Penthouse (22 page)

“This is just the warm-up, baby,” Michael said, as he slid me off him and onto the floor. I was still coming; he pushed the
sole of one cowboy boot against my pussy, and I pressed against it, trying to finish my orgasm. He sat back and told me to
take his boots off. I yanked off one, then the other. He stood up and stepped out of his jeans and shiny black briefs. Then
he was pulling the crotch of my panties to one side, rolling on top of me to fill me with his big warm cock, intensifying
my spasms of pleasure, making me cry out with each deep thrust. Somewhere in the back of my brain I realized we had ended
up on top of the rose he’d brought, but I hardly felt the thorns pricking my body as he pounded into me, fast and hard the
way I liked it. I thrashed around like a hooked fish, trying to open myself wider and wider, and with the next orgasm I let
it all go and screamed.

“Good girl,” Michael said. “That’s a good little bitch. You’ve wanted it for so long, haven’t you? You wanted to be bad, you
wanted to have your friend’s lover for yourself. I remember how we danced that night, how you pushed your hot body into mine.
I know what a slut you really are, under that nice-girl facade.” He kept talking, saying things that made me ashamed and excited,
things I’d told Diana I wished a man would someday say to me. Diana. What a wonderful friend. I loved Diana. I started moaning
her name as Michael withdrew his cock and put his tongue in its place, poking it in and out of me, moving up to encircle my
clit, back deep into my hole, then my clit again, gently biting it and sucking it, tugging until I was begging
him to fuck me again and fill me up so I could come on his hot cock. There was a knock on the door and Michael sat up. “Close
your eyes and don’t move,” he said.

I lay there, on the verge of coming all over myself, wondering what was going to happen next.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Michael said. In a moment I knew. I felt a woman’s hands on my face. Her soft lips covered mine.
Her fingers dipped between my legs and then she put them in my mouth, and through the smell of my pussy I inhaled Diana’s
perfume.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she said. “You did want both of us, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I moaned, as they stood me up and led me to the bedroom. They gently pushed me onto the bed, and I lay there and waited
for the next pleasure. I could no longer think. I was reduced to pure sensation: the coolness of the satin sheets, the sticky
ooze between my legs. I heard the high buzzing of a vibrator, Diana’s laughter, felt rose petals falling softly on my breasts
and belly. I heard the phone ring on the nightstand, and my arm shot out to pick it up, but then I let my hand fall, palm
up, back onto the bed. The machine clicked on, my voice said I wasn’t there.

“Ready?” Michael said.

Ready, I thought. I’m free. I’m thirty. It’s going to be a great year.

BY
B
ONNIE
B
OXER

T
he first time I encountered Rosa at the corner bodega it was as if my pussy had been hit by lightning. I’d just stopped in
for some hot sauce, and there she was, selecting ingredients for some sort of secret recipe of her own—molasses, thick and
syrupy; pieces of hot, gnarled ginger; and cloves of garlic, the world’s most suggestive aroma. Her jet-black hair hung in
a shining braid all the way down her back; her brow was furrowed with concentration. She was wearing a faded denim jacket
and very tight, very new blue jeans. Her nail polish was a dark, metallic blue; even her lipstick was blue.

This was clearly a woman who didn’t mind attracting attention, and she certainly caught mine. There’s something about a beautiful
woman in deep contemplation that does it for me every time. I found myself following her from aisle to aisle, like a woman
in a trance. A trail of musky perfume emanated from her as she sashayed down the rows, picking items off the shelves to check
a price or read the ingredients. I would’ve sworn that she was completely
unaware of my covert attentions, but after a few minutes she spun around, cocked her head, smirked at me, and said, “Look,
honey, if there’s something you don’t see on the shelves of this here store, maybe you’re just not looking in the right place.”

The next thing I knew I was helping her carry her groceries up the five flights to her nearby apartment. And I’d forgotten
all about my search for hot sauce.

Rosa’s place was chock-full of the stuff that dreams are made of: sexy posters of k. d. lang, Madonna, and Selena on the wall;
cushy pillows “casually” tossed across the red velvet couch; a faux-bearskin rug conveniently arranged before the fireplace;
candy dishes filled with peppermints, lollipops, and other alluring treats; an impressive collection of votive candles; and
adult magazines and videos positioned strategically about the room. This was a girl who clearly understood and operated on
the Pleasure Principle—my kind of gal.

