Penthouse Read Online Free PDF Page B

gentle lilt.)
    First rule: I know my prey when I see it, and I begin the seduction immediately. Lost time now is one more afternoon fuck
     we could have slipped in later, I always say.
    Rule No. 2: I match my vocal delivery to his, then add a distinctly feminine touch. For example, this cowboydrawls, so I drawl, but not as much—and just a little softer and sweeter. People like to hear themselves. It works every time.
    I was standing there thinking,
Here I am with a five-foot-ten stud a mere three feet from me. What should I do?
Then I remembered Rule No. 3 and acted quickly. A man seduced is a man impassioned, and a man impassioned is always a better
     fuck. So I acted somewhat unsure, fumbled out an invitation to go cowboy dancing sometime, gave him my number, and quickly
     slid into the taxi. (Rule No. 3: When I pick up a man, shyness on my part works wonders.)
    “Eighty-ninth, Park and Madison,” I said, once in the cab. Then I slid my skirt up to my waist and pushed my stockings down
     so that from the backs of my knees to the top of my ass I was completely naked and sticking to the leather. I was doing something
     I love to do. I love to subject myself to sensory overload if I can. My whole lower body was sticking to a seat that could
     have been dirty— God knows it was worn—but still the blond hair on my legs was raised, like the fur on a cat’s back, and I
     threw my torso forward to arch my back, gently landing my red-haired pussy-plane down onto the smooth material of the black
     seat.
    I’m wet now, and I grow wetter with each stoplight I pass on my way home. I drop my head back, my lips are parted—well, actually,
     every lip I own is parted now—and I wonder how long his fingers are.
    There’s a look in a man’s eyes—or a woman’s, too, for that matter—when they know how to finger-fuck well. It’s a cocky, strong
     look, and usually they’ll have a habit of putting the tip of their tongue into the corner of their mouth when they’re even
     thinking about finger-fucking me.
    Bent to face me, he has one big hand holding my farthigh secure, and with the other he’s slowly sweeping his fingers up and down the inside of the thigh nearest to him. (Slow,
     gentle, rhythmic moves will be the death of me someday, I’m sure.) His hands, besides being large, are smooth but still a
     little rough, especially around the knuckles. Sometimes his hand comes within inches of the tiger. She holds her breath instinctively,
     then growls quietly when the fingers manage to escape. All this teasing has made me slick and wet, and the leather seat of
     the taxi could be a puddle of olive oil on cheap kitchen linoleum.
    Arched back? Yes, my back is arched. It opens my mouth, creating a path that continues unobstructed. Both of my mouths are
     open wide, and my body is unconsciously arranging itself so that the tunnels within welcome the visitors from outside. Like
     in
Aladdin,
when the sphinx suddenly rises from the sands, throws open its great, vicious mouth, and then rolls out the red carpet—it’s
     hard to say no, right? That’s my hungry cunt! Makin’ it hard to say no!
    Words are important. While men tend to be stimulated visually, women respond well to audible stimuli. I myself take kindly
     to strong, dark, and mysterious language—few words, monotonic delivery, and that ever present directing power. Like when he
     says in a straight and low voice, “We’ll just keep this thigh here so I can fit my hand in here to feel your… mmm, how smooth
     your skin is. It makes my hand want to discover all of your body….Don’t wiggle around too much now, not when I’m having such
     a good time.… [Nuzzling my neck] Mmm, you smell so good, I smell your perfume, I smell you, hold still so I can follow this
     scent all the way down.…Well, now, I believe you’ve set out to tease me, putting that perfume down between your breasts and
     then covering them up so. Make me happy and undo some of them pretty