It is the morning after. And although I am now in my office, I continue to do as you bid. I would never defy you. My reward for obedience is too great.
Despite its softness, the lace of my finely ribbed basque, the deceptively delicate corset you instruct me to wear while in the office, rubs my nipples until they burn, which is as you intended. The chocolate brown silk of my blouse hides the exquisitely constricting garment that cinches my waist and spills my breasts daringly over the top. The scalloped edges of the garment stop just at the crest of my nipples, torturing me throughout the day, as agreed. The modesty of the blouse saves me from discovery. Only I am aware of the delicious sting. Acutely so, as each inhalation causes my aching nipples—still tender from the clamps—to throb.
Throughout the day my body remembers your touch: warm, masterful hands connecting icy clamps to my pink nipples, you pulling the chain through them, then the tugging and the insistence.
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Women love kinky sex—and they love to talk about it. But that’s no surprise to the readers of Penthouse. They’ve long enjoyed the erotic confessions of ladies who crave the sweet surrender of submission, the heady thrill of domination, and the sublime pleasure of sexual fetishes. From sex slaves with a penchant for pain to dommes wielding wicked whips, these ladies lay bare their lust and spill all the debaucherous details. Letters to Penthouse XXXXV presents these women’s wildest adventures in their own words—and their torrid tales are anything but vanilla.
Here is a sneak peek at one of these scandalous tales ripped from the latest installment in the Letters to Penthouse series. Read on! They can’t wait to tell you their kinky little secrets.
My husband, Dave, is infatuated with a game-show hostess. If there is one program that he will not miss, it’s hers. I know she looks great, but I’m not chopped liver. At first, my husband’s obsession with the game-show hostess annoyed me, but it didn’t take me long to realize that his “crush” was harmless to our marriage. In fact, as I began to daydream, I realized that his interest in her could actually improve our sex life. My devious mind began working overtime, and I decided to combine our multiple interests: Dave’s love of this tart and our mutual interest in dominance and submission.
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I’m 23 years old and the mother of a sweet little girl. My husband is a wonderful provider, and we live in a rather upscale residential area. To see us you would think we were an average upper-class American family, and as far as my husband and daughter are concerned, we are. I have a dark secret, however, that would shock everyone if they knew, and definitely cost me my marriage.
It began during my senior year of high school. At 18 I was fully developed and ripe for the picking, and my hormones were running wild. I ached to get laid, like a lot of the other girls, but my parents were so smothering and strict that there was no way they would allow me to get on the Pill. This made dating awkward, because most of the other girls were fucking.
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A few months ago my girlfriend Charlotte informed me that we would be attending her cousin’s wedding. She explained that the trip would take six hours, so we would be staying overnight at her sister Erin’s house. I didn’t want to go, but it wasn’t like I was being given a choice. Charlotte has what most people would call a dominating personality. I didn’t call it anything, since I didn’t like getting bitched at. Since there was no way out, I simply resigned myself to my fate.
Charlotte then told me that her mother, Diane, would be traveling with us. Diane lived alone since her divorce a couple of years ago. Fortunately, I liked her. She had a nice personality and was a real looker, despite being 45. But what I found most appealing about her was her amazing rack. I’ve always been a tit man, the bigger the better, and Diane had a great looking set of 40Ds. While Charlotte had inherited her mother’s good looks, she had totally missed out when it came to the breast department.
The day before we were supposed to go, Charlotte was told by her boss that she had to work the weekend, since there was some huge project had to be finished by Monday. That left Diane and me on our own. I probably could have gotten out of it at that point, but to be honest, I figured being alone with Diane would probably be pretty enjoyable, so I didn’t mind.
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When my daughter Sally found out her fiancé, Lyle, was having a bachelor party a couple of nights before their wedding, she got pissed off, especially when she heard it was being held at a strip club that had a reputation for being kind of wild. Now personally I thought the whole thing about guys going nuts at bachelor parties was overblown, and I tried to reassure her about that, but she wouldn’t listen. In fact, she insisted that I secretly go to the club that night, so that if it looked like Lyle was going too far with any of the strippers, I could put a stop to things.
Now of course Lyle was an adult, and I couldn’t tell him what he could and couldn’t do, but explaining that to Sally wouldn’t have done any good. But if I refused there was no telling what drastic measures she might take, so I agreed. After all, I figured that just having one’s future mother-in-law on the premises would probably be enough to stop things from getting too wild.
I arrived at the club well before the party was to begin, taking a booth toward the back where I’d be mostly out of sight, but could still see the stage. While I waited for Lyle and his friends to show up I purchased several drinks, downing them a bit faster than normal, since it was my first time in such a place, and I was the only unaccompanied woman there.
