” he said as I set the tray down on the bedside table. “What’s gotten into you?”
I shrugged, feeling self-conscious. I thought Aaron would eat his breakfast and then maybe he would fuck me. Apparently, Aaron had different plans.
“Come here. Let me see you.”
I took a step closer to the bed and then turned in a circle for him. Aaron wolf-whistled. “I love the way your apron strings dangle between your ass cheeks,” he said. “And look at those fucking shoes.”
Letters to Penthouse XXXXV Page 1