Penthouse (7 page)

Ted caught up with me at the car and fumbled with his keys, trying to apologize or something. I just kissed him gently, then
took him home and made him fuck me once more. (I never brought up his sister again.)

BY
M
ARCY
S
HEINER

I
left the last class of the semester and headed for my car. It was a hundred degrees in the shade, and the car had been sitting
in the sun for two hours—I couldn’t even touch the steering wheel. I decided that I’d worry about it later. For now I’d drop
in on my lover Ron, who lived just a few blocks from campus.

Ron’s a shrink who specializes in sex—that is, he helps people, mostly couples, figure out how to improve their sex life.
He’s so good at his work that he’s become a hot ticket at seminars and conventions, where he’s often asked to deliver speeches
to students or doctors. In fact, Ron has been the inspiration for my returning to school to study the very same subject.

Ron had told me the night before that he’d hired Laurie, a mutual friend who was starting out as a photographer, to take professional
photos of him that he could use when sending out promotional materials or—hopefully soon—on the jacket of his first book.
When I arrived at his apartment, he told me that Laurie had just called and
asked him to make their appointment a bit earlier—she’d be there in half an hour. He was frantically trying to choose a shirt,
tie, and jacket to wear for the shoot.

In the stifling heat, Ron wore only a pair of khaki shorts and sandals. I sat on the bed, admiring his tanned muscles and
hairy chest as he tried on various shirts and jackets. When he finally decided on a blue shirt, navy jacket, and maroon tie,
he turned from the mirror and asked me what I thought.

Well, I thought he looked pretty funny in a cute, sexy way, with his formal upper attire over bare legs and sandals. I couldn’t
help but laugh.

“What?” he asked, confused and hurt. One of the things I love about Ron is his vulnerability—he doesn’t hide his insecurities
from me. But I felt terrible that he’d misinterpreted my laughter and immediately put my arms around him.

“I’m just laughing because you look so cute half in a suit and half naked.”

Relieved, he joked, “Which part do you like better?”

“The naked part, of course.”

Like magnets, our pelvises came together. I felt his member swell beneath his shorts.

“Do we have time for a quickie?” I whispered.

“I don’t think so—Laurie said she’d be right over, and that was ten minutes ago.” His cock grew bigger even as he tried to
dissuade me.

Without wasting another second, I fell to my knees, unzipped his fly, and released it from its bondage. Ron gasped with pleasure
as I took his swollen organ into my mouth and began slavering it with my long, wet tongue. I glanced sideways in the mirror
and had to suppress another giggle at the sight: Ron in his suit and tie with his
hard-on bulging from his shorts and filling my hungry mouth.

I closed my eyes and began sucking in earnest, hoping Ron would come before the photographer showed up. Indeed, within seconds
his cock grew to its fullest size and throbbed expectantly in my mouth. The salty tang of precome teased my tongue. But just
as I was inwardly gloating that this would be the shortest blowjob on record, the doorbell rang. Ron let out an anguished
groan; I jumped to my feet. Red-faced, he stuffed his meat back into his shorts and answered the door.

Laurie, a petite brunette, wore only a pair of white Danskin shorts and a pink halter top, showing plenty of her smooth, dark
skin. Her thick curls were massed atop her head, and despite the heat, she was full of energetic enthusiasm. I sat on the
sidelines so as not to get in the way while she rearranged furniture and removed paintings to create a blank wall for a background.

When the scene was set, Ron sat on a stool in his incongruous outfit. His hard-on was still raging, and I could see it bulging
against the fabric of his shorts. Laurie seemed oblivious—or she was too polite to mention it—as she snapped her camera, every
so often instructing him to turn his head or change position. As she bent over her tripod, her shorts rode up to reveal a
pair of juicy ass cheeks—apparently, she wore no panties. I was seized with a sudden urge to simply walk over, stick my hand
up her shorts, and squeeze her flesh. (I must confess that I get such urges rather frequently and at the most inappropriate
times, like toward strangers in places like the supermarket; I’ve learned how to restrain myself.)

When they finished the photos, Ron looked over at me. “Want to have a picture of us together?” he asked.

