Penthouse (13 page)

“And this little dumplin’—has she ever been with a woman before?”

I shook my head as her hands snaked around and
cupped my breasts. My nipples were still hard, and getting harder.

“Well, you cain’t have that, Starr. That’s like two virgins rollin’ around on the floor. Nobody knowin’ what’s going on or
what goes where. It’s my duty to help y’all out here. Jes’ relax now, and when something feels good you jes’ try and remember
it for this little darlin’. Remember, pay attention, there’ll be a quiz at the end.”

Trouble was, everything was feeling good. I knew I’d have no trouble remembering any of it. I got to feel it and watch it
all at the same time. I watched her long fingers trace their way around my breasts. Her dark red nails made their way to my
nipples, gently tugging and pinching them. I arched my back and leaned into her, her huge Texan titties making a perfect cushion.
I turned my head and kissed her mouth. There was no stopping now.

We both slid down on the couch, the lush red velvet caressing my back, while Cherry’s soft mouth caressed my front, sucking
hungrily on my nipples. I couldn’t wait. I needed it now. My hand went down between my legs, rubbing myself, my swollen clit.
She pushed my hand away. “No, Starr, sugar, that’s not how you play this game. You cain’t touch yourself. Only I can do that.
And you’re the only one here who can touch me.” She took my hand and brought it up to her breast.

“Touch me, Starr, touch me all over.” Her breasts were smooth and soft, both of them free now from the silver-sequined bra.
She slid up to me. We were face to face, titty to titty, and pussy to pussy. We lay side by side, and her tits made my hands
look delicate. They felt heavy, like ripe fruit. I wondered if that’s what mine felt like to her, only smaller. But I was
beyond speech at this point. I could only follow her instructions and my own instincts. My instincts
said,
Taste her. She smells good. She feels good. Taste her.
I bent my head and filled my mouth with her hard pink nipple, rolled it around in my mouth, tickled it with my tongue, the
way I like it when guys do it to me. Cherry stroked my hair, moaning and pulling me closer to her. Our legs entwined, each
of us riding the other one’s thigh. The friction was killing me. Our hands traveled all over, exploring each other’s hidden
caves and curves. I ran my hand down to the curve of her ass and marveled at the perfect roundness of it. Her long legs wound
around me and drew me to her. Her fingers found their way into my G-string, which promptly came untied and found its way to
the floor. Her tongue tasted sweet and filled my mouth. We covered each other in warm, wet, desperate kisses. I was hungry
and she fed me. We fed off each other.

She slipped two fingers into my soaking wet pussy, pushed them all the way in, teasing my clit with her thumb. My whole body
went icy cold, then hot. Then the floor fell out from under me. I started pumping my hips. The wave was coming, my breathing
sped up, my hips hit third gear. “Ohhh. Not yet, little sister. Not yet. Slow down, Starr.” Cherry slid herself down my body,
sucking and licking and tickling every spot she passed until she got to my steaming pussy. She spread my legs apart, and ran
her tongue from the bottom to the top of my pussy. She flicked my clit back and forth with her serpent tongue. She thrust
her tongue deeper and deeper into me, one hand squeezing my ass, her fingers worming in and out of my pussy. It felt like
there were three different people working on me. I felt the wave come rolling in again. This time there was no waiting. The
cold spasm hit my body and I rode the wave in. I was all pins and needles, juices flowing, muscles pulsing.
Cherry’s face was buried deep inside me, lapping up the nectar until the flow subsided.

Spent, I dropped deeper into the couch and let the gentle aftershocks rock me slowly. I looked down at one very pleased-with-herself
Texas ranger.

“So, darlin’… find anything you like?” My Texas teacher grinned at me, her face shiny with my juices. I held my arms out to
her and she crawled up into them. I kissed her and tasted the salt that was me on her lips. I slid my hand down between her
waiting legs. It was warm. It was wet. It was my turn to show what I’d learned.

Needless to say, I went home with the taste of Wild Cherry on my tongue and an A-plus in Bi-Curious 101. And when my personal-ad
honey calls, she gets to play teacher’s pet!

