Drawing her panties down as he wished, she felt her hair fall
forward down and around her face, and finally into her eyes.  It was
blonde and it smelled fresh and clean and she wondered if it would still
be so perfect in a few hours.  Carefully she drew her white panties over
her black polished heels and, taking them up from her feet, she handed
them, with a quick glance at the driver, to him.  Instead of putting
them immediately in his pocket he put them to his nose and deeply
inhaled their scent.  She felt apprehensive watching, for she knew if
the driver turned his head just the slightest amount he would see all. 
Not sure, quite, whether he did or not, seeing his head twitch a little
beneath his peaked cap, she then watched as her lover put the panties
out of sight of the driver into his pocket.  He tugged on the end of
them a little and, in the front pocket of his coat, they resembled a
handkerchief.  A bit of lace trim, though, she thought, betrayed their
real identity.  But he seemed to wish for them to be seen, even if their
real nature were known, and she knew in this matter she could not
correct him.
         He reached over to her.  He did not embrace her as before but
he simply touched her blouse and began pulling open her buttons. 
Sitting bare-bottomed on the seat, still wishing that the driver might
remain unawares, more concerned really for her modesty in front of the
driver than in her lover’s liberties with her person, like a nymph
worrying over her dropped flowers as a satyr carries her off, she
innocently let her lover undo her blouse.  He did not open all the
buttons.  He merely wanted access within.  
         She looked down, feeling a little fearful, and watched as her
lover’s big brawny hand dipped within her white blouse and seized the
portion of her bra that hung suspended between her breasts.  He pulled,
hard.  She felt the clasp at her back scream and she felt her whole bra
get yanked into her back, the straps and the crosswise portion, as her
lover pulled hard at her bra in front.
         And then the clasp gave way.  Her lover’s hand sprang out of
her blouse, carrying the torn remnants of her bra, its clasp broken, and
he pulled again to break the straps which still clung round her
shoulders.  For a moment she thought she might be pulled into the front
seat, or at least against the glass partition that separated them from
the driver.  But then her straps, perhaps sensing her own wish to
surrender, broke free of her and allowed her bosoms to be rendered
naked.  
         Wordlessly her lover took her bra and balled it up and bade her
open her mouth.  She did, and he put the bra into her mouth and then, as
she stared at him open mouthed, her tongue tasting her underwear, he
closed her mouth for her.  A bit of lace loop from her torn
shoulderstrap remained hanging out of her closed lips.  He nudged it and
parted her lips and pushed it within.  Then he closed her mouth again.
         She could not speak.  Her mouth was full of her bra.  Quietly
he buttoned her blouse back up so that no one could see what had
happened to her.  She still wore her black vest.  He straightened her
skirt and told her to zip herself back into it.  She complied.  It was
harder to zip the skirt up than it had been to zip it down but she got
it back up and was finally sitting neatly beside him again, her hands on
her lap as if nothing had happened.
         Her lover knocked on the glass.  The driver turned slightly. 
Her lover slid open the glass partition and passed a note to the
driver.  Then he closed it again, as the driver unfolded the note and
looked at it.  He paused.  Then he nodded.  He cracked his whip and the
speed of the horses increased.  She felt the carriage rock back as the
horses drew it abruptly faster.  Her lover touched her skirt and
straightened it, as before, on her thighs.
         “I’m going to handcuff you,” he lover said to her.  She started
at his remark, as if she were a horse and he had hit her.  He drew a
shiny steel pair of handcuffs from inside his coat.  She wanted to tell
him that she didn’t need handcuffs but when she tried to speak her bra
choked her words and she found herself mumbling.  For the sake of
appearing graceful she let her words die.  He drew her slim white arms
behind her and held her wrists together and he locked the cuffs
securely.
         He kissed her.  She thought it was a kiss of love but in a
minute she realized it had only been his way of asking further
permission.  He drew out another pair of handcuffs.  She blanched.  She
