Erotica from Penthouse (13 page)
A drop of moisture from my extreme arousal fell on Sam's cock. He said he was pleased that I was giving him what he wanted. A spasm rippled over me, an indication that I was going to explode. I begged Sam to enter me. He refused. He told me to be as still as possible and listen to the sound of his voice. I wanted to please him more than anything.
“What do you want?” he demanded. He pulled me sharply when I didn't answer. “Your cock,” I finally said. Sam countered, “You could have anybody's cock, because all the men want to fuck you, they want to feel your pussy grabbing their cocks. What do you really want?” “Your stiff, hard cock,” I spat at him. He replied slowly. “I'm only going to let you imagine that now, baby. Do you still want it?” I could only nod, and Sam whispered, “Fuck me with your mind.”
I watched the hard, lean muscles of his body strain toward me and I felt very weak. Control was disappearing rapidly and I was radiating from my clitoris. I was shocked by the stunning power of the orgasm I was having. My body jerked. Sam's hands were still entwined in mine and held me firmly above him. I wanted him inside me and the ache within my cunt was intensified by the rush from the orgasm. I was dripping on Sam. The last shock wave subsided and he eased me down. I wanted to make his stiff penis part of my body, absorb it inside of me. He finally let go of my hands and I slid his cock in between my breasts. He pulled my head up gently by the hair so he could watch. Seeing it sent him over the edge. I closed my mouth around his cock when the first foam of semen appeared. He came for a long time, like a little river, and it was sweet as honey.
Making love like that was a supreme example of total control on both our parts. As I often say, a man's mind can be his sexiest organ. However, I am not always so compliant. I had a very sweet young lover once, Billy, who adored me. That is a statement of fact and not a boast. He was a sexual technician, handsome and well hung. But we fucked only when I said so, and he came inside me only if I allowed it. The sexual dynamic was entirely different from what it was with Sam. He was nicer to me than Sam, but I didn't desire him as much. It's strange, but if a man's sun rises and sets on me, I'm not all that interested. Billy didn't make me hungry. I became satiated sexually with him easily. With Sam, the more he fed me, the hungrier I became. That's why it's a good thing we don't live in the same city.
I am a voracious consumer of sex. Though I can always find someone to fuck, I do believe in quality over quantity. I sometimes make mistakes and end up with men I shouldn't have bothered with. Sometimes they perceive me as a threat and almost have to dare themselves to get into bed with me. If I have had a bad string of affairs, I'll swear off men for a while and try to get my center back.
Here is an example of how stuntwork has changed me. I was in New York, visiting a few film sets to make some new connections. I dressed to impress—in shocking pink cowboy boots, a mini-skirt and my perpetual LA tan. On the last set I saw a producer I knew named Fred. A little thrill of fear ran through me because he often worked with a director named Anthony with whom I once had a tortuous affair. Anthony was also married. His temper, my lack of focus and the ever-present thought of his wife had ended the physical affair, but for me some emotional baggage remained. We had not spoken to or seen each other in quite some time. Fred saw me and said, “Guess who's here!” I didn't have to. I could see Anthony, his back turned, discussing the set-up of a shot with the cameraman. I shrugged to Fred nonchalantly, then went about my business of talking to the stuntguys. As I was giving my phone number to the stunt coordinator, I heard footsteps approach and Anthony's familiar voice say, “So, how many men have you given your phone number to today?”
Barely looking up, I finished writing, smiled and said, “Fuck you!” Anthony laughed and continued walking. I laughed, too, but my heart was hammering and a moment later Fred came over and “borrowed” me from the stunt coordinator. He brought me over to” Anthony. The three of us joked around and I suddenly realized that the dynamic between Anthony and me was now different. Previously, I had been woefully unsure of myself and he had controlled all the strings of the relationship. But now I sensed that he was clearly excited by my presence and, oddly, sort of shy! I asked about his wife and he told me that she was back in L.A. It was an awkward moment because chance was beckoning. I realized that it was up to me whether or not to become involved again. That was a wonderful feeling. He asked me to dinner. I said yes but asked him to call later to set up the time.