“What, me in my T-shirt and you all decked out?”

“Just for fun,” Ron said.

“You might as well,” said Laurie. “I’m all set up.”

I went over and stood next to Ron. He put his arm around my waist, and Laurie snapped the camera. Feeling playful, I grabbed
his tie and pulled it as if I was going to lead him around by it. Laurie laughed and snapped the camera again. “Keep going,”
she said. “This is great. I can use these pictures in the artsy section of my portfolio.” Ron and I cavorted around awhile,
which inevitably led to some more suggestive poses. After all, his cock still hadn’t gone down—when I bumped against him,
I could feel it, hard and insistent. “Just let yourselves go,” Laurie encouraged. “I need to get some practice doing candid
shots.”

“Can we do anything we feel like?” I asked with a meaningful look.

She smiled knowingly. “Sure.”

I resumed where we’d last left off, on my knees sucking his dick, only this time I had a camera recording all my moves. I
had never been watched by anyone while sucking cock, and that in itself was enormously exciting. But what was even more exciting
was the knowledge that I was being photographed, just as if I were a porno queen. I imagined that the pictures would end up
in a magazine and be seen by millions of people. Guys would jerk off to the sight of my masterful cocksucking skills. Responding
to my imagined audience, I stuck out my ass, thrust out my chest, and took that dick way down deep.

Ron was, of course, also excited by the scene, though not for quite the same reasons, as he later told me. He didn’t think
about the photos as much as he thought about Laurie—the fact that another woman was watching his cock being sucked drove him
wild.

But Laurie didn’t watch for very long. Just as I thought I’d go crazy without some attention to my aching cunt, she abandoned
her camera and got down on the floor behind me. I kept right on sucking Ron’s cock while Laurie slipped off my shorts and
panties and positioned herself so she could eat me out. Her masterful tongue worked its way up and down my labia and over
my clit. She stuck a finger or two inside me and slowly fucked me while she licked. Her mouth inspired mine, and I took Ron’s
cock, so deep I thought I’d choke—but I didn’t.

Standing over us, watching Laurie eat my pussy while I sucked his cock, Ron began to moan and gyrate his hips, pumping his
cock deeper and harder into my mouth. With a final thrust, his prick held steady as a fire hose, spurting hot liquid down
my throat. I gulped it, at the same time pressing my cunt against Laurie’s mouth until I, too, came.

After our orgasms subsided, Ron and I turned our attention to our little photographer. I removed her shorts and fulfilled
my fantasy of grabbing those ass cheeks—in fact, I chewed and nibbled on them until they were covered with hickeys. While
I feasted on her buns, Ron took care of her pussy, licking her the way she’d licked me, until she came, screaming and moaning,
all over his face. All the while we were engaged in our miniorgy, I kept hearing funny little clicks. I looked up and saw
that Laurie had set the camera on some kind of automatic timer. Our miniorgy had been documented for posterity. When we were
all lying in a sweaty heap of blissed-out exhaustion, I asked Laurie what she intended to do with the photographs.

“Well,” she confessed shyly, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep them in my private collection. I promise not to show them
to anyone else.”

I balked momentarily, but when I thought about it, I
realized that Laurie was a trustworthy person. She wouldn’t show the pictures around. She certainly couldn’t print them anywhere
without our permission—she’d be liable to a lawsuit. So after telling her we wanted our own set as well, Ron and I agreed
to let her keep the film and the pictures for her own private use.

Sometimes I imagine Laurie looking through the photos and masturbating. Sometimes I imagine her boyfriend jerking off to them.
For all I know, she’s thrown them out by now. One thing I do know for sure—there are at least two people who still get off
on my day as a porno queen. Ron and I get excited every time we look at those pictures and remember our hot day with Laurie.
Though we both feel that any more threesomes would be too complicated for our relationship, we’re glad we’ve got a visual
record that continues to inspire our lovemaking.

