Penthouse (24 page)

They both take a deep breath and slump backward. Sheila stretches back on the grimy carpet and clamps her thighs around her
hand; Henry collapses against the wall, lost in quiet bliss.

Finally he pulls his pants up, takes a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wipes the come off his dick and his hand. Shoving
the hanky back in his pocket, he picks up the pad and pen.

Thank you thank you thank you,
he writes.

“Jesus,” she gasps. “You’re welcome. Thank
you
.”

That was real… right?

She nods. “Yeah,’’ she answers. “That was real.”

The window panel starts to slide down. Henry scrabbles through his pockets and quickly drops another quarter in the slot.
The panel slides up again; he spreads his hand and shows her the contents with a sad, wistful smile. One more quarter. He
drops it in and shrugs.
How much time do we have left?
he writes.

“About a minute,” she answers. “A little less actually. Shit. You’d better get dressed.”

He pulls his shirt on and quickly zips his pants.
So is your name really Chloe?
he writes.

“No,” she replies. “Of course not.”

What is it really?

She gives him a long, clear look.
Maybe I should make up a fake real name,
she thinks. She likes this guy a lot; it’d make him happy to think she’d confided in him. She gazes at the floor, thinks
carefully for a moment, then looks back at his face and shakes her head.

“I’m not going to tell you that,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Quite all right,
he scribbles.
I understand. Thanks for not lying to me.

“You’re welcome,” she replies.

They stare at each other awkwardly, somewhat at a loss for words. “That was wonderful,” she says at last. “Really. You made
my day.”

He kisses his hand and reaches out to touch the glass. The panel drops down, sliding over his hand, clicking shut. “Come back
sometime,” she calls into the metal plate. She presses her hands against the window, drained and dazed and a bit forlorn,
hoping that he heard her.

She feels a light touch on her shoulder. “Hey, Chloe,” Tanisha says. “It’s time for your break.” She gives Sheila a light
slap on the rump. “Nice show, girl,” she adds. “Hell, you even got me going.”

“Thanks.” Sheila sighs. “Me, too. Sometimes I really like this job.”

“I know what you mean, babe,” Tanisha says as Sheila walks off the stage. “I know what you mean.”

BY
M
ARCY
S
HEINER

U
ncle Mikey had a peculiar and, so the family thought, harmless hobby: Perched in his eighth-floor New York apartment, he whiled
away the hours exploring the city through a pair of powerful and expensive binoculars. When I was little he’d let me look
through them as he pointed out interesting architectural features on the city skyscrapers. That was probably one of the reasons
I ended up studying architecture, an unusual choice for a girl in those days. On a clear day he’d take me up to the roof,
from which we could see all the way downtown to the Statue of Liberty.

Thus I grew up thinking that city-gazing was a pastime as normal as bird-watching, and after Uncle Mikey died my aunt presented
me with his binoculars. I was twenty-six years old before I realized that, when I hadn’t been around to cramp his style, Uncle
Mikey had found subjects for scrutiny that were far more entertaining than Lady Liberty.

One evening while casually running my binoculars up, down, and around the city, I was stopped dead by the sight
of a young woman preparing to step into the shower. Feeling I was invading her privacy, I quickly veered my optics to the
right—only to have them land on a window behind which a couple were locked in an amorous embrace, the woman’s red sweater
raised to reveal a plump breast. Shocked, I dropped the binoculars into my lap as the implications of what I was seeing dawned
on me: Uncle Mikey had been a voyeur.

I shuddered, wondering if my uncle had been a pervert. From what I’d seen, he’d had a fairly normal relationship with my aunt,
and I certainly never recalled him touching me in an inappropriate manner. Yet there was no getting around the fact that he’d
enjoyed spying on people during their most intimate moments.

Slowly I raised the binoculars and focused on the couple who’d been making out. They’d progressed to the point where they
were lying down, and therefore hidden from view. Moving my super specs to the left, I saw the young woman emerge, wet and
glistening, from her shower. Fascinated, I watched as she dried herself off, vigorously bouncing her breasts with the towel.
My God, why didn’t she think to draw the shade? And how could that couple paw each other in full view of the entire city?
Maybe Uncle Mikey wasn’t the only sicko around—maybe the city was crawling with exhibitionists. Shaken, I drank a cup of cocoa,
and carefully closed every shade and curtain before retiring.

