Erotica from Penthouse Read Online Free PDF Page A

of my most vivid memories is of watching the sun rise out of the ocean with Max's body pounding on top of me.
    That winter, with no local beaches available, Max and I went to Grenada, a Caribbean paradise with a number of deserted beaches, where we made love for hours. One night, in the bar of our hotel, Max met a beautiful, dusky-skinned local woman named Elita and invited her to join us at the beach the following day.
    “I want you to see me with another woman,” he explained. Just the tone of his voice excited me. Elita sat between us in the car the next day as we drove to the beach. While driving, Max parted her legs and ran his hand along the inside of her thighs. I grew wet watching him, half mad with jealousy.
    At the beach Max spread a blanket and lay Elita down on it. She pulled off her skirt and wriggled out of her bikini. Max motioned that I was to take my clothes off as well while I watched them. “Sit there,” he ordered, settling me alongside them. Then, after fondling Elita's firm breasts and spreading her legs with the same efficient and impersonal attitude he used with me, he played with her clitoris until she began to squirm with desire. “Isn't she pretty?” he asked me. I nodded dumbly, my body burning with excitement.
    “Keep watching,” Max commanded as he thrust into her over and over again in the hot sun. Finally, when I thought I could bear it no longer, he gestured for me to lie down alongside Elita, dismounted and shoved her toward me. We embraced, pressing our bodies together. Then she hovered over me, her clitoris pressed to my mouth, her tongue between my legs.
    ‘’That's nice! Good girls!” Max cooed. After a while he separated us, penetrated me and, with his thumb and forefinger caressing Elita's nipple, rode me until I came. Climbing on top of her he soon reached orgasm with a groan.
    We took Elita to the beach every day for the rest of our stay in Grenada. I had a wonderful time and never saw Max happier. Even our sex together improved. It was as though the presence of a third person had brought us even closer.
    Max and I continued seeing each other through the following summer and into the next fall. There seemed to be no end to the desire we felt for each other, but I knew our affair couldn't last. We stayed together for two years—longer, Max said, than he had ever been with anyone.
    Oddly enough, the end came not after a quarrel or because of another woman. One typical night, after I had sucked his cock and licked his balls for a long time while a jazz recording played softly on the stereo, Max lifted my face to his and said, “I love you.” He had never uttered those words before. I told him that I loved him, too. But I understood that love was not something Max could live with for very long.
    Several months later he began seeing other women. Although he told me they meant nothing to him, I knew it was time for our friendship to end. I stopped answering his calls, walked around in a daze and didn't feel normal again for over a year.
    I have remarried and gone on to live a happy life. I love my husband. We are close in ways I never could have been with Max, and the sex we have is fine, varied and often thrilling. I try not to think about Max. Sometimes I succeed.
    SWAN SONG SEX
    By Sandy Broca
    It was early on a Sunday morning. More asleep than awake, I instinctively reached for Alan beside me. My hand grazed the hairs on his chest, then traveled down, lingering over his flat stomach and coming to rest on his penis. Soft, fat, shrivelled, vulnerable, it elicited the tenderest of feelings—and a challenge to make it harden.
    With my fingertips, I began to perform a familiar erotic dance— teasing, gentle pulling, a squeeze, the rhythmic knead. The expected reaction occurred. With pride and pleasure, I twisted in bed so that I could take his erection in my mouth.
    He groaned, cleared his throat. And then, in a voice still clotted with sleep, asked, “Should we be doing