Doing the Dishers

Doing the Dishers

Subscribe to Penthouse Letters Magazine Print Edition
Subscribe to Penthouse Magazine Digital Edition

A pair of swinging hopefuls discovers that their perfect mates have moved in right next door!

“It’s a shame that we never got a chance to play with Steve and Samantha,” Dirk said to me casually over dinner.

To my great delight, our unfriendly next-door neighbors had recently moved to Miami. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and I was hoping that Dirk was kidding me.

“Really?” I asked incredulously. “I don’t know who would have been the winner there. I’d have had to do Steve.” I shuddered involuntarily at the thought before continuing, “And you would have gotten Sam.” It wasn’t that the couple was unattractive, but Samantha had a mean streak, always complaining, and Steve was too willowy for me. Too feminine for my tastes.

“No, no.” Dirk shook his head. “You couldn’t have paid me to fuck Sam. But I think you’d have tamed Samantha in a heartbeat. No problem. And I would have done pretty boy Steve.”

I nearly choked on my wine.

That’s when the doorbell rang. I wiped my lips on my napkin and hurried to see who was outside. Before I opened the door, I gazed back through the doorway at Dirk.

“Our new neighbors, Celine and Sean Disher,” he said as if a premonition had come to him.

“How do you know that?”

“I asked them over for cocktails. Give me a wink during drinks if you’re willing.”

This was all happening so fast — too fast. Dirk and I sometimes played a naughty game where we imagined having sex with another couple. We would tell each other the sexy scenario in great detail, each of us taking turns picking a duo we knew, and then describing what we thought it would be like to make love either as a foursome or splitting into twos.

As I opened the door for our new neighbors, it dawned on me that I had never known Dirk was seriously interested in playing with a guy. Then I saw Sean. Sean was lean and tall with dark curly hair and a five o’clock shadow. Well, it was after eight now. So there was more than a little scruff on his chin. He had blue eyes that made me think of a clear swimming pool on a day with no wind.

“Eleanor, right?”

I nodded as he shook my hand firmly, smiled at me, and introduced himself and his wife. Even though my thoughts were still off in an x-rated no-man’s land, I managed to shake Celine’s hand and invite the two guests into our living room. Celine was as attractive as her husband, although quite opposite physically. She was a compact blonde, with brown eyes and a pixie haircut. She had on a tank dress that showed off her tanned skin and tight muscles. She looked like the kind of woman who spent her weekends playing tennis at a club. I had an instant vision of what it would feel like to kiss her, and I wondered if all of this was Dirk’s intention.

Sean spied the dirty dishes on the table through the open door, and he apologized for interrupting.

“We can come back later,” he said politely. “I think we’re interrupting.”

“No,” Dirk insisted, joining us in the foyer. “The dishes can wait.”

“What if we do them?” Sean said, surprising me. “And the ladies can get to know one another.”

I looked at my husband, and I couldn’t help myself. I winked. Dirk’s grin was so broad, I was sure our guests would know something was up. Somehow, he managed to cover his glee with a cough and led Sean into our kitchen. I was surprised that the men seemed so eager to wash up. But then Celine snagged the half-full bottle of wine from the table and looked around for glasses. I took one down from the breakfront, lifted my own, and showed her to our living room.

Wine made the conversation easy. We talked about vineyards the Dishers had visited on their recent trip to Italy. I learned about where they’d moved from and what types of occupations they had — he was a vet, she was a tennis instructor. That made me laugh, because I had so easily envisioned her in a little white outfit, smacking the hell out of a neon ball.

“Do you play?” she asked, moving a little closer to me on our gold-brocade settee.

I shook my head. “I’m a klutz on the court. Absolutely no grace.”

“Do you swing?” she asked next, and then she was even closer. Her hand was on my thigh, and I was leaning back against the pillows, watching as she took the glass from my hand. This was happening fast. Deliciously, wonderfully fast. I drew in a breath as the hand on my thigh moved under my skirt and up to the juncture of my legs, and then her fingers were in my panties and her lips were on my own.

She tasted of the merlot, which was a good wine. Merlot is my favorite red for the blend of berry flavors. Celine’s lips were redolent of cherries and blackberries with a sharp flavor of pepper beneath. I basked in her kiss, but I paid attention to her fingers, stroking up and down my shaved pussy lips within my panties.

“Take these off,” she urged, tugging at the bikini impatiently. “I need to taste you.”

Join To