I sensed that she was on the verge of orgasm, so I ran my tongue rapidly across her clit, at which she let out a yell and fell off of me in complete exhaustion. As we lay there panting, I noticed to my delight that my cock was once again standing at attention. This time I knew exactly what to do. I knelt between her legs but, to my surprise, she told me to wait. Her fragrant juices running down her tan thighs, she took my hand and led me into the house.
As she led me up the stairs to the bedroom, she told me she had a special surprise for me, and in her bedroom I saw it right away: In the corner of the room a basketlike chair was suspended from the ceiling by pulleys. She told me coyly to lie underneath the odd-looking contraption, which I did. As she climbed into the seat, my anticipation grew, and with it the size of my tool. She instructed me to spin the basket and use the rope beside me to raise and lower it. I noticed then that her pussy was positioned directly over a hole in the bottom of the basket, and my curiosity was satisfied.
I gave the basket a spin and started to lower it slowly. When the head of my cock touched her spinning, dripping cunt, sending electric shocks through my body, she moaned. I spun the basket once more and lowered it further, watching the dark nipples on her heaving breasts swell in excitement. The sensation was beyond anything I had ever imagined. Feeling a surge in my groin, I gave the basket a final spin and lowered it all the way. That’s when she begged me to fuck her like she had never been fucked before. I then pulled on the rope in short jerks, making her cunt engage and release my cock time and time again.
Her moans turned to short gasping yelps and my own climax approached. I arched my back and had the greatest orgasm ever, and she too lost control, her fingers gripping the side of the basket as she begged for more. I thought I would black out by the time my orgasm was over. Mrs. Bartlett was now screaming at the top of her lungs with animal-like abandon. The basket came slowly to a stop and my now withering cock slipped out of her. After we had recovered enough to stand on our feet, we took a slow sensuous shower together.
As a result of my initiation into the realm of fantastic sex, my mother has never had to worry about getting her reports delivered to Mrs. Bartlett on time.—
Name and address withheld
SEX SHIFTS INTO HIGH AS WOMAN DISCOVERS NEW MODE OF “AUTO” EROTICISM
Almost three years ago my husband and I shared an experience that we both very much enjoyed and that we haven’t ever read about in
Penthouse Letters.
At that time we’d just begun living together and I discovered that he really got off by watching me masturbate and by stimulating me with miscellaneous objects—candles, a dildo, even a large cucumber that he inserted into my cunt.
Because my husband is a construction worker, he often drives to company meetings. I’ve accompanied him on the tedious six-hour drive, which we find more enjoyable if it is alleviated with sex games.
For example, we were returning home one summer evening and he told me to take off my jeans. I quickly did, excited at the prospect of playtime. Then he instructed me to sit very close to him. As I moved over on the seat, he slipped his hand under me, fingered my clit and slipped his fingers inside. I was so turned on that I begged him to pull off the road, but he laughingly told me, “Not yet.” Then he half-lifted me off the seat. I cooperated as he pressed my pubic bone and then my clit against the vibrating four-speed floor shift. I came almost immediately. It was great. The road was slightly bumpy, and the gearshift transmitted all the vibrations very pleasantly. I climaxed once more, and then he lifted my ass up higher. I felt his thick, strong fingers part my labia, slide deep inside me and then out again. He repositioned me slightly, and I felt the smooth, wide gearshift knob, dampened with my wetness, pressing against my labia and then sliding into me.
Still driving down the highway at a steady fifty-five miles per hour, he began rhythmically stroking my clit, and as my wetness increased, the gearshift knob slid further inside me. It was tremendous—the feel of his fingers on my clit, the size and pressure of the knob, the continuous vibrations. The sensation was so unbelievably wonderful that I had a stupendous wave of orgasms, peak after peak, each one more intense and lasting longer. I must have enjoyed twenty orgasms as he continued to drive and play with me. I was lost in waves of delight, moaning and writhing, screaming out my pleasure. I barely noticed as he turned off the highway down a dark country road. After helping me disengage myself, he parked the truck. I unzipped his pants and caressed his huge erection with my mouth. I felt it deep in my throat, but after a couple of strokes, he turned me away from him. I knelt on my hands and knees as he penetrated me with smooth, deep strokes, and I climaxed five or six times before he filled me with come.
