Letters to Penthouse XXXII (11 page)

For Valentine’s Day I got the perfect present—all because I failed to get my mistress the perfect present. Let me explain—my
mistress, wife, and goddess, Dorothea, is a dream come true. Six feet tall, with long black hair and bright green eyes, she
is trim, tan, and powerful. She’s looked after me and directed my life since we first got together. She helped unlock my true
submissive side, and the minute we met, I knew she was the one I wanted to worship for the rest of my life. At our wedding
I knelt next to her as I said my vows—
then later she chained me to our bed and teased me with her pussy for hours.

She knows how much I adore her, but I still show her my affection every chance I get. For Valentine’s Day I’ve always given
her the fanciest of chocolates—Godiva. Each year as my income grew, I purchased a treat of greater magnitude. However, this
year I dropped the ball and didn’t reach the famed chocolatier until after the shop had closed. I had to resort to my local
drugstore for another brand. Even though I bought the largest box I could find, I knew that Mistress Dorothea would be disappointed
in me—I just didn’t know how disappointed. I was soon to find out. I also bought her two dozen red roses to try to make up
for my transgression, and I arrived home full of apologies.

She was wearing a long, elegant red silk dressing gown and her nails were adorned with red polish. “Happy Valentine’s Day,
my love,” I said, bowing as I walked in, then presenting the gifts to her. I’d wrapped my chocolate offering while in the
car, and I nervously awaited her reaction as she tore into the paper.

“What’s this?” she asked, tapping the box with one of her extremely long fingernails. She thrust the box at me. “This is not
Godiva!” she shouted, letting me know that she was displeased.

“I know, Dorothea, but they were closed by the time I got out of work.”

“Then you should have gone at lunchtime! Or last week. Great job. Well, I’m not eating this crap,” she
said, opening the box and perusing its offerings. She took one chocolate and held it up to my lips. I dutifully opened wide,
and she pushed it in. I chewed it, feeling its gooey cherry center exploding in my mouth, though it tasted bitter, not sweet.
Then she upended the box and dumped all the chocolates on the floor. “That’s what I think of your ‘gift,’” she said. “Clean
up that mess, put these flowers in a vase, and then get yourself downstairs,” she said harshly.

I cringed at her tone but was thrilled by her words—the basement was where our home dungeon was. She stalked out of the room,
and I hurriedly gathered the remaining candy, throwing it into the trash, then put the flowers in water. By the time I made
it downstairs, my cock was hard with anticipation. When I saw her holding a red suede flogger, I knew I was in for a thorough
punishment—one that I craved 100 percent. She lightly whacked the toy against her palm. “You’re overdressed—strip!” she ordered,
and I did, presenting my naked body for her inspection.

I heard a jangling sound and realized she was planning to rig me up by my wrists and ankles, securing me in place so I couldn’t
move. I shuddered, my breathing altered by the excitement of being at her mercy. My cock stood up proudly as I stepped into
place, raising my arms so she could secure them with the cuffs. She then did the same to my ankles. “That’s better. Now you’re
ready to give me a little Valentine’s Day gift—
your body,” she said approvingly, squeezing my ass as if testing melons at the supermarket.

“Are you ready to offer up a proper gift to me?” she asked, as she delivered a stern smack on my ass.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, exulting in the warmth her slap had delivered.

“Good,” she said, and then picked up the flogger. I heard it whizzing through the air right before I felt it land on my ass,
the combined force of the soft strands creating a sting upon my flesh. She gave me a good whacking on the behind before moving
down to an even more sensitive area—the backs of my legs. My upper thighs hummed as she whipped me there. Each time the flogger
connected with my skin, my cock twitched. I had the choice of shutting my eyes, staring straight ahead at the wall, or looking
down at my cock. I chose the latter, watching its firmness bob without being able to touch or stroke it.

Then she moved her target up to my back. “I should be sitting in my favorite chair eating Godiva while you massage my feet,”
she said as she swung the flogger. “But no, you had to go and ruin Valentine’s Day for me,” my mistress chastised me as she
struck my strong shoulders, making my bonds rattle as my body shook. The combined effect of the flogger hitting my upper back
and her words made my cock twitch with excitement. The heavy thudding of the flogger resounded in my ears and the arousing
sensation of its impact swept through my body.

My back was warm, but I knew it could take even more than my ass. “Are you sorry yet?” she asked, which was her way of finding
out if I wanted to continue.

“I couldn’t help it!” I whined, knowing this would cause her to strike me harder. She did, unleashing her annoyance directly
onto my backside, then she switched locations. The flogger seamlessly stroked one shoulder and then the next, while she twirled
it expertly. From experience, I knew she was wielding the whip in figure eights. I’d seen her practice these motions and knew
it was a sight to behold. I was grateful for my bonds, as they let me absorb her blows without causing her to miss her target.

“Count to fourteen,” she ordered, another reference to my failure to meet the holiday’s standards. She flogged each ass cheek
fourteen times, while I said each number, followed by, “Thank you, Mistress.” She dropped the flogger by my feet when she
was done and pressed her body up against mine. Her fingers wrapped around my cock and I moaned.

“What do you have to say for yourself, slave?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, Dorothea. I should have known better and been more prepared. You deserve better, especially on Valentine’s Day.
I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” I said in apology.

“Indeed you will,” she said, taking her hand off my cock in order to release me. “Now lie down on the
floor!” Her voice retained its edge, even though we were about to fuck. We have a standing joke about which positions we like—I
love being on top, and so does she. Most of the time, however, we do it her way, and if I’m being punished, I’m always on
the bottom. But on my birthday and special occasions, she’ll let me climb on top of her and slam my cock inside her. Since
she outweighs me by thirty pounds, when she’s above me she can push my hips down and keep me in place—not that I really mind,
because it turns me on to please her.

