Erotica from Penthouse by Marco Vassi Read Free Book Online

rush of desire, and I thrust into her with long, fast strokes. It was so good to bury myself in that place where so much of the joy and sorrow of our marriage had resided. And each pinch of her fingers on my nipples and the familiar rippling contractions of her cunt were tightening my balls and bringing the moment of release closer and closer.
    She was bracing herself on her heels and arching her cunt, going for her orgasm. I felt my own start to generate from the base of my spine—and from my mind, where the hottest thought of all was that of coming together with my wife. It was exciting and also sad, because this endless fuck was entirely dependent on the fact that my wife and I were no longer a couple. Freed from the constraints of marriage, we could talk honestly about our other loves and ask for sex without hurting the other. Now it had come down to this moment of mutual orgasm, and we went for it.
    After the sensations receded we lay together, letting our cock and cunt remain joined. We did not speak. We were at peace.

Sex Rites

    MORNING BECOMES ERECTION
    By Jimmy Crenshaw
    During my sophomore year at a small liberal arts college in upstate New York, I found myself sharing a bed with a very cute blonde from my English Lit. seminar. We had made violent love following our
Chaucer
mid-term, and fell into deep slumber on a frigid winter evening. As the morning sunlight crept into her tiny apartment hours later, I awoke and watched admiringly for a few moments as her small, perfectly formed breasts rose and fell softly with each breath.
    I felt the old familiar wellings and knew I had to have sex immediately. We had dated sporadically for two years, and I knew her tastes were not against A.M. couplings. So I didn't think it untoward at all to pull the covers back from her beautiful torso and place my face at the entrance of her pleasure center.
    I began to lick her vaginal lips slowly, and then more intensely, almost hearing the yet unuttered moans of pleasure that always signaled my arrival at her erotic gates. Instead, this unpredictable co-ed opened her eyes wide, clamped her legs together and began to kick violently about my upper body. She shrieked hysterically: “You fucking pig. What the hell do you think you're doing? You fucking animal.”
    Never surprised at the capacity of the female to confound, I stayed calm while explaining: “I was engaged in the act of cunnilingus—something you urged me to perform for what seemed like hours last night.”
    “This is different… . It's like necrophilia,” she screamed, grabbing the blankets and retreating to the living room.
    Such are the pitfalls of the delicate art of morning sex—an erotic variant that I've been especially drawn to since coming of age.
    Unlike most people I know, my introduction to sex came in the daylight. Whereas high school classmates boasted of losing their innocence in the back seats of cars bathed in moonbeams or in incense-filled bedrooms illuminated only by the flickering image of Johnny Carson, my manhood began as the sun rose over a lake in New England woods.
    Kate and I met at a Boston rock concert less than 24 hours earlier. Fondling and French-kissing consumed us for the late night hours. Consciously or unconsciously, I can no longer remember, we saved the lovemaking for sunrise. In a sleeping bag dripping with early morning dew, we embraced—each naked from the waist down. Between kisses, we could see the vapors of our short breaths reflected in the dim light. When I climbed on top of the nubile 18-year-old and entered her, the sun broke through the trees. As I climaxed— all too quickly—I arched my head back and stared up at the blue sky and the clouds.
    My first love laughed out loud when we finally exhausted all our youthful passions an hour or so later: “What a way to start the day,” she giggled.
    I couldn't agree more. There's nothing quite like licking breasts before breakfast or having coitus before coffee. Fortunately