At one point she reached down and squeezed my balls. “Oh, come for me, honey,” she panted. “Let me have it all in my pussy!” So I did. I quickened my pace, then with long thrusts began shooting my load in her.
We clung to each other, still breathing hard. Lauren reached down and ran her fingers through the cream oozing out of her, then brought them to her mouth and sucked it up. I kissed her again, and said again that her husband must be crazy. He had no idea what he was missing.
She just smiled and said, “Yes, that’s true. That’s why I’m so glad you came to work for the company.”
I smiled and said I knew it was a good move for me. I’d just had no idea how good.
We knew we had to get back to the party, so finally we cleaned up and went back outside. The party was still in full swing, and our spouses were still deep in conversation.
Lauren laughed when I whispered that they had been saving the world while we were saving each other. She said that she had a pool at her house, too, and she hoped I would come over for a dip sometime.
“A dip in the pool?” I said. “Or in you?”
“Both,” she said.
—J.F., Chicago, Illinois
He Nearly Froze His Fingers Off. Luckily, She Knew Just How to Warm Him Up
It was one of those bitterly cold winter mornings, sky the color of slate, wind howling through cracks in the car windows, snow flurries dancing over the highway—sending a chill through you even with the heater at fullblast.
I was headed to work at the college, around half past nine. I had waited to miss the morning rush hour, yet was still early for my first appointment, which wasn’t until early afternoon. Ahead of me I spied a damsel in distress. She was standing at the rear of a red Jaguar staring at the rear passenger-side wheel, which I surmised had gone flat.
Always the gallant, I pulled over in front of her car to see if I could render assistance. She was turning to get back into the car when she saw me. She was a tall woman about thirty, reddish hair, a full ruddy-cheeked face, and magnificent blue eyes. She was wrapped tightly in a camel-hair coat with the collar turned up to protect her ears.
She smiled as she focused on me. A tear, more likely caused by the cold wind than by her frustration, rolled down her cheek. “I seem to have a problem I don’t think I can handle,” she said. “Could you take me to a gas station?” (This was way back in the days before cell phones.)
I put my head close to hers to speak as a large truck came rumbling by. As I did, I inhaled the most delightful perfume, which told of money, sophistication, and sexual adventure. “If it’s only a flat tire, I can certainly change that for you,” I said. I opened the passenger door for her. She slipped in gracefully and slid over to allow me to sit down.
She gave me the key to the trunk. I retrieved the jack and got to work raising the rear axle. It was bitterly cold, and the wind was cutting right through me, as I was not very heavily dressed. Most important, I was without gloves, which I normally would have, but the evening before I had left them in my office, where they were doing me no good at all. I was also without a hat, and was losing heat from my head at a fast enough rate to give me a headache.
Soon after I got the jack in position, I had to stop and retreat to the warmth of the car to warm my hands. This was a pleasant interlude, as we got to chat a little about our respective fields and our day’s activities.
It turned out Edie was a lawyer and not some rich guy’s wife, as I had supposed. She lived downstate, and was on her way to a meeting at the state capital, where she was expected around noon. Sitting in the car with the heater on, she’d opened her coat to reveal a neat suit with a pretty satin blouse. The above-the-knees skirt rode up even higher in her sidesaddle position, showing a yard of fine-mesh-pantyhose-covered legs.
I went back out and loosened the nuts on the wheel, which took quite a bit of effort, as they were really tight and the cold had frozen them even tighter. Soon I was really feeling the pain above my wrists, and not feeling anything in my fingers. With the tire off, I went back into the car almost crying in pain. I tried putting my dirty, frozen hands under my armpits but got little relief. “This may sound silly,” said Edie, “but put them between my thighs. It has to be the warmest place in the car.”
It didn’t sound silly at all, just wildly unexpected. With that, she took my hands and put them between her warm thighs, about two inches from Valhalla. I must admit that it hurt so much, I could hardly think in terms of sexual excitement. But as my hands warmed up, and I could wriggle my fingers a bit without moving my hands, Edie released the pressure on them, and I felt her thighs shiver.
As I removed my thawed fingers from their nest, my index finger brushed against the crotch of Edie’s pantyhose, ever so lightly. I swear, the pubic hairs were moist! Neither of us mentioned that slight contact. I figured she thought it was accidental or just didn’t happen.