was frail and small and had skinny legs and slim, almost bony arms.  She
was just a wee bit short to be a model and, except for her breasts,
which ballooned out in front of her almost embarrassingly (and quite
uselessly in a struggle), she was feather light.  He was large and his
arms might have been butcher’s arms, except they were too well muscled
from years of weightlifting to be mistaken for that of a manual
laborer.  Nonetheless with his second pair of handcuffs he drew her
elbows together and locked her arms securely, just above each elbow so
that her breasts were thrown out in sharp relief from the rest of her
body and she felt like some obscene pinup.
         She breathed and she felt her breasts move in her blouse.  Her
lover was more exacting than she’d supposed.  What had she wished for? 
She could not tell now, her thoughts were too confused and she felt a
moisture between her naked thighs that had not been there a moment
before.  She looked at her lover but he just kissed her again and then
looked away, checking his watch and gazing at the tree-lined road out
ahead of them as they plunged in their little carriage into the gloom.
         In a little while, after she’d had time to contemplate all that
had happened to her and how he’d made the handcuffs on her wrists
tighter than they needed to be, as if to test her, hurting her a little,
the coach drew up in front of a townhouse.  It was flanked by tall
slender trees that seemed slightly overwhelmed with the snow.  Their
branches, which would be nude in winter but which still had leaves
clinging to them, seemed weighed down by the newfallen snow.
         The coachman came back and opened the door of the coach.  Kate,
for that was what everyone called her, short for Katherine, was wrapped
in her lover’s coat to keep her warm.  She could feel her wrists
sticking out from the underside of her lover’s coat and she hoped, as
she got down from the coach, that the coachman couldn’t see the gleam of
metal shackling her wrists.  She seemed especially stiff in her
movements and he reached to grab her arm for her but her lover, knowing
the true condition of her arms, brushed his hand aside.
         She almost slipped on the snow covered pavement.  Her heels
were spiked and she would have had no protection if she had fallen.  Her
lover reached out and saved her, catching her, balancing her.  She
walked with his arm around her up the walk to the front door of the
townhouse and she did not look back at the coachman.  Her thoughts were
so focused on the door of the building that she barely noticed the
retreating footfalls of the horses as they departed.
         Her lover rang the front doorbell for her.  She stood in the
cold, shivering, barelegged, the wind somehow finding her bottom beneath
her skirt and her lover’s coat and chilling her naked seat.  They had to
wait a little while and she saw lights come on in the front of the
house.
         The door opened.  It was a woman.  Kate had never seen the
woman before but she smiled at once and drew Kate inside.  Her lover
followed.
         “She is lovely.  Is this the one you spoke to me of?” the woman
asked Kate’s lover.  He nodded.  He adjusted his stance and Kate guessed
his wordlessness was due in part to a rising discomfort in his pants,
and a sense of excitement.  There was a youthfulness in his bearing as
he stood behind her, despite his age.
         Kate looked up at the woman.  She was a foot taller than Kate
and could easily have been a model, although Kate sensed she was too old
to start now if she had not started already.  She had a bouffant hairdo
and impeccable makeup.  She wore a black evening gown that seemed to
hang from her shoulders like water, sheeting down in front of her, all
glossy and sparkling.  It had slim shoulder straps and dipped daringly
low in front.  Within the gown her bosoms showed themselves quite
freely.  Kate realized that, like herself, the woman probably had too
large a bust to ever succeed as a model.  The woman’s hips were slim and
she showed few signs of age, though Kate knew she must have been at
least 30.  There was an uncompromising look in the woman’s eyes and Kate
remembered a teacher she’d once had, a teacher who’d always made her do
her homework and had accepted no excuses and permitted her no
exceptions.  Kate had worked hard but had learned a lot from that
teacher, and although she sometimes hated her at the time, later on in
looking back on her she’d come to admire her and find that she
considered her one of her favorite teachers.

