Erotic Fiction

[keats]

Janice Pennington joined up with Pl@yb*y well over a year before her centerfold came out, appearing on Pl@yb*y After Dark where she caught the publisher’s eye; the tall stately model was guaranteed a spot in the magazine but he just couldn’t decide when. In the meanwhile the company flew her out to Chicago a couple of times, working around her busy schedule so they could shoot some tests.

Janice was not the usual Pl@ym@te frolicking in the Mansion. She was taller than most of the girls and she comported herself with a regal air. She wasn’t a snob in any way; she just radiated a sense of serenity and pride. She watched the hanky-panky with a bemused detached look, but declined any invitation to play along.

One evening there was buzz among the girls and Janice could tell something was up. Picking up little tidbits of information she pieced together that a famous athlete, a basketball player of some sort, was coming to the Mansion. He was a huge black man, over seven feet tall; and he was a huge cocksman, priding himself on bedding down just about every Pl@ym@te in the magazine.

With raised eyebrows she asked Avis Miller about him. Miss November, 1970, shared Janice’s height and build and carried herself with the same elegance.

“Oh, Janice, Janice, you’re just his type; he likes tall girls for a change of pace. He’s going to go for you big time, and he’s not going to wait until your centerfold comes out.”

We’ll see about that, Janice thought to herself.

And Avis was right; that afternoon as soon as he laid eyes on Janice he wanted her. He strode right up to the regal beauty and she strode right out of the room.

In the game room he leaned over her shoulder to watch her backgammon game; Janice could feel his breath on her neck. She rose from her chair abruptly.

“Here you finish it for me,” she said snidely as she left the room.

Later he discovered her in the library looking over a bound volume of the magazine. “We haven’t been introduced yet,” he said suavely, resting his hand on the page she was reading and leaning in close to her. “I’m Wi….” She slammed the volume closed on his fingers and left the room.

At dinner he was none too subtle about arranging to sit next to her. “You know, princess, you and I could really have some fun.” She poured soup into his lap and when he came back from changing his clothes she had left the room.

Janice skipped the party that night and stayed in her room reading; her mind drifted to the athlete and his advances. Pathetic, she thought to herself. Still, she shrugged, he’s very tall.

The next morning Avis grabbed her arm at breakfast. “What did you do to our boy?”

Janice raised an eyebrow, questioning.

“He slept alone last night. Nobody can ever remember him doing that.”

Janice arched her brows in wonder.

She found herself thinking about him all morning. She looked at herself in a mirror and mused if she should loosen up, get a little wild. Hey, she was going to be a Pl@ym@te. The girl in the glass seemed to know what she wanted and Janice would just have to go along. She admired her slim, long body, OK, she was a little vain. Her brown hair still seemed to hold some of the California sun and her skin was bronze, giving a warm glow. She was wearing a long, navy skirt, with an elegant white design throughout. She wore a finely tailored white sleeveless shirt and white sweater over top. Her hair was up, and on her feet were black heels adding to her height.

Midmorning she wandered the empty halls and stopped in front of the door she was told was his.

Lighten up, a voice said the girl in the mirror.

She made a decision. If he was in there, she would let him have her; if he wasn’t there, she would fly back home immediately. She was tingling like crazy as she entered his room and shut the door.

It was empty.

Thank God, she thought to herself. She leaned against the door and looked around the small chamber; she wondered why such a huge man wanted such a tiny space.

Suddenly she felt the door move and she stepped deeper into room; since there was no space she was practically on the bed.

He walked in and shut the door behind him. “Well, well, what have we here?” he said with a wide smile.

“I…Um…I came to apologize for yesterday.”

“Sure thing, princess. Bet you also came for something else.”

Janice stood rigid; her long graceful body struggled to be still. She held her head high, and gave him her most regal stare.

“Yeah, I know what you want,” he said in a flat even tone.

In her stillness, Janice calculated in her head. She reviewed the crazy bet she made with herself. Did she win or lose? If he came into the room after her, did that count as finding him in the room?

