Now I know I'm nice to look at. I'm twenty-three, five feet six, with long dark hair and a damn good body. So guys look at me, I'm used to it. But I had to see this man every day, and it was too much. I decided to put a stop to it.
One morning I found myself in the elevator with him. There was no one else in the car, and he was looking at me.
“I want you to stop looking at me,” I said.
He just smiled.
“I mean it,” I said. “It's annoying, and I don't like it.”
He shrugged.
I got angry. “You're a real creep,” I told him. “You know that? Just stay away from me. I would never go for you. Not in a million years, okay? Is that clear?”
He looked at me as if I were a bug. “Who asked you?” he said.
Then the elevator doors opened and he got out.
Fuck him, I thought. The asshole.
After that he didn't look at me anymore. Even when I wore a tight sweater. Or a short skirt. Even when we were in a meeting together, and I crossed my legs so that my skirt rose up over my thighs. Or stretched in a way that made my tits push out against my blouse.
Then one day I had to go to his office to pick up a certain file. He had it ready, and he slid it across the desk, hardly glancing at me.
I picked it up and started to leave. But I stopped.
“I notice you don't look at me anymore,” I said. I meant it to sound smug or victorious, but somehow it didn't.
“That's right,” he said.
“Well, good,” I said, and started out again. But I turned at the door. “But you want to,” I said. “Don't you?”
“Do I?”
“Sure you do.” I stood very straight. Shoulders back. “I know you do.”
He was looking at me as we spoke, at my eyes. Just my eyes. He said nothing.
“Why deny it?” I said.
He just smiled.
“You damn creep,” I said. I turned to go. But I didn't. I shut the office door.
“I'm busy,” he said.
“Screw you,” I said. “You can look at me now.”
“I'm busy,” he repeated.
“All right,” I said. And I crossed my arms in front of me, grasped the hem of my sweater with both hands and pulled it up over my head. “Now you'll look,” I said.
I was wearing a bra, but it was fairly skimpy. I could feel the cool breeze of the air conditioning against my bared flesh. And still he kept his eyes straight on mine.
My eyes stung. “You bastard,” I said. “You look at me!” And I took off my bra.
Now he looked. Slowly, his eyes dropped from mine and gazed at my naked breasts. The nipples were hard and stiff. It must have been the air conditioning.
“Very nice,” he said finally.
“Very nice?” I mocked. “Very nice? They're better than nice, you prick, and you know it. You've been dreaming about them for months. I'll bet your cock is so hard now you could use it for a battering ram.”
“How much?” he said.
“How much what?”
“How much will you bet?”
“Oh, fuck you!” I said. “You probably can't get it up anymore anyway. It's all just fantasy for you, isn't it?”
He shrugged.
I wanted to strangle him. “Well, here's some more for you to fantasize about!” I spat out, and I pulled down my skirt. Then I pulled down my panties. I stepped out of them. I was shaking with anger. Or something. “There,” I said. I turned around. All the way around. “Now you're looking, aren't you? Now you're wishing you could get it up, right? Well if you did, you'd never touch me with it. You know that, don't you, creep?”
“You said that before,” he said.
“Yeah, I said it before and I'm saying it again. So?”
“So you might as well leave,” he said.
“Is that right?” I said. “And if I don't?”
“If you don't,” he said, “I will.”
I stared at him. “The hell you will.”
So he did. He got up and walked past me and opened the door and went out. Leaving me there naked in his office.
But as he did I got a good look at the front of his pants. It wasn't true that he couldn't get it up. It wasn't true by a long shot.
The son of a bitch.
I wore shorter skirts to the office. And lighter blouses. I started going without a bra. When he was in sight I stretched a lot, and bent over every chance I got. I brushed against him whenever the opportunity arose. I was doing it to torture him. That's what I told myself.
Then one day we happened to leave the office at the same time, and again we found ourselves alone in the elevator. He didn't look at me or say anything as the car descended.
“Fuck you,” I said.
Suddenly his hand came up with a quick movement and slapped against the red emergency stop button on the control panel. The elevator halted immediately. We were between floors.
I stared at him. He was looking now, all right.
“Now?” I said. “Here?”
He nodded.
“All right,” I said. I lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties. He unzipped his fly as I stepped out of them. His cock pushed out, stiffening rapidly.
I knew we had to be quick. The car wouldn't stay stalled forever; somebody would notice that it was stuck and do something about it. And anyway, I didn't want to draw this out. I just wanted to fuck him. I didn't know why. I still thought he was a creep. But my pussy was dripping and I was burning to have his cock inside me. Maybe I wanted to show him what he would never have again.
Or something.