“Cherry soda?” Rosa called from the kitchen as she started unloading the groceries, her voice a mix of coy and sarcastic.

“Sure,” I answered, but by the time the word was out of my mouth she was already drawing near, beverage in outstretched hand.
I reached for the glass, but Rosa withdrew it with a teasing smile. Like a traffic cop she motioned for me to stand still,
then advanced again, holding the cool glass to my lips, tilting a sip of sweet soda into my mouth. She did it with such authority,
I was taken aback. I swallowed hard, then watched, eyes glued to her darkblue nail polish, as she brought the glass to her
lips, drained its contents, and set it down on the table behind her. A mesmerizing display.

“There now,” she said with a smirk, “that wet my whistle.
How about yours?” I wasn’t sure what to say. I was still a little shocked by what she’d done, taking such a liberty with someone
she had only just met. But I could feel my nipples beginning to pucker against my bra, and I couldn’t blame that on the cold
soda.

As if reading my thoughts, Rosa took a long, leisurely glance at my breasts, fixing her stare on them. I followed her gaze,
and sure enough, my nipples were poking through my tight sweater like gumdrops. I was embarrassed, and would have tried to
explain it away with some pitiful excuse—but before I could open my mouth Rosa had sealed my lips with hers and was pressed
up against me, kissing me hard. Her mouth was a sweet mix of pink soda and blue lipstick, an intoxicating brew. Her tongue
slipped between my lips, a hot little cherry bomb, sizzling and explosive. I closed my eyes and inhaled her musky scent, letting
myself drown in sensation. As I ate the lipstick right off her lips, I began to feel my pussy throb under my short skirt.
I pressed my pelvis against hers; I could feel her jeans against my leg, and the sensation made me swoon. I curled my fingers
through her belt loops and held on tight, feeling her breasts crushing mine, her entire body pushing against me, creating
the kind of friction that leads to one thing only: fire.

I thought we were going to do it standing up, and was relieved when she escorted me with confidence over to the sofa. My relief—and
lust—increased greatly when she knelt between my legs and began licking my skirt with her beautiful pink tongue, like a kitten.
The skirt was pulled taut against my skin, so I could feel the strokes through the material. It was meant to drive me wild.
She knew I wanted her mouth on my pussy, but she wasn’t the type to rush. She was going to make me wait—maybe even beg—for
it.

The afternoon sun slanted into the room, catching us in its caressing rays. My body warmed to it, stretched out into the pleasure
rippling through me. Very slowly her fingers began moving up and down my calves, along my panty hose. Her fingernails raked
my skin lightly, then harder, until they’d made little tears in the hosiery on either calf. She pushed her fingers into the
holes and made direct contact with my skin, then slowly ripped the panty hose to shreds with her nails, careful not to hurt
my vulnerable flesh, but making her point in no uncertain terms. The sound of ripping material was delicious. Once the panty
hose were dispensed with, Rosa began a more powerful form of massage with her strong, competent fingers. Inch by inch she
moved up my inner thigh, all the way up beneath my skirt, until she came to my black silk panties. When her finger reached
my mound, we both gasped: I was soaking wet. She smiled up at me, and knowing that she could feel in the wet black silk my
desire for her—so palpable and undeniable—made me feel unbearably open and exposed. I whimpered with embarrassment and lust.

Rosa took this as a signal to bury her face under my skirt and begin nibbling at my panties. Her movements grew more and more
intense, as if she were struggling to control herself. Her teeth grazed my cunt through the silk, and I pushed myself hard
against her. Her tongue was tantalizingly warm through the heat-conducting material. In a moment I felt her grasp the underwear
with her teeth and slowly pull it off me, all the while continuing to rake my bare legs with her fingernails, like a lioness
within striking distance of the first warm-blooded meal of her adult life.

My clit started throbbing harder; I imagined it glowing under her tongue, a helpless firefly trapped in a jar. I
watched her head bobbing up and down on me, her eyes blissfully closed as she worked my pussy eagerly.
“Áay, que rica!”
she murmured as she started lapping at me with little flicks of the tongue. “You taste so good! Who needs groceries?” This
was a girl who clearly loved pussy and knew just what to do with it. She nibbled my outer lips, suckled the clit, and stroked
the entire area lightly with her tongue until I could barely stand it. When her tongue forcefully poked my hole and began
fucking me that way, I reached around behind her head and grabbed her braid, pulling her toward me, urging her on. I could
feel myself getting hotter and hotter as the pressure increased. My cheeks were warm and flushed; her lioness claws on my
thighs were sending me into outer orbit. But just as I was approaching the moment of truth, she lifted her face, leaned back,
casually wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and purred, “Ah,
mi corazón,
you didn’t think Rosa would let you get off that easy, did you?”

