Erotica from Penthouse Read Online Free Page B

grinned.
    “No,” I said, “I really don't.”
    “Then why don't you come over here?” he urged. I kicked off my shoes and lay down beside him on the sofa. His hands remained clasped behind his head with that same detached attitude that had first excited me on the beach. I kissed him and he turned to me and with perfect control slowly explored my mouth with his tongue. He reached down and unbuckled his pants and opened the zipper. Then he stood up. “Show me what you can do,” he demanded.
    I thought about all the times I had refused him, and I knew he was going to make me pay for those rejections. But I had learned a lot in Europe, and I was going to enjoy making good the debt.
    Kneeling before him I took down his pants. I kissed the insides of his thighs and licked his balls. Then, after sucking gently on the tip of his cock, I took him deep into my throat. “That's a good girl,” he groaned, cupping my head in his hands and thrusting deeper and deeper. I ran my hands up and down his legs, moaning, twisting and whimpering with excitement. I was still dressed and I began to unbutton my blouse. “Wait,” he commanded. I writhed until he finished with my mouth and withdrew.
    “All right,” he said. “Get up.”
    In the bedroom, although I wanted to rip my clothes off, he forced me to undress slowly. When I was fully nude he ordered me to lie down and spread my legs. I did. “Wider,” he insisted. I did so and he sat down beside me and parted my lips with his fingers. He rubbed me deftly, stopping each time I was on the verge of orgasm.
    “Oh please,” I moaned.
    “Not yet,” he replied sternly.
    He turned me over, positioned me on a pillow and came into me from behind, manipulating my clitoris with his hand and stopping each time just as I was about to come. Finally I screamed, thrashed onto my back and guided his hips into mine. He laughed and began to move rhythmically in tandem with me. His control was perfect. When I came, he began to groan and pound at me until he too came with a violent shudder. We lay drenched together and then fell asleep.
    Max Perry and I began seeing each other several times a week. All of my sexual experimentation in Europe culminated in our affair. The depersonalized attitude he brought to our lovemaking turned me on in ways I never would have believed possible before my European trip.
    When summer came we went to Fire Island, where we had first met. With my son in camp we spent long weeks at the beach. It was there that our most powerful and erotic sex took place. I wore few clothes (never more than a bikini bottom in the house) which Max felt free to pull off whenever he pleased—sometimes when I was cooking or doing the laundry.
    Once he bent me over a corner of the dining room table and entered me from the rear and then, just as I found the pressure unbearable, he pulled out, sat up on the table, pushed me to my knees and, holding my face in his hands, guided his cock into my mouth, where he came. Seeing my dismayed expression he ordered me to stand up and play with myself in front of him. I did so, my head bent with shame at my excitement. Just as I was about to come he removed my fingers, pulled me up on the table and gently licked me to orgasm with his tongue.
    In the mornings we rose before dawn and went out to the beach. In a depression surrounded by dunes Max would take off his bathing trunks, sit down on a blanket and lean back. I would lie on my stomach, my head between his legs, my tongue busy.
    Occasionally he would guide my head with his hands, pulling at my ears to direct his motions. I found this way of directing me unbearably exciting, and before we even began I was usually moist and groaning with anticipation. Although I was primed to come at a touch, Max never let me. When he was ready he would turn me toward him and tease me, sometimes with his fingers, more usually with his tongue or his cock. When he finally allowed me to come it was always explosive. One