                                   NAKED AT THE NEWSSTAND
                                                by holy joe

Australian Penthouse, March 1998, $8.95.  No web site listed.  E-mail: 
penthouse@gemkilt.com.au

         Review:  I have now read in two different places that David
Hamilton, creator of the book “The Age of Innocence,” has his own web
site!  I haven’t gone to the trouble of finding it yet, but it’s out
there!  Apparently he charges $10.00 per month, and has new works of art
on his site every month.
         Just because I enjoy David Hamilton’s girls doesn’t, of course,
mean that I don’t like looking at older girls too.  A good magazine this
month is the Australian Penthouse.  You can find it at Tower Books.
         Playboy has many foreign editions, as does Penthouse.  However,
all the Playboys I’ve ever seen have the exact same girl in them.  Not
so with Penthouse!  Each country’s issue is totally different.  Take the
Australian Penthouse, for instance.  In the current issue, a Hawaiian
girl is on the cover.  She’s also the centerfold.  Her centerfold has
the scrumptious title of “Water Baby.”  Her name is rather unusual: 
it’s “Sammy Stone.”
         Sammy is quite cute.  Her tits are too small, but that’s her
only drawback.  There are lots of photos of her wearing a bikini bra. 
It’s untied.  Its untied cups dangle from her neck as she smiles at
you.  She has a nice round bottom.  In her final photo, she poses with
her panties pulled down to her thighs.  They’re very unique panties. 
They’re black, and are laced in front with an exquisitely thin black
lace ribbon.  Yum!  If you’ve ever wanted to see a cute Hawaiian girl,
sexily posed, don’t miss this issue!
         The pictorial “Raging Inferno”, also in this issue, features a
brunette with shoulder-length hair.  She’s wearing very naughty black
clothing.  Laced-up granny boots, that stretch almost up to her knees. 
Black fishnet stockings with black spandex around the thighs to keep
them up.  And, most wickedly, a black spandex bra, with no cups!  Also,
she’s wearing black leather gloves.  What a perfect dominatrix!  Or is
she a “victim”?  It’s hard to tell.  (Maybe she’s a bit of both!) 
Unfortunately, this girl is posed outdoors, in an old car, in a
junkyard!  Please!  What a dumb location.  Sex in a junkyard?  Next I
suppose we’ll be offered sex in a dumpster.  (Which, if any of you girls
have a craving for that, I’m able to provide!  I live in one.)  The girl
in “Raging Inferno” should have been posed in a nightclub, or in a
bedroom.  
         Next issue promises to be truly great.  There’s an ad for it in
this month’s issue.  The ad shows a girl.  She’s wearing a jacket, black
boots, a riding cap, and riding gloves.  She’s holding a riding crop,
plus the reins of a horse.  Guess what’s missing?  Her pants!  How sweet
she looks-- both her face, and her bottom!  I’m spurting already.

(Damn.  I’m out of kleenex.) 

Les Filles de Penthouse, Edition Francaise [France], $7.75.  Numero 13,
Octobre Novembre Decembre 1997, No web site listed.

         Review:  The first thing you notice about this issue is the
cover.  It shows former Playboy Playmate Teri Weigel.  You can see her
lovely bare bosoms, including her nipples!
         This magazine originates in France, yet it’s sold right here in
America, at Tower Books.  It’s stocked right alongside all the American
magazines.  Why can’t the American porn publishers show a girl’s
nipples, while the French can?  I have this recommendation for America’s
publishers:  SHOW THE NIPPLES!  If the French can do it, you can too.
         Inside, this magazine is loaded with wall-to-wall girls. 
There’s no dumb articles about basketball or stuff like that.  It’s just
one pictorial after another.  There are old photos and new photos.  I
keep very excellent track, in my head, of all the photos I’ve seen in my
life.  Yet there are some Penthouse photos in here that I’ve not seen
before, even though the pictorial itself may have appeared (before) in
America.  
         This issue has many, many high-quality photos.  It has
pictorials featuring one girl.  There are also several ‘girl loving
girl’ pictorials.  The highlight of the issue, for me, is the pictorial
“Danielle and Susan.”  It is a pictorial that features Penthouse Pet of
the Year Andi Sue, before she became Pet of the Year!  She looks very
young in this pictorial.  She takes a bath with an older woman, getting
her bare bottom sprayed with a bathtub sprayer.  Then, the woman (after
a whipping?) gives Andi Sue’s bottom a luxurious massage.
         (Incidentally, Andi Sue posed in her Pet of the Month pictorial
with a riding crop.  Also, in the video “The Ultimate Pet Games,” Andi
Sue’s bottom has bruises on it.  The bruises do not appear to have been
from the games.)
         A pictorial that every red-blooded American male will recognize
in this issue is “Esclaves du plaisir”.  It’s the pictorial where three
model-perfect pets pose in exotic “cutaway” playsuits.  (The ‘garment’
looks like a collection of shoestrings wrapped around the girl.  The
shoestrings are made of colored vinyl.  They outline the breasts,
bottom, tummy, etc., without covering anything.)  This is a very soft,
loving pictorial.  The girls palm each others’ bosoms, kiss, and console
each other.  They are apparently imprisoned love slaves of some Middle
Eastern Sultan.  If you’ve ever wanted your own harem, you’ll love this
pictorial!
         I highly recommend this issue.  Yes, you might have seen some
of these photos before, but you’ll find many you haven’t seen, and the
few that are repeats are excellent.  If you’re new to Penthouse, I give
you my holy joe guarantee:  you will be thoroughly exhausted by the time
you’re done ‘reading’ this issue!

         There is an antidote to the Puritanism that’s still gripping
America.  The first half of the Lolita movie, books by David Hamilton,
and foreign editions of Penthouse!  It may be easier to watch Oprah than
to find “Les Filles de Penthouse.”  But that, in fact, is a handy
formula for determining value.  Dirt is easy to find, and cheap. 
Diamonds aren’t.