That night, a stuntman I knew phoned and wanted to introduce me to some people worth meeting. I agreed, aware that Anthony was expecting to see me. As I was walking out the door to my appointment, the phone rang. I told Anthony that I had made other plans and he was enraged. He hung up on me. He used to behave just that way when I had been in love with him—letting that Italian temper hold sway, assuming he had a “right” to me. He was wrong this time. I kept my other plans.
When I returned at two in the morning, Anthony was sitting in his car in front of my place. With unusual humility he apologized and asked if we could be friends. I felt a little guilty, knowing that I had been a bit of a cock-tease when I cancelled our date and that we both deserved better from each other.
The house was dark when we got inside. I took off my shoes and got a bottle of wine from the kitchen. Anthony lit a fire in the potbelly stove. I sat down opposite him and put my legs up on the table. I was not sure which way I wanted the evening to go. We were no longer encumbered by the immediacy of our affair and there was a wonderful freedom between us.
When he told me about his deteriorating relationship with his wile, I felt a twinge of sadness. He was not looking for passion, He just wanted to feel alive. Sixteen years older than I, though still linking and dynamic, Anthony looked his age.
I put my wine glass down and sat beside him. Opening his shirt I saw how grey his chest hair had become. He kissed me and joked that maybe he was too old to handle me now. But the feel of his hand on my ass, as he worked his way under my panties, assured me otherwise. Anthony undressed me. I sat quietly on the couch, almost childlike. That had been a powerfully exciting dynamic in out relationship and was still. He knelt down and slowly ran his hands over my body. Now I was stronger, slimmer and tighter. He remarked on the firmness of my muscles. I ran my fingers through his hair. It had definitely thinned.
“My little girl,” he said simply. Anthony stood up and pulled off his shirt. I reached for his belt and unbuckled him. Then I pulled his cock out of his jockeys. I could see that even his pubic hair had begun to go grey. He stopped for a moment and said, with a measure of uncertainty, “You want this old man again?” I did.
Instinctively I knew that we weren't starting something again, but finishing the affair we had never ended properly. He lay me down in front of the firelight of the wood-burning stove. I saw his reaction to the sight of my body, more beautiful than he remembered. He brushed the curls of my pubic hair and tasted the moisture on the lips of my cunt. My breasts looked rosy in the light and my customary flush of arousal appeared. He smiled at the familiarity. Anthony entered me very carefully. The slow opening of my cunt was the gentlest of feelings. He fucked me slowly for a very long time. We hardly looked from each other's eyes. I cried a little, but it was the most proper of resolutions. Anthony and I have now worked together a few times since. The closeness and camaraderie is there, but it will never get sexual again.
I am a physical woman. I need the physical release from tension, whether in stuntwork or in sexual adventure. I doubt if I will pursue this line of work forever, but right now it complements my unrestrainable nature best. To me the important thing is to live life the way you want, with only you deciding what is too risky and what isn't.
And when I'm old and grey, I want my grandchildren to know that I used to be one hot number and that it's all up there on the screen in living color to prove it.
THE WOMAN WHO CRAVED CUNNILINGUS
By Petula Pauling
Even in a pair of jeans it is impossible to camouflage Jenny's small, well-proportioned figure and magnetic femininity. But Jenny is a woman with the sexual psychology of a male chauvinist. She likes to get head—exclusively.
Her greatest bedroom pleasure dates back to her very first orgasm. Cunnilingus was her open sesame to the world of carnal satisfaction. liver since then, she had single-mindedly orchestrated her sexual experiences so that they culminate with her being licked and tongued into ecstasy. Even when she was completely heterosexual, she avoided intercourse while making love. She saw it as a challenge to climax through oral sex without giving men their sexual release through fucking. While her male partners were often apprehensive about her unusual demand, intimacy with Jenny seldom left them unsatisfied.
Jenny now feels that she has a more enjoyable sex life than most women. Not that she is in competition: Rather, she thinks the majority of women sexually shortchange themselves and that most men will not help a woman explore her erotic limits if their own needs are fulfilled. In her eyes, it is the rare man whose desire to give is greater than his desire to get.
Finding her sexual niche was a long and often frustrating road. Like most women, Jenny did not always know what she preferred in the bedroom and, initially, she was more than willing to make sure that her man was satisfied first.
