I can go no further, my body completely neutral and waiting for the next move, his move. The temperature has probably dropped to a cool and comfortable breeze. But I find my feet moving one behind the other-I back slowly into a cool wall, afraid. I stand in front of him now, my king, and I wait for his next command.
Every bit of energy that leaves my body climbs into his, empowers him, and transforms him into complete power. He is sure of himself as he climbs off the bed.
I feel weak and vulnerable and anything goes. Suddenly every sound and shape seems loud and sharp. Three candles, fragrant and burning in the corner of the room, flicker a softer set of shadows to the far wall. The last of the sunlight has faded, and the beginning of twilight is illuminating what is left of the day, casting dark and deep shadows around the room. His hands still wandering but not touching. He has yet to kiss me, but I can taste him, his mouth so close to mine. He smells sweet with every breath I breathe. My shirt is being pulled up and he is touching my stomach, just touching and burning-l breathe harder. My blond hair falls around my face, in my eyes-it moves as I breathe. His hands reach to my head and he loosens my hair clip. A surge of juices builds between my legs. I stand at the bottom of the bed and wait. Beads from a nearby doorway beat together, and wind chimes sing, reminding us of the ocean breeze blowing aimlessly around the room. My neck drips as if cool rain is beating upon me. My hair is tied back, and the sweat has saturated the top half of my chest. I wear a loose white T-shirt and khaki shorts, no bra. We open a window facing the ocean, and a warm, wet, humid breeze reaches toward us. The air is hot and heavy, and the air conditioner is broken. So few words spoken, so little needs to be said. I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I have. It has been my pleasure to act as editor of this column since its inception. Here for your enjoyment is a mixture of stories from the magazine and the website. Although no longer published in the magazine, this exciting column continues to provide an extraordinary venue for writers and readers alike on our website. Tantalizing readers with images that expressed their wide-ranging sexual desires, “Bedtime Stories” helped to bring erotic fiction into the mainstream of American literature. It enabled women from all walks of life, including some of today’s most popular erotic fiction writers, a prominent place to publish their incredible flights of fancy. Visit our website at First eBook Edition: March 2010ī egun in 1993 as a column especially for women writers, “Bedtime Stories” continued the Penthouse tradition of providing the best erotic entertainment for men. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.Ĭopyright © 2001 by General Media Communications, Inc. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. (Susan Scotto’s “On the House”) O THER B OOKS IN THE S ERIES : … a coffeehouse where the waitress serves her own hot specialty. … bright lights, big binoculars-and some very naughty neighbors. (JoAnn Bren Guernsey’s “Private Lessons”) … a dance student teaches her instructor a torrid variation of the tango. … a phone-sex session that’s pure electricity. (Scarlett Fever’s “Bi-Curious Female Seeking Same”) … a pair of strippers discover their inner lesbian. … a daring liaison between two women, all bought and paid for.
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