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11 Oct 2019

Sally

Surprisingly explicit layout photos from the August, 1979, edition of Penthouse Magazine. They probably thought they could get away with it because of the mirrors. Mirrors are nice. … Also… “I’m definitely a San Francisco flower child,” admits pretty, blue-eyed Sally Whitsable. “But not the kind you think. I’m literally into flowers. I spend all my spare time growing and arranging them. Someday,” she says, showing us around her miniature-jungle apartment, “I’ll have my own florist’s shop.” Sally’s talent for creating beautiful things extends to her own 37-25-36-inch body, which she arranges in ways that don’t exactly bring horticulture to mind. Sally likes men who openly admire her, but she prefers those who bring “real originality and humor to their compliments. Once, for example, I spent the night with a man who looked me in the eye the next morning and said, .Baby, if you were a streetcar named desire, I promised I’d never get off!’” Sally also foes for men who are full of pleasant surprises. “My favorite was the time I spent my birthday soaking a hot tub on a lover’s rooftop. He told me to close my eyes, because he had a present for me. When I opened them, he and his best friend, both suitably wearing nothing but their birthday suits, had sipped into the water beside me. Each holding a bottle of champagne.” “What then?” we ask. “What do you think?” she says grinning. “We celebrated!” “When I’m hungry for something besides love, I like to go out to eat at a Chinese restaurant,” Sally tells us. “My lover once gave me some dessert under the table.” She recalls, smiling, “and it didn’t require chopsticks!” Sally is a true Gemini, she claims. “Witty, flirtatious, and very adaptable. I sense that a man needs from me, and then I give it to him!” With that attitude, Sally is destined to make any traveling man she meets leave his heart in San Francisco.

18 Sep 2019

The Beast Within

While we cannot agree completely with the “beastly” aspects of this layout in the August, 1999, issue of Penthouse Magazine, we will say that they do pick some pretty people on occasion. Also… To placate his mistress’s whims, Bobby goes to lengths that know no boundaries; acts of love and servitude are neither capricious nor daunting. Aware that he will be taken to task if he does not obey her every desire, he kneels before the goddess Katya. Once again the time has come for Bobby to prove his devotion to the vision that stands before him. Although an earnest slave, one whose loyalty knows no limit, he is powerless to suggest his subjugation himself. Katya must forever devise new ways of testing his ardor. Perhaps he should be feminized, made to wear the corset that constricts him and the nylons that transform his muscled thighs into delicate, puerile altars. No. Today his devotion is tested with a length of chain. Dressed in diaphanous splendor that mocks Bobby’s vision while encouraging his passion, the mistress tethers him to her side like a servile, impotent beast. Their bond complete, Katya grants him permission to fondle her, getting no more pleasure from his attentions than she would from a common cur. From this vantage he will service her, attempting to bestow an orgasm on her perfumed nether maw. If he succeeds, he is allowed an erection and permitted to masturbate inside her. Guiding his manhood into the turgid sanctity of Katya’s portal, Bobby performs like any well-trained stud, sublimating his own pleasure until his mistress’s ecstasy is complete. Katya is surprised by Bobby’s endurance. To maintain dominion she tugs his lead in time with his eager thrusts, keeping him mindful that the place he invades is for her enjoyment, not his. “Fuck me like the beast you are!” Katya demands, her climax approaching. “Use that pathetic growth between your legs to honor me in the way all women should be.” Like all benevolent rulers must, Katya rewards her vassal. Preferring he soil her more common hole, Katya deigns to bring Bobby to climax by caressing his stick with her moist mouth. “You may now defile my skin,” she concedes, joyously accepting his froth. A subdued smile escapes her lips, betraying her own gratification while purporting to sanction his. The final punishment … to lick her clean.

16 Sep 2019

Pet of the Month April 2000

Highlighting the animalistic urges of our Pet of the Month for April, 2000, in Penthouse Magazine. Everyone knows that the Dallas Stars are the reigning kings of hockey, having brought the Stanley Cup to Texas for the first time last June. But this month we’re proud to present our own Dallas star, 28-year-old Cristi Taylor. A closer for a mortgage company, Cristi just closed on her own first home. “I’m finally moving out of the big city,” our Pet of the Month says excitedly. “I bought a huge five-bedroom house, and I can’t wait to move in. It’s the perfect place to spend my life with the perfect guy. It’ll be great to raise kids there one day, but for now I plan to use the extra space for friends and for fun.” “I’m practical,” she admits, “but I also like to take chances. I once got caught skinny-dipping in a private pool. I had to run naked across a golf course to escape!” “Sitting in an office can be a real drain, so whenever possible, I get my body moving,” says the beautiful Texas twister, who keeps her knockout 36-24-34 figure by water skiing, inline skating, and doing aerobic dance. “Of course sometimes I just like to kick back and listen to music,” Cristi says. “I’m a little bit country and a little bit rock ’n’ roll, so I love everything from Shania Twain and Garth Brooks to Metallica and Def Leppard.” “I was at a club last week, talking to a very pretty girl at the bar. Suddenly she reached over and kissed me. I didn’t let her go any further, but now I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t stop her.” “I’ve had two dreams in my life,” Cristi tells us. “One was to be a cheerleader for the Dallas Cowboys. I used to practice their routines all the time, but I never got up the nerve to go for an audition. I’ve often regretted that. My other ambition was to be a Penthouse Pet. I didn’t want to let that dream slip away too, so I sent some photos to Bob Guccione. Needless to say, I’m thrilled this dream has come true.” Cristi, we are too. The Cowboys’ loss is certainly our gain.

04 Sep 2019

Heat Wave

Well, our guess was Australian women by a pool for the August, 1979, layout in Penthouse Magazine, but apparently… It’s 92 in the shade; the heat wave lingers on. We’re alone, but on the lookout, hoping our ship will come in. But there’s nothing — and no one — in sight; the sea’s as still and empty as air, and the sweltering sunlight saps our morning strength. Our quiet conversation wanes with the waxing sun. Like a lazy cat on the windowsill, I stretch my languid limbs. As my pretty mate massages me, I bask in the rising sun — and in her growing admiration. When our need is overpowering, we immerse ourselves in water, causing ripples as we touch and marveling at the silky, uncertain feel of forbidden flesh. Like castaways, left to our own resources, we naturally turn to each other. My unaccustomed fingers stroke her plush, firm haunches. Then, gently probing beneath the surface, I find her hidden place, like a water lily’s lush, exotic petals. Later she straddles me gently, kneading my melting thighs. Her breasts feel strangely hot and swollen in the unrelenting heat. The endless summer’s boredom seems a thing of the distant past. With sinful ease, we surrender to more primal yearnings. When her fingers press eagerly against me, I feel my sex pulsing against her hand. Later, as she boldly invites inspection, I explore her sun-burnished body with my eyes and taste her salty wetness with my mouth. The afternoon’s rays begin to burn, so we coat each other with oil, then lie sensuously entwined, brushing thigh against thigh and breast against breast. And when our love-drenched flesh becomes too hot to handle, we let water fall hard against us, creating cool new tremors. It may be an endless summer, but the thrills are just beginning.