Every year we receive hundreds of letters from you, our readers. Here are a few of our hottest Hot Letters, the best of the best. So lock the door. Warm up your fingers or your favorite toy. Get comfortable. And enjoy.
HOW TO PICK UP WOMEN
She knew me as Ethan, a campaign manager for a politician who had just won a senate seat. The girl was wholly enamored with the world of politics. I’d learned that much before we’d ordered our second drink at the lounge. And so I became exactly what Angela wanted me to be. In pretending to play a leading role in politics, I fulfilled her favorite fantasy, and now that we were back in my hotel room, she was fulfilling mine.
With slow passes of her tongue, Angela lapped at my nut sac. She was kneeling behind me, and she mouthed each ball individually, tugging with her full lips, before rimming my asshole and jabbing her taster in deep. Fuck! Angela was 20, maybe 21, a junior in college, but I’ll tell you what—her sex education was definitely complete.
I could feel her big titties rubbing against the back of my thighs. Now one hand came around, and her fingers played lightly over my shaft. My shooter was like granite. I looked over my shoulder to see the young, voluptuous blonde tongue-dicking my poop chute, and I thought to myself, Life is good.
Two years ago I was your basic traveling salesman, moving from town to town, accumulating more air miles in a week than most people do their whole lives. But sometimes I felt so damn lonely, I paid for outcall just to talk to women. Then one day I discovered a secret.
SUPER TIGHT PUSSY, SPIT-DRENCHED BLOWJOBS, BALL-BUSTING ANAL—THESE GIRLS GAVE ME ANYTHING MY HEART DESIRED.
I was sitting in an empty bar in downtown Chicago, nursing a scotch, when all of a sudden dozens of young beauties rushed through the doors, clamoring for booze. I arched an eyebrow at the bartender, who grumbled something about a rock concert letting out down the street. Then I simply enjoyed the view for a bit—all those long legs and perky titties and barely covered young flesh—till a particularly stunning brunette mistook me for the band’s record producer. I guess I really should have told her my true identity, but soon I had two blondes, the brunette and a redhead hanging on my every word—and buying me drinks!
