Letters to Penthouse XXXII (28 page)

I offered them their drinks, then Mistress Catherine patted a space by the floor. I dutifully sank to the floor, resting my
head in my usual spot against her leg while she put her hand affectionately on my head and stroked my hair, petting me as
she made conversation. Even though the women weren’t actually speaking to me, being in the presence of such raw female power
had my cock as hard as a rock. I knew my mistress was aware of my arousal and I hoped she would let me lick her pussy, and
perhaps even come later that night. When she noticed that Mistress Donna’s drink was
running low, she let go of me and snapped her fingers in my face.

“Slave, what are you waiting for? Go refill Mistress Donna’s glass immediately!” she ordered. Mistress Donna thrust her glass
at me, empty except for a few half-melted ice cubes. As I was mixing her another drink, I heard the tinkling of a bell, which
is my mistress’s signal for me to stop whatever I am doing and come directly to her.

I immediately finished the drink I was mixing, wiped my hands, and returned to my mistress. “Slave, we need more ice. Go get
some,” she said imperiously, as if trying to impress her friends. As I started for the door, she called me back. “Wait a minute.
Ladies, don’t you think he’s wearing too much clothing?” She got a wicked grin on her face. “Strip down to your underwear,”
she ordered. My cheeks flushed even as my cock hardened. She knows I’d do anything for her, and I wanted to prove myself a
good slave, so I took off my clothes while all four women looked on.

Their unyielding gaze caused me to fumble a bit with my shirt; the buttons seemed to get stuck, even though I was trying to
complete the task as quickly as possible. Once I was down to my boxers and shoes, Mistress Catherine made me turn around.
“Bend over and touch your toes,” she commanded. When I did, I felt a whack against my ass; her hand spanked each cheek once.
“Look at what a fabulous butt he’s got,” she said proudly, and I beamed, even though they
couldn’t see my face. “Maybe later I’ll let you take a crack at it,” she said to the ladies, then pinched my butt and shooed
me on my way. I could hear their loud voices behind me as I exited, looking down the hallway left and right. I didn’t see
anyone, so I hurriedly walked toward the ice machine. The idea that someone might see me was such a turn-on, especially because
I was doing my mistress’s bidding.

As I held the ice bucket in front of me to block my erection should anyone be strolling down the hallway, I told myself that
men walked topless in hotels all the time. I got to the alcove with the ice machine and was grateful to find it empty. I took
the bucket and placed it in the appropriate spot, then pressed the button. A loud rumbling noise issued forth as the ice tumbled
into the bucket. I was excited to be the only slave in a room full of dommes and wondered what else was happening at the convention.
Surely there were many powerful women who would know exactly what to do with a wayward slave. As I headed back to the room,
I saw a tall woman dressed in head-to-toe purple latex coming toward me. She had to know exactly what was going on, and smirked
as I knocked on my mistress’s door. My dick twitched as I felt her eyes on me while I waited for someone to let me in.

Finally, Mistress Donna opened the door, pulling me inside and grabbing the bucket of ice. “What took you so long?” she barked
as she stalked back inside. Even though I knew I hadn’t really taken longer than
anyone else would have, I felt contrite, especially when I saw the look on Mistress Catherine’s face. She was in the mood
to punish me, and I’m such a slut for being spanked, how could I object?

“Now, slave, get over here,” she said. She never used my real name—to her, I was and will always be, simply, “slave.” Hearing
her call me by my pet name made me even harder than I already was, and I quickly got into position on all fours. This meant
only one thing—I was in for some punishment.

Mistress Catherine leaned down and whispered softly in my ear, “Are you ready?” This was her way of making sure I was okay,
yet another reason why I love and worship her. I nodded, and then I heard a loud clapping sound, followed by a whack upon
my ass. I felt two hands slapping each of my cheeks, and knew that more than one woman was involved. They sounded like they
were enjoying themselves, and then Mistress Catherine suggested they smack my bare ass instead. “I want to see his butt turn
a pretty shade of red,” she instructed, and they followed her orders, like I always do, pulling down my skimpy little bottoms
to bare my behind.