I lay down, shaking with excitement at finally coming close to my beloved’s pussy. She roughly got on top of me and sank down
onto me, holding the base of my cock and moving around, as if I were nothing more than a sex toy to her. I know I’m more than
that, but we both like it when she occasionally acts like I’m not. No matter what, fucking her feels amazing and knowing that
she was getting off because of my cock provoked me, too. “Don’t come until I do!” she barked, her eyes shut as she focused
intently on her own pleasure. I didn’t say a word. I simply lay back and enjoyed the feel of her pussy clutching my dick tightly,
until I heard her breath start to come in fast little pants. Her cunt got tighter and tighter, until I felt a rush of wetness
surround me. “Okay,” she said quietly, and I bucked up into her. It only took a few humps before I was shooting my hot come
deep into her hole. We shared a look of passion as we recovered.

Then she immediately snapped back into her dominant role. “I expect you to make this up to me tomorrow,” she said before rising
and heading to take a bath—alone.

The next night I went all out, getting an extremely expensive package of truffles, mints, solid chocolate, and assorted treats.
I even got her some chocolate-covered strawberries—nothing is too good for my wife. I presented the package to her and she
regally accepted it, opening the boxes and savoring a piece from each. I looked on with my mouth watering. I was hungry for
chocolate—and her. But instead of sharing her bounty, she closed the boxes and locked them in her desk drawer. “Next year,
if you get me my gift on time, I’ll share them with you,” she said. Dorothea did, however, let me taste her sweet pussy, and
I consider that more than a fair trade-off. I’m lucky to have such a demanding wife, and I will do everything I can to serve
her faithfully in the future.

—Mr. Floyd S., Washington, D.C.
     

Summer wouldn’t seem to leave this year. Now, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy sunshine as much as the next girl, but after a sweltering
July and equally brutal August, I was ready to move to the Antarctic. And then,
just when I thought the haven of a crisp autumn was approaching, Indian summer swooped into town.

My boyfriend, Will, came over to visit one sticky night last month and was greeted by more of my complaints. I was in a really
bitchy mood since I came home and discovered that my air conditioner had stopped working. He sat at the kitchen table, observing
my plight and my ranting that someone was going to die if the radio station played “Summer in the City” one more time. Wordlessly,
he stripped off his T-shirt. He leaned back in the chair, his skin glowing in the moist heat. As my grumbling escalated, he
tried to appear concerned but couldn’t help laughing at me. This got me incensed.

“I’m suffering and all you can do is laugh,” I said, exasperated. “You think this is funny.”

Will looked me straight in the eye and said, “I think that you need to cool down.” He jumped out of his chair and in one smooth
motion threw me over his shoulder. I kicked and pounded on his sweat-slicked back, demanding that he let me go. Once I realized
that he was heading for the bedroom, my struggle became more playful. Will dumped me on the bed and climbed atop me, straddling
my hips.

“What are you doing?” I asked, giggling.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he said with a smile. Will stretched to reach the corner of the bed. His chest was inches from my
face. I sat up and flicked my tongue across a tiny nipple. I turned my head to see what he
was reaching for and saw him grabbing the belt from my bathrobe, which was hanging on the headboard. Will grabbed both my
hands and pulled them over my head. I felt the cool metal of the headboard on the insides of my wrists, as he brought them
through the bars and snugly tied the terrycloth belt around them.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he warned. “I’ll be right back.” Will climbed off the bed and left the room. I heard some noises coming
from the kitchen but had no idea what he might be up to. The anticipation of what was to come, and the new thrill of being
bound and helpless, had my heart racing. I fidgeted in my bonds, tapping my fingernails against the headboard. Will returned
a few minutes later and placed a metal bowl on the night table.

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, Will slowly undid his button fly and dropped his jeans to the floor. My eyes immediately
focused on his cock, which was beginning to swell. I squeezed my legs together nervously. “So whaddaya got for me?” I asked
in a whisper.

Will didn’t answer as he straddled me once more. With my legs pinned underneath him, I couldn’t escape. “I said you needed
to cool down,” he reasoned as he reached into the bowl and held up a dripping ice cube. With the other hand, he pushed my
T-shirt over my breasts and pushed down the cups of my bra so my flesh spilled over the lace. A hiss slipped through my teeth
as Will traced the ice around one of my pink nipples. I tried to squirm but his weight kept me in place.
Whenever the cube made contact with my flesh, my hips bucked from the icy thrill. My nipple quickly became numb. Drops of
water dripped down my breast and tickled my armpit. He moved to my left breast. Soon both nipples were tight and as firm as
pencil erasers.

Will took his time circling my left nipple with the ice. When he finally sucked it between his lips, I gasped at the burning
sensation of fire and ice. His hot mouth soon revived it from its desensitized state. Coaxing my nipple back to life, he moved
from simple licks to harsh bites. His sharp nips made me yelp with the sweet agony. After his temperature treatment, my nipples
seemed extra-sensitive.

Will climbed off me. He grabbed the waistband of my bicycle shorts and pulled them over my hips. He brought the bowl to the
bed and placed it next to me. I heard the floating cubes clink against the metal. Will dipped his hand into the bowl and scooped
up another piece of ice. “Open your legs, sweetheart,” he whispered. I bent my knees and slowly spread my legs for him.

His eyes were locked on my pussy. A thread of wetness was already seeping out of me and trailing down the cleft between my
ass cheeks. I held my breath as I waited for his touch. Will circled my clitoris with the ice. My hips jumped and I yanked
at my bonds when it made contact. “Don’t move,” he commanded quietly. I struggled to obey him.