She saw herself flying off to California. She heard herself say, “Yes.”

He grinned. The ice queen was melting.

They smiled at each other as she went to him. Her arms went around his neck and they kissed passionately, tongues exploring. She pressed her body against him, kissing him urgently. He slowed the kiss down, lips smacking against hers.

“You’re ready to go, aren’t you princess?” He smiled. She smiled back, pulling his head down to her so she could kiss him again. Her tongue flew back into his mouth and she could feel the bulge in his slacks steadily growing against her stomach. She pressed herself harder against it, thrills shooting through her body.

He couldn’t help but slide his hands down to her ass. Her skirt was made of very thin material and he could clearly feel her sexy cheeks almost as if they were naked. He squeezed her bottom and sent his tongue back into her mouth.

Using his fingers, he began to pull her long skirt up her legs, inch by inch. Janice could feel more and more of her legs being exposed to the air as her skirt slid up past her knees. He got it as high as the bottom of her ass, exposing a little of her burgundy panties.

Sliding his hands into the sides of her panties, caressing over her naked ass, squeezing the cheeks, he was possessing her completely. He was fully hard now, and it was quite painful confined in his slacks like that. He broke the kiss.

“You’re really getting me going here,” he breathed. His hands were still holding her ass, and he gave it another squeeze. Janice was soaking wet. She wanted that cock in her, and she was not going to wait.


“I’m ready.” She whispered seductively.

That did it.

The man pushed her roughly back onto the bed. She landed on the sheets, still wearing her shoes as she raised her feet in the air. Her skirt was hiked halfway up her thighs, and as he knelt before her on the floor, his hands slid up her legs push her skirt to her waist.

In one fluid motion his hands grabbed her skimpy little burgundy panties and pulled them down her thighs and over her knees.
And eager bedmate, Janice’s feet remained in the air, and her legs spread wide, presenting herself to him.

Her pink lips glistened with moisture; they were quivering a little in her arousal. Pressed tightly together, they were framed by the curls of her pubic hair. She was looking at him looking at her, and she was breathing laboriously.

Not wasting anymore time, the man buried his face between her thighs, sliding his tongue between the folds of her pussy immediately.

“Ohhh…” she sighed softly, feeling his lithe tongue wiggle around inside her. He slid his hands under her ass, holding her steady as his tongue gathered her flowing juices. He sucked her swollen lips into his mouth, teasing over them as he held them trapped.

“Mmmm…” she moaned, her graceful hands reaching down between her legs and holding the back of his head. He released her slit, and sucked it back into his mouth. She gasped at the sensation, bolts of pleasure firing up her body. He began to suck and release, suck and release, his expert mouth showing no mercy as he manipulated her throbbing sex.

She rested her calves on his shoulders, gently urging him against her as he devoured her body. The man slowly licked from the bottom of her sensitive slit up to the top, savoring the taste of her. His tongue lightly nudged her clitoris, and he could feel her tense up. He gently sucked her nub into his mouth, and then released it.

Tingles shot up her body, the stirrings of an orgasm began inside her. She began to writhe, working her pussy up into his face as he began to lap at her tiny button.

Her eyes were closed and her breathing deepened even further as the man continued to do his thing between her thighs. She was losing it, humping her ass up off the bed more and more violently.

“Ohhhh…” she shuddered, orgasm exploding within her. She was shaking, heart pounding as he mercilessly licked her clit. He had a death grip on her ass, holding her in place as he tongued her. She was squeezing her thighs together, pussy convulsing as she came.

Finally, the man pulled back, showing her some mercy as the poor girl tried to recover. He pushed his slacks and underwear down, freeing his huge cock.

Janice lay helpless before him, skirt up around her waist, legs spread wide, feet in the air. She was panting, watching him as he approached her with that monster of his. He pressed his fat organ against her pussy lips, slowly running it up and down her moist slit. Tingles went through her at the sensation. Unable to put it off any longer, he pushed forward, watching as his thick head parted the pink lips of her pussy.