The next day I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen through the binoculars. Surely what I’d done was immoral—and yet
I couldn’t wait to get home from work and “watch the movie,” as I came to think of it. Although I felt somewhat guilty, and
still thought of Uncle Mikey as something of a wrongo, I had to admit that I understood him. I
canceled dinner with my boyfriend, Adam, and declined my friend Sally’s invitation to go to the movies. I had to follow my
curiosity, never mind about it killing the cat.

I set myself up for the evening, bringing pillows, blankets, and a bottle of wine over to my window seat. The city’s lit windows
twinkled against the darkening sky. As the night wore on, the prudent closed their curtains, while the more thoughtless—or
daring?—remained exposed to curious eyes. I watched as mothers prepared babies for bed, teenagers copped one last feel before
separating, older couples climbed into bed and turned out the light. Finally I lucked out—I hit upon a couple right across
the street, a few stories down, whose window angle allowed me a panoramic view of their activities.

Completely naked, they lazily slithered over and around each other, unaware they were providing me with hot entertainment.
I found them extremely sensual as they coiled their long, smooth limbs in an endless variety of positions. I was surprised
to find that what turned me on the most was not his long prick gliding in and out of her inviting cunt, but the looks on their
faces as they became more and more aroused. And when they came, their faces were utterly exquisite.

First her orgasm began, as her mouth opened wide; apparently she was making a lot of noise, which I unfortunately couldn’t
hear. Her eyes were half-closed, but I could still glimpse that peculiar look of ecstasy, so intense it bordered on suffering.
As her head thrashed from side to side, I zeroed in on her partner and watched his face dissolve in a thousand emotions as
he released his fluid into her. I could actually see beads of sweat forming over his thin mustache as he pursed his lips,
probably making an “ooooh” sound.

At that point I abandoned the binoculars to tend to my own needs. I pulled my skirt up and slipped my hand in under my panties.
I was soaking wet between my legs, and the moisture made it easy for my fingers to slip inside. I pulled them out and brought
them to my nose to sniff the aroma. Then I reached in again and flicked myself in earnest, rubbing my swelling clit back and
forth with my thumb. I like to finish off with my vibrator, which I had brought over to my window seat with a long extension
cord. It hummed quietly as I pressed it between my legs. I had taken the precaution of turning off every light in my apartment
so nobody could see what I was up to, yet I couldn’t help but fantasize that somebody was watching me as I came.

A week went by, and I spent every night in front of the window. Eventually I selected a few main stars from the cast of characters
in my vicinity; on any given night I could locate at least one couple making love, one bather, and one masturbator. I lost
all interest in seeing Adam, who began to complain about my lack of attention to him. I didn’t care; I was too absorbed in
my new hobby.

One night as I sat munching popcorn and gazing through my binoculars, I heard a key turning in the lock. I froze. Adam had
a key to my apartment, but had never used it without first telling me he was coming over. When he walked in, I nearly sobbed
with relief that he wasn’t a burglar or a rapist. But as Adam gazed around the darkened room, and I saw what he was seeing,
I cringed in embarrassment. In this case one picture was indeed worth a thousand words: The scene revealed the sordid story
of my week’s activity.

I had just about moved into the window seat. Lying atop the bedding were my binoculars, vibrator, dildo, and
lubricating jelly. The floor was strewn with candy wrappers, and an empty wineglass stood on the windowsill.

“What have you been doing?” Adam asked, bewildered.

I held my breath as he came over and picked up the binoculars. Slowly he raised them to his eyes and peered through. A low,
throaty chuckle emerged as he moved them from window to window, pausing every now and then to observe a scene.

“This is some trip,” he said softly. “How’d you ever get into doing this?”