BY
S. P
ITTSBERG

A
lthough it was my third trip to London, I still got as giddy as a virgin tourist when I rode the double-decker buses. I had
spent a lovely evening at a jazz club in Covent Garden and was waiting in Trafalgar Square for the infrequent night bus that
would take me back to my hotel. There were other people at the bus stop also, mostly tourists speaking a plethora of European
languages. When the number 29 bus finally arrived, only two of us got on it: me and a handsome Italian who quickly kissed
his friends on both cheeks as he left them at the bus stop.

I headed straight up to the top level of the bus and found it empty. I made my way down the aisle and took a seat in the front
row, where I had the best view of late-night London from my perch.

The ticket-taker came upstairs a few minutes later to collect my fare. She spoke with a lovely Caribbean accent and, as there
weren’t any other customers, she was very chatty when I handed her my money.

“Where are you from, with that broad American accent?” She smiled as she gave me my ticket.

“I’m from Boston—I’m over here for a month to use the British Library. I’m a researcher, and a very curious person. Come sit
down here and tell me about your work!”

I watched her shake her head slightly and knew that she was thinking, Oh, these cheeky Americans! She grinned and answered,
“Well, maybe a bit later, but right now I’ve got to go back downstairs.”

When I twisted around to watch her make her way down the aisle, I noticed that the young Italian fellow was sitting a seat
or two behind me. He caught my eye, smiled, and then moved up to the front row also, but on the other side of the aisle. I
stared out the window, and soon realized that if I looked in the glass at a certain angle I could see the Italian clearly.
I alternated between watching the view and watching him watching the view.

I got the idea, since we were all alone on the top deck of the bus and since he was so cute, to be a little naughty. I began
to fantasize about making it with him, and started to open up the buttons of my blouse. I reached inside with one hand and
began fingering my nipple, happy that I was not wearing a bra. I played with my other nipple and then began rotating the palm
of my hand more firmly around my bosom. All this time I was staring straight out my window, but when I snuck a glance at his
reflection, the Italian seemed to be happily ignorant of my show as he admired the London night scene.

I decided to up the ante, so I let my blouse slip down my shoulders and gently began raising my skirt. With one relentless
hand still on my nipples, I slipped a couple of fingers of the other inside the elastic of what the English call my knickers.
I had never done such a thing in my
life—at least not in public. But being in another country where no one knew me gave me the courage to act out fantasies I
would otherwise have kept well within the realm of imagination.

As I massaged my labia, I used my other hand to alternate between my tits, grabbing up as much flesh as possible and squeezing
almost to the point of pain. The situation was making me very hot, but every time I glanced in the mirrorlike window toward
my neighbor, he seemed not to be noticing. As I slouched a bit in my seat to gain better access to my pussy, I got a fuller
view of the Italian. And then I saw that he had an erection straining against his jeans!

The idea that he was surreptitiously watching me with excitement caused me to get really wet. My fingers slid around my cunt
with ease, and I could not resist pressing my clitoris rhythmically. Nor could I help turning my head and looking directly
at him. The moment I did, he swung around to look in my eyes. He smiled like a knowing collaborator, and then leaned forward
to look me up and down. When his eyes returned to mine, he was no longer smiling. His breathing had become as labored as my
own.

I slipped a finger inside my vagina, and he seemed to know that I was climbing to a higher level of titillation. His own hand
rubbed over the bulbous bulge in his crotch, fingers curling around the shaft. Suddenly, he unzipped his fly and pulled out
his amazingly long, thin dick. Although he curled both hands around it, the head was still uncovered. The wet tip caught some
light as we passed a street lamp and the sparkle reflected back to me like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

By this time I had three fingers inside myself and had moved my other hand down from my breast to my clit. I was like a glutton,
both hands stuffed under my skirt, inside
opposite ends of my panties. I turned in his direction and stretched my legs out on the seat toward him as I leaned against
the sidewall. His eyes were glued to my crotch as he used both hands to pump on his long tool.