“Unh!” she cried, arching her head back as she felt him squeeze inside her. Her tight little slit was gripping the thick black shaft, and she could feel him forcing his way further inside her body.

The man moaned, feeling her tight heat grip more and more of his rod. He was watching his cock disappear into her bush, three quarters of the way inside her. He pulled back a little, and then drove his rock hard weapon home.

“Ohhh yessss…” she cried as her hungry pussy filled with fire. He was sheathed entirely inside her warmth, hovering above her, watching her as he began to slide in and out.

Her eyes were half closed, and the look in them was that of pure ecstasy. She was moaning, breathing laboriously as she took that fat cock of his over and over. The sharp heels of her shoes were bouncing off of his thrusting ass.

“Unh! Unh! Unh! Unh! Ohh!” she cried out a little too loudly as his cock glided in and out of her slick tunnel. The man planted his hands on the bed and began to fuck her even harder. He was losing it already.

Janice was losing it too. That huge tool of his was going in her so deep, rubbing along the walls of her pussy so quickly that she didn’t stand a chance. Her feet were flailing helplessly behind him as her cries grew higher in pitch.

“Ohhhhhhh!” she moaned, stretching her sexy legs straight out behind him. Her strong thighs were squeezing him tightly, and it slowed his thrusts a little. His own orgasm was put on hold for the moment as this beautiful woman struggled to regain control. Her heart was pounding, her sex was pulsating, the blood was rocketing through her veins. Her face was clenched and her eyes were winced shut as she came and came and came.

“Ohhh God…” she gasped, and he could feel her legs relax their grip around him. He began to fuck her rough again, drilling her hard into his bed. She whimpered beneath him, too out of breath to even moan. That hard cock of his was just too much for her! Her hands were clawing at his back as her pussy took that thick organ deep at a lightening pace.

“I’m gonna come!” he grunted. He could feel his balls heat up.

“Oh yeah baby!” she managed to gasp. “Come inside me!” she cried, eyebrows raised. Her words made him lose it. He slid his entire cock deep into Janice’s sex and held it there. Her legs landed around his waist and pulled him into her.

“Ohhhh…” he moaned as his cock exploded inside her. A huge, thick load of his hot seed shot in, filling her depths. His rod jerked again, spraying more of his fire deep into her. She sighed, kissing his face as his manhood twitched inside her, an inferno of his seed blasting into her.

He thrust hard against her, squeezing out even more of his juices into her hungry pussy. He groaned, opening his eyes. He kissed her repeatedly, lips smacking as the last of his seed trickled into her needy body.

Janice hugged him with all of her limbs, a broad, satisfied smile on her face. Her haughty glare had melted away.

“Let me stand up for a minute; this dress is a mess.”

He rolled off of her and watched with shock as she scurried out the door.

A few weeks later back in Los Angeles she had a visitor to her apartment. She gasped when she opened the door and found the basketball player leaning against the frame and grinning down at her.

“Hey, princess, you miss me?” he chuckled stepping past her and strutting into the room.

Janice watched the rhythmic roll of his ass in his tight pants as he prowled around her living room and raised her eyebrow; she recovered her cool composure and already her body tingled with memories of their last meeting. With a challenging smirk on her face, she closed the door and leaned against it. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

He never could understand what that meant and just shrugged his shoulder and continued moving around the room as if he were inspecting it. He snorted at the couch; not big enough he decided.

Janice watched him move, a little unnerved by his apparent disinterest in her. “So to what do I owe the privilege?” Her voice a little less confident.

“Just wanted to see my girl, you know. See if you’re a fan; drum up some support for the home team.”

Seeing the blank look on her face, he added, “You a Lakers fan or not?”