Jenny's first orgasmic experience is the key to her unique psychology because it incorporated elements of what is usually perceived as a “male” sexual orientation. Very early in her erotic I career she found out that male passion scared her. Intercourse was so intimate and overwhelming that having a man inside of her was literally too close for comfort. A man's powerful sexual needs seemed to stand in the way of her own path to orgasm. Jenny believes that only about 10 percent of men really enjoy giving head to a woman. Half would much rather not, and perhaps 40 percent comply because they expect the same in return. But a member of that elusive 10 percent is what Jenny hopes to find every time she ends up in bed.
Jenny's predilection for cunnilingus began only when she met Sandy, a widower 15 years her senior. He was able to convince her that he would go down on her all day, and did not care if she fellated him or if they fucked. If it felt good to her, he was happy. She I tasted and smelled wonderful to him and he made her moan and whimper. What more could he ask for than to see her sexy little body in a fever of delight? Jenny began to trust him and his expert mouth. But she could not tell whether the pleasurable twinges she felt were the real thing. Sandy told her that when orgasm happened, she would know it.
One steamy afternoon, Sandy and Jenny took a drive into the country. Jenny fell asleep in the car and woke from her doze because of Sandy's gentle touch on her thigh. She felt very relaxed, with the seat back as far as it could go. Sandy did not know that she was awake. He just wanted to touch her.
Jenny wondered if the drivers of the giant semi-trucks whizzing by could see Sandy's hand working its way under her skirt. The idea of all of these macho truckdriver voyeurs caused an unaccustomed twinge in Jenny's cunt. While pretending to be asleep, she saw from the corner of her eye the familiar bulge in Sandy's crotch. Removing his other hand from the steering wheel momentarily, he unzipped his fly to let his hard cock loose. Still feigning sleep, Jenny shifted and opened her legs.
Sandy slowly worked his way under her damp panties. In her fantasy, Jenny saw the truckdrivers pulling their own cocks out to play with themselves. She also added a crucial element to the fantasy: The horny drivers were watching Sandy go down on her. His head was between her legs while his tongue explored her cunt. The sight made the truckers mad with lust and they ejaculated all over their steering wheels and windshields. With this image in mind, Jenny stretched her legs wide open and Sandy's fingers entered her cunt. But in her fantasy, it was his tongue.
As he flicked against her clit, Jenny slipped over the edge for the lust time. Her body arched with blinding pleasure and Sandy almost lost control of the car. In keeping with Jenny's fantasy, he actually ejaculated all over the dashboard. The next day Sandy sent her a card that said, “Congratulations: May you have many more!”
This enormously erotic experience set the stage for her desire for orgasm through cunnilingus. Either in reality or fantasy, it had to predominate.
After her affair with Sandy ended, Jenny had a series of lovers who fell into the category of men who simply did not enjoy giving oral sex. Not that they minded her overtures to fellate them, of course. Then came a period of time when being alone seemed preferable to sleeping with a boor. That was when she discovered that she could give herself an orgasm through fantasy cunnilingus without having to please a man first. Initially, she bought a dozen or so erotic magazines. Once home, she began leafing through them. Some were vaguely exciting but most left her unaroused. One story entitled “A Snatch of Pepper,” however, had possibilities. With scissors and tape she amended it to make her own unique version. The new story went as follows:
Pepper is a poor Mexican girl who lives in a pickers' shack on a larm in the Southwest. She has stayed home this particular hot and dusty day to sweep out some of the workers' quarters. Pepper wears a thin peasant blouse and skirt and the effort of sweeping makes her sweat and her clothes stick to her breasts and legs.
Unexpectedly, two young men who live in one of the shacks come home in the middle of the day. One of them collapses on the bed and leases Pepper. She tries to ignore him. The clothes sticking to her damp skin arouse him and he slowly fondles himself. While continuing to ignore him, Pepper is alarmed to feel the stirrings of powerful first arousal.
When he suddenly frees his cock from his patched linen pants, Pepper is stunned and stops in her tracks. Then slowly she feels two large calloused hands slide around her waist. It is the other young man. Unknown to Pepper, he has been watching the scene from the doorway, and now he brazenly kisses her neck.