While I was focusing on enjoying the sensation of being spanked by not just one but several mistresses—who were taking turns
and using varying styles and degrees of force—Mistress Catherine knelt in front of me, showing me she had another treat in
store for me—a bulging strap-on cock to suck. Usually, that was
our private ritual, and I blushed in excitement, knowing they were all about to see what a good cocksucker I was. Even though
there were only three new women in the room, it felt like the whole convention full of dommes was watching me as my mistress’s
friends continued smacking me while I swallowed her cock.

Mistress Catherine was humming in pleasure, going into the trancelike state she enters when I suck her cock. The base of the
toy rubbing against her clit arouses her, and she delights in the physical sensation as well as in seeing me bobbing up and
down on her shaft. We were both getting the best of both worlds, and I desperately wanted to come. My cock was hard, and I
grunted around the dildo in my mouth. She reached down, tenderly stroking my chin. I gazed into her eyes as she held my face
steady while her friends made my ass blush. She began jerking the cock against my mouth, grinding the base against her body
as she brought herself to orgasm. “Suck harder,” she groaned, and I did as commanded while the whacks grew in intensity. The
more I got spanked, the more effort I put into sucking her, until the two acts seemed to merge seamlessly, forming a smack/suck
pattern that brought both of us bliss. Suddenly, she was crying out in orgasm, then she breathlessly granted me permission
to come. I grabbed my shaft and shot my load after a few quick strokes.

Mistress Catherine made me stay in that position while she surveyed her friends’ handiwork. She put her
own hand on my ass, pressing the warmth back into my skin. “Very good, ladies,” she said, bestowing some hard-earned praise.
She’s a tough customer and doesn’t dole out compliments easily. The women allowed me to stand, but made me continue serving
them naked, with my flaccid cock hanging in front of me.

When the dommes left later that evening, they allowed me to kiss their cheeks, and I was granted a pinch on my butt cheeks
in return. Mistress told me I did so well that she’s thinking of taking me with her to the next convention, too, and may even
loan me out to other mistresses. I’d do anything for her and look forward to many future adventures with my beloved mistress.

—Mr. Frank P., via email
     

My master, Brendan, likes to put me in my place, which is serving and submitting to him. Ever since we moved from boyfriend
and girlfriend to master and slave, I’ve been his permanent, on-call submissive. I love following his orders and love it even
more when he “punishes” me by taking me over his knee.

He likes to make up rules for me, ones that are fairly impossible to follow. It’s all an elaborate game because we both know
that when I “mess up,” it’s just an excuse for him to spank me silly—something I truly
adore. My ass tingles just writing down the words—and so does my pussy! Brendan’s the best spanker I’ve ever encountered;
he can go for as long as I want him to, and he’s as excited about the prospect of taking his hand—or another implement—to
my ass as I am.

The deal we’ve struck is that he matches his spanking implement to the severity of my infraction. If it’s something tiny,
like forgetting to put the milk back in the fridge, he’ll use his hand. The other day, I not only left the milk out, but I
also left some dishes in the sink from our pancake breakfast. That night, he made me wash them by hand, then took me upstairs
afterward and made me apologize for being so messy while he swatted my bare ass.

We both have a fondness for hand spanking because of the immediacy and sense of connection. Knowing that his skin is stinging
in much the same way mine is when he’s done makes me all the more excited. This time around, he had me repeat, “I will put
the milk away and wash my dishes,” with each slap, and if I didn’t say it fast enough, he’d hit me twice as hard the next
time. I loved every second of it, my pussy tingling with desire the more his palm swatted my womanly curves.

