Letters to Penthouse XXXIV (30 page)

She danced toward me, moving erotically to the music. I basked in the scent of her soft hair and flesh. She leaned into me,
her body feeling hot. I couldn’t stop myself from moving her hair aside and kissing her bare neck and shoulders. Goose bumps
rose from her skin.

The breeze caressed us as we moved to the music. Her arms enveloped me. I stroked her thinly clad body ever so gently.

I was lost.

I planted butterfly kisses all over Josie’s neck, shoulders, and arms and pulled at her loose blouse, which dropped to her
waist, exposing firm nipples waiting for attention. I circled her areolae with my tongue without touching her raspberry nipples,
until she was begging for more. I thought her juicy berries would burst. I could only imagine what was going on in her panties.

I worked my way down to her belly button, massaging her fleshy charms with my hot hands and hot tongue. I opened her jeans
and slid her pants to her ankles. She succumbed to my direction. I pressed her hand over her throbbing mound. She gasped as
I had her dip two fingers in her dripping honeypot. She wanted more, and I wanted to give her more. I had her rub her honey
over her nipples, which were standing at attention.

I leaned her against the camper and held her arms over her head. As she writhed hungrily, I brought her hand—the one that
had been in her pussy—to my mouth and sucked on her fingers one at a time.

Then we kissed. Her mouth tasted amazing. Her lips, as I imagined, were soft and supple yet firm and demanding. My clit was
hard. I kissed my way down to her breasts. Her nipples were as erect as soldiers on guard awaiting my return. I circled them
teasingly, licking and lapping at them, then took each nipple in my mouth, reveling in the taste, throbbing firmness, and
obvious desire.

I felt for her crotch. Honey was dripping down her legs. Finally I laid her down on the cool ground. She was intoxicated with
ecstasy, and so was I. I lavished butterfly kisses on the insides of her thighs, running my hands feverishly over her hot
body. She sucked her fingers and played with her straining nipples, awaiting my tongue’s next move.

I was so hot, I needed to taste more of her juices. Still kissing her thighs, I gently inserted two fingers in her wet snatch.
She squealed and pumped my fingers as if they were a pulsing cock, begging me to fill her, harder and faster. My hand was
drenched with her love juices. I removed my fingers and inserted my tongue, making love to her with it until she came.

I moved up to her pulsing clit and licked all around it. It throbbed without my even touching it. Holding her lips apart,
I blew gently on her clit, watching it grow bigger, as if pleading with me to take it between my lips. With my fingers back
in her honeypot, I engulfed her clit with my mouth. God, it tasted good! I sucked and sucked until she came again.

When she recovered, she did to me as I’d done to her till we fell exhausted in each other’s arms. We could have sucked and
kissed till morning, but we knew we had to get back to our husbands.

Still, there’s always next Friday night. I’m getting wet just thinking about it!

—F.S., Plymouth, Minnesota
     

People who know about these things say you always just know when your wife is having an affair. When mine came home from shopping
one afternoon, I just knew she’d had sex. She seemed utterly, delightfully screwed. By some dude in a motel, I assumed—what
other explanation was there? Funny, but it didn’t make me angry, or jealous, or hurt. It made me horny as hell. The idea of
Laura fucking a dude while she was supposedly shopping turned me on something fierce.

That night as I stretched out in bed next to her, I saw her in a motel room on her back, knees up, with a hunk between her
legs pumping away at her like in a porn video. I couldn’t get those images out of my mind.

I thought about it every day, especially since Laura remained so cheerful, so agreeable. I had no idea of confronting her
about “not being faithful.” Still, I wanted desperately to know all the particulars, the uncensored juicy details. For some
reason I wanted to be able to see it. What was he like? Would I like him? (I hoped so. It’d be awful if she was fucking a
guy I couldn’t stand.)

I now read every letter in
Penthouse Letters
, with special interest in “Take Her, She’s Mine” and related letters sections. “Stepping Out” was my special turn-on.

And this all surprised the hell out of me!

At the company Halloween party I met Laura’s new coworker, Guy, and instantly knew whose cock had her in such a fine mood.
He’s over six feet, handsome, articulate, with a confidence that turns women to jelly—at least it does to Laura. And she loves
blue eyes! The way they moved around each another, I knew he’d been fucking her on her shopping trips, after work, whenever.

Guy is a sports nut, and we hit it off right away, chatting about our teams while we stood by the food table. I liked him
right away, and kept finding it hard not to blurt out, “So when did you start fucking my wife?” But I resisted. We talked
about the NBA—about Kobe, Lebron, and Shaq—but all the time we were talking, I was seeing him screwing Laura.

The next time we were together was when Laura invited people from work for a barbecue. Cooking the meat, I started a conversation
with Guy about movies.

“What’s the name of that one about the woman who’s having an affair with a guy she works with?” I asked.

Guy got nervous and tried to change the subject.

“If you were her husband, how would you feel?” I said.

He looked as if I’d hit him with a pipe. He studied me, then mumbled something.

“Actually,” I said, “if I liked the guy, I wouldn’t mind if my wife was fucking around.”

Guy looked like a guy who was coming unglued.

After ten minutes of unsubtle hints, I said, “I should tell you, I know you’ve been fucking Laura, and it’s only a problem
if you aren’t good to her.” He didn’t speak, and fumbled with his drink. “If you’re fucking her, fuck her good,” I said. “Be
gentle, and make sure you’re satisfying the woman I love.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” he finally said in a low voice, “but it’s not me.”

“You’re not having sex with my wife?” I said, bewildered and embarrassed.

“Honestly? I’d like to,” Guy said quietly, as if she might hear him if he spoke up. “But I haven’t, really. I’ve heard the
stories, but—” He looked at me with his arms outstretched and his palms up. “Honest to God.”