He realized the need for haste as well. He was standing against the wall of the car, and now he slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his legs stretched in front of him, his penis sticking up. I straddled his legs and raised my skirt over my hips, preparing to lower myself onto him. But before I could he put his hands on my hips and pulled me toward him, and then his mouth was on my crotch. I drew in a breath as I felt his tongue penetrating my pussy, and then moving up to my clit. I heard myself moaning. His tongue moved slowly and teasingly over my clit as his lips rubbed my labia. My knees felt weak, and I had to put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself, still holding my skirt up with my other hand. I started to quiver, and I knew I was going to come under the steady stroking of that tongue. But just as I was on the verge, he stopped. I tried to push myself harder against his mouth, but his hands on my hips tugged me downward instead. I could have killed him, but I still wanted to fuck him. I lowered myself so that my crotch was right above his. Then with one hand I guided his prick to my pussy, and slowly took it in.
His eyes glittered as I sank down over him, working him deeper inside me. My cunt was slick with my juices and his saliva. “Yes!” he breathed. “Oh, yes, I've thought about this for a long time.”
“I know you have, you creep.” My voice was strained; the sensation of being filled with his cock was making me breathless. “But you'll never get it again.”
“You said I'd never get it the first time,” he reminded me, his hands pulling my blouse up to get at my breasts.
I had him all now. I could feel his pubic hair against my clit. I shifted against it, gasping a little. “I had to show you … what you were missing.”
“You wanted me to stop looking at you, and then you got pissed when I did.” His hands were inside my blouse, exploring my tits, squeezing my nipples. “When I wanted you, you got insulted, but when you thought I didn't want you anymore you couldn't stand it.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, and started to move up and down over his prick. “Just shut the fuck up!”
He smiled, continuing to play with my breasts. But his breath was coming harder as I speeded up my movements. I could already feel the stirrings of orgasm beginning somewhere inside me, and I never come that quickly. I couldn't understand it, but there was no mistaking it. I was panting hard and beginning to moan. He was pumping back at me now, arching his hips in rhythm
with my accelerating movements.
“Kiss me,” he said.
“Go to hell,” I gasped. But then I leaned forward and met his panting mouth with mine. Our tongues entangled, then mine was halfway down his throat. We moaned into each other's mouth as we fucked harder, straining toward climax.
Then my head fell back and I cried out as I came with a wild intensity, my cunt spasming uncontrollably around his pumping tool. A moment later he gave a hoarse groan and shot his load up inside me.
When I felt a lurch I thought for a moment that I was coming again; but it was only the elevator starting up. They had finally done whatever they do to get it moving again. We hastily got up and arranged our clothes, just in time to look moderately presentable when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. Then we went our separate ways without another word.
The next day the story of the stuck elevator had gotten around the office. Several of my co-workers asked me about it, and one girl who I was friendly with asked me kiddingly whether some kind of hanky-panky had gone on between the two of us while we were stuck between floors.
“With that creep?” I said, laughing. “Don't be silly.” —L.B., Chicago, Illinois
Fantastic Voyage
HIS NEW YEAR'S WISH WAS FOR AN UNFAITHFUL WIFE
I just left my nude wife upstairs and came down to write you this letter.
Minutes ago I was standing next to Olivia, sipping wine and watching her put lotion on herself after her shower. Her large beautiful breasts swung as she leaned over to rub the lotion on her ankles. I made a motion to touch her, but she pulled away, saying, “No, baby! Remember your resolution!”
It was the first time I had seen her naked in weeks. We haven't had intercourse in six months, and it will be another six months before I get to touch her in a sexual way. This situation, while it would be unacceptable to most men, is a fantasy come true for me. I am writing this letter to explain how it all came about.
Every New Year's Eve, Olivia and I play a game we call “Year's Wish.” We have each secretly decided and written down what we wish would happen for the new year. On New Year's Eve we each give our written wish to the other. Most of the time we are at a party or in some public place, and so have to keep our reactions under control until we get home. Last New Year's Eve, controlling my reaction was the hardest thing I have ever done, because Olivia gave me the gift I had always wanted.
We had made plans to celebrate with dinner and dancing in the ballroom of a downtown hotel. At about seven o'clock Olivia said it was time for her to start getting ready. The two of us were sitting on the sofa. She had her legs over mine, and I was rubbing her feet. She smiled widely at me.
“I feel feisty tonight, honey,” said she, a lilt in her voice.
“So what else is new?” I said, smiling.
“Do you want to be jealous tonight?” she asked me.
I had told her several times in the past that the fastest way to get my penis stiff was to make me jealous. She had tried it only a few times, but each time to maximum effect. Though she had never been unfaithful, she would occasionally do things like flirt with someone at a party, or comment on some guy's ass, simple things that would get me slightly jealous and excited. But those things hadn't prepared me for what was going to happen that night.
“Sure!” I replied, and rubbed her legs some more.
“Great!” she said, jumping up from the sofa. “I'm going to get ready.”
When she came out of the bedroom an hour later, she was dressed to kill. She wore a white pants suit of exquisite material, obviously expensive. She had nothing on under the jacket of the suit. It was sexy, but not enough to provoke jealousy. When I kiddingly said that to her, she just smiled and opened the jacket, showing me her big breasts.
“You're the first to see my boobs tonight, hon,” she said, “but not the last!”
We laughed, but I got a knot in my stomach. I also began to suspect what her wish was going to be for that year. As we drove to the hotel, I was thinking that I might want to change my own.