Eventually, he allowed me to stop speaking and I drifted off into silence with my lesson clearly learned. I felt his dick
hardening beneath me as I wiggled on his lap. His cock is what usually trips him up in his role as the enforcer of my punishments,
because we both
know he gets just as turned on from spanking me as I do from getting spanked. But we both ignored our intense desire for the
moment. His hand continued to rain blows onto my blushing behind, while I eagerly absorbed each and every one.

Finally, when my pussy couldn’t take it anymore, I said, “I promise to always put anything I take out of the fridge back into
it, and I’ll wash all my dishes when I’m done eating. Can I please have your cock now?” I knew he’d be unable to resist my
charm, plus my wet cunt, which he’d already begun frantically fingering.

He stroked my pussy one final time, then lifted me off him to roll me onto my back and guide his dick inside me. I immediately
clamped down around him, smiling up at my master and lover as he fucked me as hard as I’d craved. As his cock slammed in and
out of me, I felt the remaining warmth from my ass adding to the fiery feeling in my cunt, making my orgasm that much more
powerful. He pulled out and came all over my chest and stomach, and I smeared his sticky cream into my skin. Then, to prove
that I really had been paying attention, I poured him a big glass of milk and made sure to put the carton right back where
I’d found it in the refrigerator.

The next level of punishment involves being spanked with a small slapper, a tiny paddle that brings more noise than power
to its smacks—but that doesn’t stop my heart from racing with excitement when I hear
him tapping it against his palm. The other day, I forgot to make a reservation at our favorite Italian restaurant, and we
weren’t able to get in. He was pretty pissed about that, even though we found another perfectly acceptable place to get our
fettucine Alfredo. As we ate, he kept staring at me, making the meal a form of foreplay as I squirmed in anticipation and
nervousness. I trust Brendan completely, otherwise I’d never have agreed to become his slave, but I still feel a slight chill
when I know I’ve displeased him.

During our meal, he slyly opened up his suit jacket, and there, staring back at me, was the little leather paddle, with its
shiny black patent leather handle temptingly poking out of his pocket.

I blushed as red as the strawberries sitting on my plate, and my body leaned forward involuntarily, as if to get closer to
the paddle. “Not yet,” he said, amused at how eager I was. I sullenly ate my dessert, hardly tasting the sweet fruit and cream
as I salivated over what was to come. As we drove home, he took out the slapper and held it in his right hand, letting it
brush against my thigh and then linger between my legs when we were at a red light.

Needless to say, by the time we walked in the door, I was absolutely dripping. One of the things Brendan likes to do with
this toy is slap it against my ass—and then slap it against my pussy! He does it lightly enough that I feel just the briefest
sting as a deep ache forms inside me and my arousal grows. That night he
alternated between my hot spots, wringing all the sensations out of me that he could with such a tiny toy. “You. Will. Make.
The. Reservations. I. Ask. You. To.” Brendan emphasized each staccato-spoken word with a strong spank to my ass, followed
by one to my pussy. The toy was soaking wet from my cunt’s juices by the time he was done, and for this particular offense,
instead of him getting me off, he had me suck his cock until he came. I was allowed to bring myself to orgasm only after I’d
swallowed every drop of his hot semen.

When I’ve really messed up, I get the wooden paddle. This is rarer, because I don’t often misbehave enough—but I do when I
really crave it. The wooden paddle is a fierce toy, its pretty, polished wood not belying the way it connects with my skin.
He’s only spanked me with it three times before. The last time he used it on me, I’d deliberately disobeyed him, choosing
red wallpaper, instead of blue, for our den. I knew this would lead to his taking the wood to my ass, but I really felt that
the red was the better choice. Plus, as stern and unyielding as the wood can be, a spanking with it is always thoroughly satisfying.

I watched as the red wallpaper went up, already admiring our new décor—and knowing that my ass would soon match it! When Brendan
got home, I greeted him at the front door with his favorite drink, scotch on the rocks, while dressed in a silky, see-through
pink nightie and barely there thong, but he wasn’t fooled. “Jessica, what have you done this time?
I know that look, and it’s one of a girl who deserves a spanking.”