Unfortunately, his company has now provided him with a more modern truck—one with an automatic transmission—which has taken some of the fun out of our trips. I hope that my husband will succeed in finding just what he’s looking for—in time for our next vacation—an older, ratty jeep or four-speed pickup!—
L.R., Silver City, N.M.
Editors’ note: Despite L.R.’s high praise of gearshift knobs as pussy stimulators, we would discourage women from doing what she says she’s done. It can be dangerous, especially in a moving vehicle.
ONLY PANTY-CLAD COCKS GET NEAR HER BOX
I am a twenty-seven-year-old graduate student in my second year at a southern university. Moving here from Boston has been a big adjustment for me. However, I have found a small diversion that has made the adjustment much easier.
A while ago I discovered three things about myself: One, I don’t get off from balling; two, I love cunnilingus—I would rather have a guy’s tongue in me than his cock anytime; three, the one thing I do like about a man’s cock is the way it feels through a silky, sexy fabric. I discovered this a couple of years ago with a boyfriend who wore nylon briefs.
After I was settled in my new home, I decided to take charge of my sex life—have it go my way. Some of the young undergraduate boys at the university are easy prey; I am pretty and have a nice figure, so I can turn these boys on like a lamp. I like to dress up and go out and find a nice-looking prospect to take back to my apartment.
After we have a few drinks, I remove my dress and stroll around in my slip, nylons and high heels. As soon as I have my boy panting for my bod, I sit down and prop my legs up so that my slip slides up, revealing my stockings, garter belt and bush. Needless to say, by this time I have my boy’s undivided attention.
Next, I start masturbating myself until I am dripping wet with anticipation. The boy is almost going crazy at this point; I love to see his hard cock bulging in his pants, ready for action. I go to him, rub his cock through his pants and suggest that we go into the bedroom, where I tell him to strip.
The boy will almost always leap out of his clothes. I rub up against him and kiss him a few times. When he is almost frantic to get his meat in my oven, I take a pair of my panties out of a drawer and explain my fetish. Very few boys have refused to put them on.
Next, we get on the bed in a 69 position. I guide his head to my dripping bush and tell him to kiss it. I begin to rub his cock and balls through my panties, which really churns him up. Usually, he’ll start eating pussy like it’s going out of style. Now I am ready to cut loose, so I clamp my legs around his head, get a firm grip on his cock and balls, and start humping his sweet lips and tongue.
After I’ve come as many times as I can, I tell him that I’m too exhausted to ball and that I think he should leave and come back another time. Of course, sometimes the boy will come in my panties while I’m humping his face. I really like that because I love the feel of his squirting cock in my hand, and I particularly love the look on his face when I tell him he must wash out my panties before he leaves or he can’t come back. I have never had anyone refuse this little request.
I have been getting off like this about twice a week now for nearly a year. What amazes me most is that I have several repeaters. I don’t know what it is—maybe the fresh air—but the South certainly is number one when it comes to cunt-lappers. Little did I think when I came down here that things would work out so well.
Recently, I took in a roommate to cut down on expenses. I told her about my “hobby.” She didn’t believe me until she hid in my closet one evening and saw for herself. We’re now planning to team up and get double duty from our catches.—
M.A.K., Jackson, Miss.
TWO GUYS GIVE SWEET BUTTERFLY SIPS OF THEIR LOVE NECTAR
My childhood sweetheart and I were married five years ago while still in our teens. So far we haven’t had any children. Karen, who looks a lot like Mario Thomas, is still a student at the University of Washington. She often wears boy’s jeans or cords, with tennis shoes and a shirt, sweater or sweatshirt. When we are out together, however, she leans toward far more provocative apparel. Her favorite dress is a calf-length silk print with a very low, scooped neckline. When she moves in a certain manner, her neckline falls aside, totally exposing one or the other of her breasts. This often occurs while she casually studies a menu with the waiter looking on, or while getting out of our car, or at a cocktail party. She has average-size breasts but they are round and high, with pointed tips that look too good to be real.