When I couldn’t put off the inevitable, I jumped out of the car again and ran to the trunk. I removed the full-sized tire inside and mounted it on the hub, then tightened the nuts, kicked the hubcap in place, and lowered the jack. With the wind cutting, my face and my ears cracked when I touched them, and again I couldn’t feel my fingers at all. I pulled the jack out from under the car, threw it into the trunk, then retrieved the flat tire and tossed it in. I didn’t try to tie them down in place. Someone who wasn’t freezing could do that later.
I threw myself into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind me. “All done!” I said, holding my hands and trying to wring the pain from them.
“Would you like to put your hands back between my thighs?” Edie said.
I smiled and joked, “Actually it’s my ears that are frozen the most. Can I put them between your thighs?”
I don’t know what reaction I expected. I thought she might blush, or maybe laugh at my off-color remark. Instead, she looked at me, her eyes soft and misty, and rather than meet my eyes, hers seemed to focus over my left shoulder. “Would you really like to?” she said softly, then spread her thighs to allow space for my head.
I was shocked momentarily, but such an offer was unlikely to occur again that day. So I brought my face down and buried it between her soft, warm legs. Immediately, I smelled the wetness of her crotch. It seemed that she’d already been aroused by the presence of my hands, then had kept herself entertained while I was out wrestling with the tire.
I ran my nose along the nylon-covered wet furrow until it was pressed against her clitoris. Then I chewed on her crotch panel until I had shredded a hole in the pantyhose. I reached my road-dirt-covered right hand up and tore the panel open, almost dividing the pantyhose in half.
Edie wasn’t wearing panties, so my mouth was free to make full contact with her pussy. She squirmed in her seat and bucked against my mouth as I tongue-fucked her. Her hot thighs rubbing against my frozen ears nearly tore them off my head.
It couldn’t have been five minutes before she had a shuddering climax. By then her pantyhose was torn down the inside of both thighs and my hands were up under her blouse, pushing her bra over her breasts and cupping them while squeezing the nipples with my dirt-caked fingers. I continued licking her clit until she finally said, in a soft yet compelling voice, “Will you fuck me now, please?”
I released her from her position halfway behind the driver’s seat. As she sat up, we kissed. She sucked on my tongue, which was coated with her juices. Then she licked my beard, which was coated with the same honey.
She lowered the passenger seat back to a reclining position, and I almost fell into the back of the car. With me on my back, she unzipped my pants, unbuckled my belt, and slid my pants and briefs down my thighs. My pecker already pointed to the roof. She engulfed me in her mouth, and after a few good licks and some serious sucking, she slid up my body and guided my cock into the warmest place I had experienced that frigid day.
In this woman-on-top position, Edie rode me like she was out on a horseback jaunt across streams and stone fe
nces. Her blouse was completely open, and I held her wobbling breasts as she galloped on, crying out in language more like that of a sailor than the snooty-private-school girl she had told me she was.
She came, and collapsed against me. She kissed me deeply, and as she struggled to regain her breath, she said how much she’d needed to be fucked. With her tongue still probing my mouth, she tightened her cunt muscles and jerked me off methodically with her plump pussy lips. Minutes after her crashing climax, I was ready to come. Apparently she already knew. She jumped off me and slid over to the driver’s seat, then leaned over and engulfed my cock again just as I shot my load. The final spurt splattered in her pretty red hair.
“Can I pay you for changing my tire?” she asked.
“I think you already have,” I said. “I’m just afraid I overcharged you.”
We sat there laughing as we rearranged our clothing. The car windows were all steamed up, hiding us from view of any passing traffic. So it came as a complete surprise when we heard knocking on the window. Out the rear window, I made out a blurred image of the blinking lights of a squad car behind us.
Edie lowered the window, and a police officer asked if everything was all right. She smiled and said she’d had a flat, but this gallant gentleman had fixed it. He smiled and said amiably we should get along. The amiability was probably due to a sticker on the car that showed she gave a hundred dollars a year to the police widows’ fund.
She turned on the air-conditioner, and the windows soon began to defrost. That was my cue to depart.
“You think he knew what we’d been up to?” she said.
“Well,” I said, “if he somehow missed all that smell of pussy and come, he might still have recognized the sticky stuff in your hair.”
She burst out laughing.
We made no attempt at a rematch. We both knew our lives were too separate—it was just a chance meeting that led to a joyous encounter. She thanked me again, I kissed her, and we drove off to our appointments.
I still wonder how she explained her soiled condition. But you know how those lawyers can spin a yarn!
—N.H., East Lansing, Michigan
Letters to Penthouse XXXI Page 24