Originally, my plan had been to tell Olivia that I wanted her to fuck another guy. After our six years together, our sex life was beginning to fade. Olivia had always been kind about it, but I knew she craved a bigger cock than mine. She had admitted to me that she was intrigued by large penises, and even teased me occasionally (in a loving way) by nicknaming my penis “Toothpick.” In truth, I do have a smaller-than-average penis. I was pretty sure Olivia had secret thoughts about fucking other guys. Now it occurred to me, her New Year's wish might be to do just that.
If that was the case, it would make my own wish redundant. As I reflected, the thought came to me that I might use my own wish to enhance hers, and at the same time to allow me to live out a lifelong fantasy of my own. I decided to tell her that my wish was to go the entire year without sex, while she could have sex with anyone she wanted.
I knew this was over the edge, but I wanted to take advantage of her mood, and it excited me to think of depriving myself for an entire year of the favors of my beautiful wife. Of course, I wasn't sure to what degree she would wish to be unfaithful; but once she'd expressed her desire to stray, I knew she wouldn't object to the added freedom.
Actually, we had talked about her being with another man. A year or so earlier Olivia happened to come upon a magazine featuring naked men. That was when she told me she liked the way their large penises looked. This made me very excited, and, trying to sound facetious, I said I would like to see her touch one of those dicks.
Olivia smiled thinly and said I was just horny and really didn't mean it. I insisted I did, but she said people should be careful what they wish for. We didn't say anything more about it until later that night, when she brought the subject up again and asked just how far I would want her to go. Would I really want her to commit adultery? Yes, I said, I would. She smiled and said she wanted me to remember that, because someday she might take me up on it.
The whole conversation was conducted in a rather ambiguous, exploratory tone, neither completely serious nor actually kidding. But it excited me very much, and it seemed to arouse Olivia as well. We ended up by fucking passionately. I slipped my little dick in her and found her pussy dripping wet. I came too quickly, then brought her off by licking her hairless clit and labia.
Now I had the feeling that the day Olivia had referred to was upon us.
Though her sexy outfit got a lot of approving looks when we arrived at the hotel, nothing really happened until after dinner, when the band started playing and people started dancing. She turned to me and took my right hand in hers, looking deeply into my eyes.
“I'm going to give you something,” she said mysteriously, “and I want you to give it back to me a year from today.”
“Your wish?” I asked.
“No, not my wish. That will come later. This is the start of the jealousy.” Then she took off her wedding ring and placed it gently in my palm.
“We're still married, of course,” Olivia said. “But I don't want any guys to know it tonight.”
I breathed a little faster and felt my cock stirring slightly as she kissed me. “I love you, honey,” she said affectionately. “I'll meet you in the lobby at eleven-forty-five to exchange wishes.”
With that she stood up, straightened her jacket and walked away. She went directly over to a man a few tables away and asked him to dance. I was so thunderstruck that I went to the bar and ordered a drink. I stood sipping it and watching her dancing with this handsome guy ten years younger than me.
Olivia danced with several men in the next hour. Occasionally she would catch my eye and smile. It got to be about eleven-thirty, and I was still watching her. Suddenly I saw her lift her face up to the man she was dancing with and kiss him. They kissed for a long time. Then they kissed again, this time obviously French-kissing. Then the man gently unbuttoned the top button of Olivia's jacket and brushed the back of his right hand across her cleavage. They kissed again. My penis was s
training in my pants, totally erect. I gulped down another drink and walked out to the lobby to wait for Olivia and calm down. My heart was pounding.
At quarter to twelve she came out, her top button still unbuttoned. I saw a great deal of her cleavage and the swelling upper slopes of her breasts. Every man that walked by us in the next few minutes eyed her hungrily. My jealousy was beginning to rage. She sat next to me and smiled.
“Hi,” she said. She was glowing with sensuality, and she looked stunning.
“Hi,” I responded.
“Jealous?” she asked happily.
“You know damn well I am,” I said.
“Good!” she said. “Now here's my New Year's wish.”
She slipped a piece of paper in my hand. I opened it and read:
“Honey—
“My wish for the new year is to be able to explore my sexuality by being with other men. I want to experience the feeling of a long penis in my vagina. I want to suck the thick cock of a black man. I love you and want our marriage to last forever. Even though your penis is small, I love the sex we have. I just want to experiment a little. A year from today, I promise to be faithful again. Remember, you once said this was okay with you. Do you grant my wish?
“Love and kisses, Olivia.”
I sat there for a few seconds after I read this, feeling a bit dizzy. My heart thumped and I felt short of breath. Olivia took my arm and moved closer to me. I could smell her perfume. She pressed against me so that the front of her jacket opened slightly with the pressure, and I got a glimpse of her right breast. She was fabulous-looking. I was so attracted to her. My penis was overheating with arousal.
“Are you okay, honey?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, I'm okay,” I said. I took a deep breath and looked at her closely. “Olivia, the thought of another man inside you is—is—” I was stuttering.
Letters to Penthouse XV Page 11