She smiled inscrutably. Still she was nervous over the way his eyes darted around the room. She saw him give a momentary look into the small galley kitchen. Then his eyes fixed on the door next to it; he extended a long arm and pressed his huge hand on the wood and slowly pushed it open to reveal the chintz and lace and frills of a vain woman’s bedroom but what Janice saw his eyes lock onto was the large antique brass bed. She pressed her back against the apartment door, thrilled… but panicky too.

He admired the bed for another minute and turned back to the girl and flashed his grin again. Three long strides took him back across the room and right in front of her. He loved the droll look on her face as she tried to maintain her pride. He saw her palms pressed flat against the door and the way she tried to melt her body into the wood.

With a firm finger he nudged her face up towards his. “I see you got everything all ready for me.” His head gestured behind him, leaving no doubt what he meant. “And you’re dolled up all nice and pretty.”

Janice wore a bright orange jump suit with large saucer buttons and a super wide belt. She held her breath as his hand touched her shoulder and glided down the long curve of her body. It stopped at her waist and traced a line along the edge of the belt; his fingers curled around the buckle, gripping it tightly. He was so close to her now that her breasts brushed over his chest as he tugged on the belt, lifting her on her toes and pulling her mouth over his. She pressed her lips together and haughtily turned her head away.

“Yeah, that’s my girl,” he grinned. “Always playing hard to get.” He let go of the belt and she dropped her feet to the floor; she was still against the door with her palms sweating as they pressed into it.

“Thing is, princess, seems to me you’re already got.

He looked down and watched her belly flutter in and out with her heavy breathing. “So you taking care of yourself; staying in shape to be a Pl@yb*y bunny?”

“Pl@ym@te,” she hissed her head bent down but her eyes raised so she could watch him through her brown flowing hair.

“What’s that?”

“It’s Pl@ym@te; I’m going to be a Pl@ym@te, probably next summer.” She spit the words out through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant; I always get that wrong.” His hands dropped down to the belt again and her eyes followed. “Anyway, I better do an inspection. See if the goodies are still good.”

Janice stayed stiff and proud as he tugged on the belt again making her chest jut out. She pulled her stomach in as his large fingers yanked the end of the orange leather, slipping it through the buckle and nudging the steel pin out.

“You’re looking fine, princess.” A wide sweep of his arm pulled the orange leather through all the loops. “You being a good girl, princess?” His hands lifted up her luxuriant hair, exposing her long elegant throat. Locking his eyes on hers he slipped the belt around her head and gently looped it like a necklace under her chin as she gulped. He worked the buckle so it was loose enough for to her breathe but tight enough to remind her it was there.

Again his hands dropped to her waist; the jump suit was closed with a row of large buttons running down the front. He touched the button just over her crotch and took his time slipping it through the hole. His fingers pushed under the orange fabric and she sucked her belly in at the electric charge of his touch.

The next button came undone, revealing her navel. Slowly he worked his way up her torso, pushing the jump suit open wider and wider. He came to the button between her breasts and cupped the two mounds for a moment before opening the closure. Now one button left, the orange jump suit was hanging open, a wide expanse of bronzed skin coyly peeking out. The edges of the fabric clung to the jutting points of her nipples.

The last button almost came open by its self. He slowly peeled the jump suit off her shoulders, licking his lips as her breasts came into view. Janice shifted her body as he nudged the fabric down her back. She defiantly pressed deeper into the door. “Yeah, that’s my princess-- making this difficult.” Squeezing his hand between her skin and the door he hauled the fabric along her spine with a brusque jerk.

The jump suit flew off her arms and she staggered slightly, letting the fabric glide over her ass and fall to the floor.

Her nude body glowed in a warm blush; her nipples were red and hard. She delicately moved her hands over her bush protectively. Her chin pressed into her chest, but her eyes looked up at him flashing rebelliousness.

‘My, my,” he gloated, looking her over. “You sure are fine.” He held her arms tight and bent down to kiss her. She locked her lips together, letting his tongue pound against them like a battering ram. She trembled in his grip as his tongue twisted in, breaking through to her teeth. Her mouth softened and he raced in, probing and sucking, savoring the taste of her arrogance being devoured.