“Well, see, my Uncle Mikey…” I began, hesitantly at first, then excitedly describing the scenarios I’d witnessed, pointing
Adam in key directions. At first he roared with laughter, thinking this was a big prank. But when he came to the sensual lovers
with the expressive faces he stopped laughing. The binoculars remained riveted to that one spot, and I watched the bulge in
Adam’s jeans grow and throb. Hardly believing what was happening, I knelt on the pillows, unzipped Adam’s pants, and took
out his pulsing meat. I pulled on it a few times with my hand, feeling it in its half-erect state. I love it like that, just
before it gets hard, and I know I have the power to make it grow and stiffen.

I parted my lips to take him into my mouth. I licked and sucked, sliding his cock all the way down my throat, excited by the
thought that he was watching my favorite couple fucking their brains out. When he came in a gush of liquid, I pictured the
woman’s open mouth, the man’s pursed lips, and greedily swallowed Adam’s come. In the back of my mind I couldn’t help but
hope that my couple had been watching us.

Quietly Adam stroked my hair. I looked up questioningly.

“Whew!” was all he said, before lifting me into his arms and heading in the direction of the bedroom.

“Hey,” I protested. “Where are you going?”

“To bed, baby. I’m gonna fuck your brains out.”

“Oh, you are going to fuck my brains out, Adam, but not in bed.”

“Not in bed?”

“Uh-uh.” I pointed to the window.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Adam hesitated, as if struggling with his conscience, then shrugged a “what the hell” and headed back to my little den of
sin. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and I choreographed the entire wonderful dance. First I lit a candle to give the
corner a bit of illumination, just in case anyone might happen to be watching. Then I got down on all fours, facing sideways
so that my entire body could be seen, but so I could still turn my head and see out. I told Adam to get behind me.

“Can you get hard again yet?” I asked. Adam usually needed at least a ten-minute respite in between erections.

“Are you kidding? This is too hot not to,” he said, grabbing my hips and pulling me onto his cock. “Okay, girl,” he whispered,
“ride me.”

And ride him I did. With Adam pulling me by the hips I slid slowly back and forth over his prick. I made lazy circles to get
it to touch me in all the right spots. I slammed vigorously against him, taking him to the root, causing his balls to slap
against my labia. I turned my head to look out the window. Was anyone watching? I couldn’t tell, but I imagined that someone,
anyone, was. The thought of others
observing me like this, so sexy, so juicy, my hair hanging down, my tits shaking, my ass up in the air just begging for pleasure,
was the most exciting sensation I had ever known. Goose bumps crawled over my flesh, and my cunt contracted, slowly at first,
then in wider and wider circles, suffusing my whole body with waves of pleasure. I shivered and moaned, my head dropping down.
A few final thrusts and Adam showered my open vagina with another hefty dose of semen. Half laughing, half crying, we collapsed
onto the pillows and kissed each other passionately.

I’ll never know if anyone saw us that night, but I like to think they did. After that Adam made me give up my voyeurism, saying
he thought it was unethical and maybe even illegal. I have to admit, though, that sometimes when he’s not around I sneak a
little peek at the passing show. Is it really so bad to enjoy watching people in the throes of pleasure? How did Uncle Mikey
feel about it? I guess I’ll never know. But I do know that I can’t help but laugh now whenever I remember the closing line
from that famous television series: “There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them.”

BY
B
ETH
L
EEZER

S
he walked up the aisle with cognac eyes, stopped next to him in the aisle, examined her ticket and the empty seat. Greg had
no idea it was his lucky day until the redhead lifted her luggage into the overhead compartment, exposing herself. A strange
greeting… but nice.

When the girl reached up, peach garters winked at him. Eye level with the silver clasps, Greg accepted the view with pleasured
astonishment. The pussy curled in its silk cage was like flames reaching for him. He leaned forward to take in a fragrance
similar to the Sonora Desert after a rain.

The naughty dress lowered as she closed the overhead cabinet doors. Without so much as an “Excuse me” she slid against his
knees as she moved to her seat. The strict pleats of her skirt tried but failed to conceal the plump bottom jiggling within.
It was a juicy ass, just like a well-fed girl should have. Tiny rabbits danced around the hem of the plaid.