I was so inebriated with desire I could barely think straight, let alone fathom Rosa’s question. Every cell in my body was
poised on that tiny clitoral island in the sea of my pussy. I could scarcely believe she had stopped; the sensation of her
mouth on my cunt was still reverberating, creating little waves of pleasure and longing. I moaned in frustration as she rose,
walked away from me, and began pulling down all the window blinds in the living room and lighting candles here and there.
Within moments my afternoon with Rosa had been transplanted into a Gothic lesbian love den, full of shadows and mystery and
flickering yellow light.

Immediately upon creating this transformation, Rosa was back, lying on top of me on the red velvet couch. As we kissed I could
smell my most intimate scent on her mouth
and chin mingling with the aroma of her perfume. Her breasts were again pushed against me, pliant and cushy. My hungry mound
seemed to have a will of its own, and was grinding hard against her pelvic bone like there was no tomorrow. But was it her
pelvic bone? It suddenly occurred to me that Rosa had a visitor between her legs, a suspicion confirmed a moment later when
she sat up, unzipped her jeans, extracted a long, thick dildo, and began to stroke it seductively. The sight of her working
that dick would have been a turn-on no matter what, but this was no ordinary dildo; it glowed in the dark, shining between
her legs like a beacon. It was an exotic, otherworldly blue—vaguely metallic, like her nail polish. I suddenly felt as if
I were being seduced by a Martian. But at that particular moment, my clit still rock-hard, I truly didn’t care if she was
from this galaxy or another.

“This little guy has your name on it, baby,” Rosa whispered, cradling the mock cock between my open thighs. And then, grinning
like an angel, she rammed it in.

I moaned in ecstasy and surprise. I was so wet that it slipped right in—a delicious sliding sensation echoing through my cunt.
The walls of my pussy just closed right up around it; I wasn’t about to let it go. But Rosa wanted to fuck. Rosa wanted to
ride. Rosa wanted to take me places.

“Let the glow-in-the-dark rodeo begin!” Rosa cried in a fake Tex-Mex accent. “Yee haw!”

She rode me like a pro. The smooth rubber cock rolled in and out of me like a stallion in a hurry. She pushed in hard, pounding
against the tunnel of my cunt, then pulled out again, real slow, pausing with just the head of the cock at my open hole as
I strained to take her back inside me, throbbing with unbearable emptiness. She pressed all the
way back in, kissing me softly on the mouth, nibbling my lips, then withdrew again, this time teasing my soaking wet clit
with the dildo. She dragged the dildo up and down along the outside of my pussy as if buttering bread. Every time it touched
my clitoris I almost flew off the couch, my hips thrusting up toward her, trying to get her to enter me again. Just when I
thought I couldn’t stand another moment without her cock inside me, she’d plunge back in, nice and strong. Her rhythm was
perfect, keeping me balanced between overwhelming need and fulfillment. With every thrust I’d whimper with gratitude. With
every withdrawal I implored her to penetrate me once more.

I wanted to come so bad I could hardly stand it. My cunt was quivering wildly, becoming wetter and more inflamed with every
stroke of her glowing sword.

Meanwhile Rosa was also getting close to coming. Each time the dildo rammed into me, its flat, flared base pressed hard against
her clit, bringing her closer and closer to her own orgasm. Watching her pleasure build drove me wild. Her eyes were closed;
her mouth opened with every thrust as she let out a little moan of pleasure. Her body was hot; I ran my hands along her back
and down to her ass, circling the cheeks through her jeans with my palms, then running my fingers up and down along the crack,
that most sensitive and forbidden region. Rosa growled as I did this, and the fucking took on a more urgent rhythm. She was
plowing into me, so smooth, so hot, so powerful—and our bodies were pressed together, nipples hard against each other, faces
cheek to cheek, our warm breath and our moans mingling, becoming more humid with every thrust. She sucked my earlobe as we
approached our moment of release. The exhaustion and animal motion were so compelling
that all we could do was work it until our bodies could take no more.