“She’s been in such a fine mood,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s just—” I paused. “I mean, a mood that good can only be caused by
great sex. Seeing you two together, well, you look so good as a couple, I naturally thought—”

“It’s really not me,” he said. “But thanks.”

So maybe the people who say that you just know are just wrong? Was I totally mistaken? I thought back to that first day when
I was sure Laura was cheating on me. All the signs were there, and her state of mind was so positive, so joyful, that it couldn’t
be anything else. Plus, Guy said he’d heard “the stories.”

So if not him, then who? I glanced around the people from Laura’s work, surveying possibilities. Nothing!

For the next week all I could think about was how wrong I was, and how hurt she’d be if she knew. Still, I wondered, what
besides an affair could cause her near euphoria? And if I was right, who could her lover be?

That night when Laura got home, I confessed that I had suspected her of being unfaithful and asked her to forgive me. Graciously,
she said she could understand why I suspected her.

I apologized many times over the course of the evening, and that night we had absolutely marvelous sex. I must admit, though,
that the whole time, I was picturing her having sex with another man. I saw him eating her, with his face against her pussy,
and her squirming and screaming just the way she was doing with me.

After sex, while we dozed and cuddled, I kissed her and apologized once more for doubting her. Then I confessed that it actually
turned me on to think of her having sex with someone else. She was silent. I asked her again to forgive me for thinking she
could be unfaithful. “I didn’t get angry about it, but I just should have known.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she whispered. “I do.”

I waited to hear why she should apologize. “I have been seeing someone,” she said finally—so soft that I had to ask her to
repeat it. “I am having an affair.”

I shot up in bed, propping myself on an elbow, and let her go on. She did so, tearfully.

“It’s made me feel so wanted, so sensual, so alive.”

Finally I spoke. “It’s not Guy?” I said quietly.

“You thought it was Guy?” she said, chuckling.

I nodded. She smiled, kissed me, and brushed the hair out of my eyes.

“Is it Herb?” I said, totally addled. “Or Charley? Jake?”

She shook her head and put a finger over my mouth to stop me from guessing. She said softly, “It’s Sandra.”

It took a minute for this to sink in. I frowned, looked at her out of the corner of my eye, and, sounding about as foolish
as a person can, said, “What? Sandra what?”

“Sandra and I are lovers,” she whispered.

I rolled her over on her back and climbed on top of her. Looking down at her, I began to laugh.

“That’s funny?” she said.

“No, baby,” I said, punctuating my point with a kiss. “It’s just, there I was imagining you getting fucked by Guy, and enjoying
the mental picture, and all the time you were making love with another woman! I was sure it was him. I imagined all the things
that you did together.”

She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“So, you still enjoy sex with me?” I asked naively.

“Yes, yes, sweetheart,” she said, hugging me. “It’s just, well, I love having sex with Sandra. I, ah, well, I love the way
she eats my pussy.”

“How is it different?” I said, sincerely curious.

“I don’t know,” she said pensively. “It just is. She’s, well, gentler, more patient, more attentive. She makes love to my
pussy with her tongue and mouth and lips more than any man does. Oh, you do it well. She just does it differently—more slowly,
more gently, more like a woman would.

“I love kissing her,” she went on. “Tasting her. Everything we do together is just different than with a man. When she sucks
my nipples it’s childlike the way she savors suckling, like a baby.”

I smiled, kissed her, and nodded for her to go on, pleased she felt comfortable enough to share these personal details of
her lovemaking with Sandra, secrets she had no way of knowing that I could accept. “I love the taste of pussy,” she said.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “You taste wonderful.”

“That’s what Sandra says,” she said, grinning.

I guess I’d convinced her I had no problem with her affair, because that Friday Sandra came for dinner. I guess Laura told
her I knew, because at the door they exchanged a very passionate, very tender kiss. Thinking of what Laura had said about
the way Sandra ate pussy, I kept imagining them in bed, with Sandra tenderly eating my wife’s pussy. After the kiss, Laura
took Sandra’s hand and reached for mine, and we walked to the family room all holding hands: my wife, her husband, and my
wife’s lady lover. We broke for dinner, and when we were nearly done, I said to Sandra, “Would you like to spend the night?
I’ll stay in the guest room if you like.”

“Please stay,” Laura said, leaning over the table to kiss her lover—a passionate kiss that raised my heart rate a notch or
two. They kissed for over a minute, openly sharing tongues. When at last they ended their kiss, Sandra looked over at me and
said, “Thank you, I’d like that.”

We adjourned to the family room, where we visited like close friends, except that Sandra sat with Laura on the couch, holding
hands and cuddling like a couple—like Laura and I would have if Sandra hadn’t been there.

About ten, I excused myself and went to the guest room, leaving them on the couch wrapped in each other’s arms. In the guest
bedroom I imagined what they were doing down the hall. I pictured Sandra eating my wife the way Laura had described—gentle
and slow, loving and intense. I saw my wife with her mouth over Sandra’s vulva, flicking her tongue between her labia.

I imagined my wife on the bed on her stomach, with her girlfriend kissing the soft mounds of her ass and then spreading her
cheeks and darting her tongue against my wife’s anus. I pictured them savoring each other with kisses and licks, then penetrating
their vaginas with fingers and tongues.

At just past 11, my reverie was broken by soft knocking at the door. When I opened it, I saw Laura and Sandra standing naked
in the hallway holding hands. “Can we come in?” Sandra said.

“We’d like to thank you for accepting us,” Laura said.

“And for giving us this night in Laura’s bed,” Sandra said.

I let them in, and the lovers removed my pajamas. When I was nude, they set me on the bed on my back, then knelt on each side
of me. Laura let her friend be first to slide her mouth over the end of my erection. Then they both bathed my organ with licks
and sucking.