One day on the tennis court I noticed that she had an appreciative audience of four young guys seated on the ground behind her. While facing away from me, she bent down to retrieve a ball. Then I saw that under her short tennis dress she was wearing panties that consisted of only small triangles in front and back, with a seam that disappeared between the cheeks of her pert ass. That was the end of play for us, for I got such an erection that I was unable to continue.
We were both virgins when we first went to bed together, and only once have we ever thought it desirable to include another person in our sex life—our good friend Ron. Besides me and Ron, the only man ever to see Karen’s naked crotch was a tattoo artist some years ago. As an anniversary present to me, she’d shaven her pubic hair and had a butterfly tattooed above her cunt. She admitted to having had two small climaxes while the artist worked on her, sitting between her legs with his mouth only inches from her slit. Gently he’d stretched and twisted her tenderest flesh to create the butterfly design. When he’d finished, as he was rubbing antiseptic lotion on her, he dipped one finger between her pussy lips and said he would waive his fee if she would have sex with him. With his finger still penetrating her, she had a shattering orgasm, then paid him and left. Her pubic hair has grown back, but it is so sparse and fine that you can see her pink lips and the butterfly through it.
The thing with Ron happened a few weeks ago when he and I returned from a three-day fishing trip and found Karen asleep. It was rather late. I have known Ron since we were children, and he and Karen are more like brother and sister than just friends. He was to spend the night sleeping on our couch. It only seemed natural, however, that he should follow me into my king-size bed. All Karen did was slide up next to me and rest her head on my chest.
A few minutes later, when Ron’s breathing suggested he was asleep, Karen started nibbling my nipples and lightly stroked my cock. After a few minutes of this, I slipped her gown up above her breasts and positioned myself on top of her. I entered her in one long, well-lubricated stroke. She was moving very slowly and sleepily and making soft sighs and whimpering sounds. Ron was lying on his back when I placed Karen’s hand on his large, soft cock. She left her hand there, motionless, and I placed my hand on top of hers. Intertwining my fingers with hers, I started making a slow circular motion. Ron’s softness began to harden. He soon raised his hips to help as I rolled his bikini shorts down to just below his balls. I pulled my cock out of Karen and repositioned her on her side facing Ron before I entered her again, this time from the rear. I was moving slowly in and out of her as she pushed against me and gently stroked Ron’s groin. I reached over her and encircled the base of his tumescent member with my thumb and forefinger, cradling his balls with the rest of my hand. Karen then leaned down and took his impressive hard-on in her mouth. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, as in a dream.
I felt Ron’s penis throb and heave as he shot off in Karen’s mouth. She followed immediately with her own orgasm, quickening her movements as I released into her. She turned to me with a long, wet kiss so she could share Ron’s hot jism with me. Karen and I then fell asleep in each other’s arms with her head tucked against my chest.
A few hours later I woke to the feel of her soft, wet lips sliding up and down my penis. There was also a very masculine hand rubbing me around my balls and a gentle rocking motion coming from behind Karen. I needn’t detail our lovemaking further, except to say that I’ll always be grateful for having such a sexy and adoring wife and a wonderful, loving friend.—
R.P., Tacoma, Wash.
IT WAS A LONG TIME COMING, BUT WOMAN FINALLY EXPERIENCES THE BIG O
I am an attractive twenty-six-year-old divorced woman who once told a friend that I would never write to
Penthouse Letters
until I’d had my first orgasm. Since I’m writing how, you already have an idea of what this letter is about!
Although I enjoyed an active sex life with my ex-husband while we were married, I never managed to have an orgasm. Since my divorce a year ago, I have shared my bed with several loving, handsome men, each of whom made it his personal mission to be the first to bring me off. While I certainly enjoyed their special attention and the pleasurable sensations it brought, they failed in their mission. I was beginning to think I was doomed to go through life that way. Until two weeks ago, that is.
That’s when a friend, who manages an athletic club, invited me to a private party there. Although I was sure I wouldn’t know anyone at the party, I decided to go. When I arrived, I saw that there were over one hundred guests—noisy, high, having a great time. We had the run of the place, which covers several blocks. Guests wandered about the tennis courts, racquetball courts and pool. I grabbed a drink at the open bar and started to mingle.