He propped one leg on the seat so that he was facing me, and pointed his long lengthy staff toward my breasts. Instinctively,
I looked down to where his moist prick seemed to point. My tits felt like they were straining toward his dick, so I took my
hand temporarily away from my clit in order to scoop my hungry breasts out of the confines of my silky blouse. Freed, they
seemed to swell in the direction of his shiny cock head, the nipples hard and straining.

A subtle smile passed over his lips and he began moving his dick back and forth, as if he were massaging my tender nipples
across the distance between our seats. My hand lingered for a moment on my fleshy breasts before returning to flick my clit
in a rhythm that matched his.

I felt so lewd that I was out of control. I wondered what my colleagues at the British Library would think if they could see
me like this instead of hunched over books. Surprising myself with my own kinkiness, I whipped off my undies and tossed them
in his direction. He caught them, wrapped them around the head and the shaft of his dick, and began wanking at an astounding
speed. I tried to match him by vibrating my finger on my clit and fucking myself with my fingers. Just as he came with an
incomprehensible moaning tirade in Italian, soaking up his come in my panties, I felt my body overcome with the shudders of
an orgasmic release.

“Honey,” I heard someone say in a Jamaican accent, “that was a show to behold.” The ticket-taker was standing over me in the
aisle. “I think I’ll take up your offer to join you now.” She lowered to her knees, facing my cunt, and
spread my legs. Before I even had time to feel embarrassed by her presence, she began nibbling up one side of my calf and
then did the same to the other leg. She tickled my thighs and I found myself trembling on the verge of another orgasm, without
her ever approaching my love button.

Then she pulled me toward her, buried her face in my crotch, and began to suck on my already overstimulated clit. My head
was propped against the side window, and when I opened my eyes, I was amazed to see the Italian behind the ticket-taker. He
had pulled his slacks down to his ankles and was slipping a condom over his lengthy tool. He lifted up the skirt of her uniform
and knelt behind her. He seemed to be running the head of his prick back and forth along her slit. The beautiful woman moaned,
and for a minute stopped her attentions to my cunt. I pumped up and down involuntarily, in frantic need for her to continue.
From behind her, he pushed her head back down into my dripping pussy, then caught my eye and smiled conspiratorially.

Staring directly into my eyes, he entered her with one strong smooth movement. He began to fuck her, and each time he thrust,
it knocked her teeth against my clit. The pleasure was like nothing I had ever experienced. I kept my eyes on him, and somehow
I felt like he was fucking me. His movements were so clearly transmitted through her mouth to my cunt. I had never kept my
eyes open before, but I was transfixed. The ticket-taker had stopped licking me and, between her moans and grunts, was knocking
against me with her chin. The way her chin banged my clit before sliding into my hole was causing me an unbelievable sensation.

Meanwhile, she reached up for my exposed breasts. She grabbed one in each strong hand, and every time he
rammed into her for full penetration, she clutched my tits roughly as if they were a sensuous anchor. I felt like my whole
body was experiencing his thrusts.

Aware of my heightened arousal, he increased his speed, plowing her from the rear so that she was jarring my crotch with greater
speed and power. I nodded to him,
Yes, yes, yes,
and he grabbed her hips and began a violent pounding. Communicated to my pussy, it quickly brought me to the edge, and I
cried out with orgasmic joy. As I did, he closed his eyes and I knew he was coming. He fell on her back, pumping as he came,
and reached around to massage her clitoris. As he stroked her love organ, she made some staccato moans—muffled under my skirt—and
then collapsed in between my legs.

There was silence for a few moments, then the Italian stood up, pulled up his pants, and, in a gentlemanly gesture, helped
the bus lady to her feet. He smoothed down her skirt in an affectionate way, and she held on to him as she tried to steady
her shaking body. She looked at him, probably for the first time, and then kissed him on the cheek. She leaned over to me
and kissed me on the lips, deeply, her probing tongue electric in my mouth. “Boston,” she said, smiling, “you can ride my
bus anytime!”

After she made her wobbly way down the aisle, the Italian turned to me. “I believe these belong to you?” He held up my sticky
knickers and we both laughed.

“I get off in a couple of stops,” he told me. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?”