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Last week, when I stopped by my girlfriend Olive’s house, her mother, Velma, answered the door. She told me that Olive had gone to the mall with her father, and she wasn’t sure when they’d be back.
I saw that she was carrying a laundry basket, so I asked her if she needed a hand. “Sure, if you don’t mind,” she answered. “There’s another basket in the hall.”
I grabbed it and followed her downstairs to the laundry room. While walking behind her, I began admiring her body. At 47, with long, silky dark hair, Velma is still a very sexy woman. That day she was wearing a white T-shirt with no bra and tight hip-hugger jeans, and I could see the waistband of her pink thong, pulled high up over her hips. My cock was throbbing by the time we got to the laundry room.
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You know childhood crushes. Growing up, I was sure my next-door neighbor Elizabeth was my soul mate and one day we would marry. I didn’t wake up till after high school when she was fucking half the married guys in town, until she got knocked up and left town, dumping the kid on her mom—right after Elizabeth’s dad left her for a younger woman.
I always thought Elizabeth’s mom, Dana, didn’t like me, thought I wasn’t good enough for her precious daughter. Then I realized maybe she’d just been trying to warn me off Elizabeth.
So here I was, doing lousy construction-site work, wishing to hell I could afford to move out of my parents’ house, and Dana encouraged me to come over as often as I liked. Often we had dinner, then spent the night talking or watching TV.
One evening after work I let myself in the house like usual and heard crying. At first I figured it was Angie, Dana’s granddaughter. But no, there was Dana sitting on the living-room sofa crying while trying not to wake up Angie, asleep in a chair.
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My friends are familiar with my travel routine, which frequently has me away from home for four or five nights on sales calls. One night at dinner with our friends Pru and Bert I mentioned an upcoming trip to Dallas, and Pru told Bert that if their son Carson flew down with me, that would help everyone.
When I gave her a questioning look, she explained that Bert’s late father had left Carson his ten-year-old Corvette, which was still sitting in Dallas as they didn’t want him driving it back to Chicago without an adult and neither of them could get off of work for several months.
My husband jumped in and said to me, “Why not do it?” He pointed out I’d have company on the trip, and I had nothing planned for the extra days it would take for the drive back.
I could hardly say that I was already planning on having plenty of company while I was in Dallas, which I could hardly do with a 19-year-old boy in tow. So I just said I was sure Carson wouldn’t want to tag around all week with an old lady while I did my business. Pru said she was sure Carson wouldn’t make a burden of himself, and while he’d never been to Dallas, he didn’t need baby-sitting. She asked if she could run it by him—and what could I say?
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Recently I attended my oldest grandson Cary’s high school graduation, but my husband opted to go on a planned big fishing trip with friends. That really irritated me. Not only was it inconsiderate to Cary, it meant I had to do the five-hour drive solo. At least I would get to relax and spend the weekend with some of my family.
I arrived in time for the ceremony on Friday and was proud to see Cary receive his diploma. After a celebratory dinner, my daughter asked if I wouldn’t mind helping with the party the next day, which promised to be a mega event. So much for my relaxing weekend! I retired early and as soon as I got up was put to work—decorating, picking up supplies, whatever else needed doing. It was close, but it was all ready by the time guests started to arrive.
My daughter and son-in-law held nothing back, allowing Cary to invite dozens of friends. Two in particular, Norman and Bryce, made a favorable impression when they observed that I looked more like Cary’s aunt than his grandmother! I know they were just being polite, but that’s still flattering to a woman in her 50s.
I ended up helping host the party, and was I ever needed, since my daughter not only allowed alcohol to be served in generous quantities (all of the guests were at least 18) but ended up drinking a good bit herself. I was more than a bit frantic. Luckily, Norman and Bryce helped out, staying at my side constantly. I tried to send them off to enjoy the party, but they wouldn’t hear of it. They were lifesavers, and as time passed, I truly enjoyed their company.
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When my dad’s friend Jerry died, he left his wife Angelina a lot of money, but she never became stuck up. In fact, she’s still the same woman she’s always been.
She does dress well, however. Her chic taste in clothing really turns me on.
One day in her living room I saw her in a beautiful silk dress along with a pair of patent leather pumps and lace stockings, accentuated by her accessory jewelry. I got instantly hard. And she didn’t try to discourage me. At one point she was walking past me and brushed against me, and when the silk dress came in contact with my clothing, shivers went through me.
She moved closer, and I smelled her perfume. Suddenly she stepped in front of me and looked down at my crotch. She patted it and, smiling wickedly, said, “I see you have the hots for me,” and she kissed me full on the lips. I thought I would come in my pants! She let her dress fall to the floor, revealing her sexy-as-hell lingerie: lace bra, silk panties, lace garter belt and the stockings I mentioned.
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