BY
C
ORAL
M. W
ATSON

I
carried my small satchel onto the train at Gare du Nord—the 16:05 to Limoges from Paris. This was a business run I engaged
in weekly for my job with an American porcelain company. It was always boring and frequently uncomfortable, since my seats
were not premier class. I walked down the overused aisles, which smelled of Gauloises and dust, searching for an empty compartment—or
at least one with another woman in it. Since I was still struggling with my horrid French and getting over a destructive relationship
with a fellow expatriate, I wanted only to read my mystery novel, not discuss the weather or fend off a masher’s advances.

Being half an hour early, I found an empty six-seater easily, pulled up the window shades, and settled in. The intense lights
of the old iron station temporarily blinded me. It was some minutes before my eyes adjusted and I noticed another train waiting
on the tracks immediately across from my platform. All its shades were open but for one compartment parallel to mine. The
curtains were constructed
to be adjustable from both the top and the bottom—this compartment had the top shade halfway down and the bottom shade halfway
up. I was unprepared to see a young man’s torso perfectly framed within those confines. He was of medium build, nicely muscular
with excellent posture and… completely nude from the top of his thighs to the middle of his chest!

My first inclination was to turn away and draw the shades. What if he could see me? As a solitary female traveler, I have
been witness to men masturbating on trains all over the world. Usually, they are repulsive, threatening types who scare me
into calling a conductor. I’ve always thought it was a cliché, that thing about the seductive rolling motion making people
out-of-control horny on trains, but for some reason, this time it was affecting me. I was powerless to move, and we hadn’t
even left the station.

His right hand came into view and began to very softly, slowly, stroke himself. I was riveted by the delicacy with which,
palm open, he gently petted his crotch, as if it were a small, beloved animal. My last boyfriend had been very selfish and
always too rough, usually demanding sex before I was ready. I hadn’t made love in over two months and was unaware that I was
missing anything. Watching this penis nobly straighten up, though, I imagined he was the sort of man who would make absolutely
certain I was primed; the kind of man who would go down on a woman just because he likes her taste and smell. With some embarrassment
I began to feel a tender moistness flow into my panties. I undid my trouser button and relaxed the zipper, slipping my right
hand down into my pubic hair and manipulating my full lips. I slouched down in my seat, still keeping the faceless man in
view. My hands strayed to my breasts, where I distractedly unlatched my lacy brassiere to free
them. I wet my finger and tipped my nipples back and forth, fantasizing it was his mouth that made them erect. In this dream,
I ran my fingers over his firm, masculine shoulders while he nibbled wickedly away until I could no longer stand any more
and begged him to enter me.

Without thinking, I jumped up and adjusted my shades to match his. If I gave any thought to another passenger entering the
compartment, it was swiftly banished as I got up on my knees, pushed my velvet trousers and panties down, and placed my torso
saucily in the window. Immediately, his erection took on new vibrancy.
Ah, so he can see me,
I thought, beginning to rub my vulva tenderly.

Suddenly, he stopped touching himself. He turned his body in profile so I could more properly see the length and breadth of
his excitement. His stomach was flat and firm, with just the lightest dusting of curly black hair. He put his hands on his
hips, as if defying me to resist him. I adopted this same proud stance, deeply enjoying our sexual Simon Says. One-two, went
his hands on his dick. One-two, went mine against my mound. We touched ourselves rhythmically, as if we had done this before,
as if this were our favorite game, our favorite dance. He turned round to display his bum, and I leaned over and wiggled mine.
Our views were limited somewhat by the cracks in the woven shades, but I could see perfectly the moment when he dropped his
hands, opened them up, and beckoned to me, sliding them down the shaft of his beautiful cock and bending his index finger.
“Come to me,” the gesture said. “Come now.”

I knew I was being incomparably foolish. This was dangerous business. This was frightening and heart pounding and I could
feel a light sweat begin to mist under my breasts and armpits, but I pushed down my anxieties,
grabbed up my bag, and left the train. I counted back the number of compartments from the opposite engine and climbed up the
steps to where I estimated he was. My first guess was wrong. An old woman sat with a basket containing a small dog and looked
at me blankly. The floor began to hum from the vibrations of the train’s ignition, and my anxieties grew sharper.