Her tongue wrestled his bravely, then eagerly; her body swayed, squeezed between the grip of his hands. Her hands hovered reluctantly over his shoulders, then held him tight, lifting herself into the kiss. Slowly he captured her tongue and drew it into his own mouth.

Janice shuddered under the kiss, breaking it finally only to breathe. He stepped away from her, looking her over once again. “Baby, you sure look fine; you’re a Pl@ym@te alright.” Janice flushed with pride and raised her head with a haughty snort like a queen acknowledging her underlings. All she wore was the orange belt hanging loosely around her neck; her nude body radiated with a regal air and a smoldering sexuality.

He fingered the long end of the orange leather and gave it a slight tug. “So princess, what do you say we work on the playing part?” He tugged on the belt again, and walking backwards led her towards the bedroom. Her bare feet padded along on the wood floor, but her body stayed erect and proud, moving with an elegant grace.

He pushed her backwards onto the bed and she raised herself on her elbows and glared at him in challenge. “So princess, you getting any, or are you saving yourself for my sweet thing.” He talked happily as he undressed before her; glancing around the room he chuckled at the pink frills and cute stuffed animals, who would of thought it from such an stuck-up girl.

Her eyes sparkled as his ebony muscles came into view. “My cock has missed you, baby, it likes the way you move, and we got some unfinished business.”

He stepped out of his boxer shorts and his shaft did snap up and seem to reach out to her. He stood tall and put his hands on his hips, posing proudly in front of her. “Yeah, my boy misses your pussy.”

His hand reached out for her ankle and without warning he flipped her over. His fingers gripped her hips and pulled her up on all fours; he tugged her towards him, planting his feet firmly on the floor at the foot of the bed. “I know you like to start things with a bang.”

Her slit was already wet with anticipation and, as he thrust in, her face was mashed against the sheets. “This is real nice, princess,” he said. Already he found a rhythm and pace to make her twist and writhe on his cock as she moaned with pleasure. “You sure fuck good; I got some big plans for you tonight.”


“Oh! Unh! Unh! Unh! Unh!” she moaned, biting her lip and trying to stay quiet. ‘Slap slap slap slap’ his groin slapped hard against her ass over and over. Her breasts jiggled with the impact. Janice winced, feeling her orgasm shoot up within her.

“Janice?” A soft voice came floating from behind him. The man wasn’t sure of what he heard and plunged gleefully into the girl on the bed. She didn’t notice the voice at all.

“Janice?”

This time they both heard it. Janice leapt forward, pulling herself off his cock. She scrambled off the bed tugging the sheet around herself protectively. Shit, she thought to herself.

“My room…Janice…What…Who…” The young blonde girl paused, taking in the giant black man standing nude at the foot of her bed. His grin lit up the room; the girl couldn’t stop staring at him, especially when her eyes dropped to his raging erection, the black club glistening with the juices of her sister.

The man guessed who she was right way; she was inches shorter, and her breasts seemed more full and plush as they strained under the white cotton sundress she wore. But there was something in her looks. She radiated that moist erotic glow only found in the freshest of nymphets. He could almost smell her innocence but also, in just the few seconds since she appeared her face had gone through a dozen different emotions, revealing the depths of her passion. Her eyes had glowed with anger, indignation, concern, but most of all, a real curiosity. Her eyes had darted from his face to her sister’s, but kept returning to stare at his enormous cock. He could see in her eyes her readiness to submit to him.

His cock throbbed, still inside of the big sister, so he gave little sister a show; he figured that he’d finish off the ice queen and then lay into little Miss Juicy. He noticed that big sister was watching her sister too, her eyes cold with pride, as if through down a challenge to the young girl. He watched the nymphet too, checking her awed reaction to each of his deep thrusts into big sister, bringing Janice to a quiet orgasm as he unloaded into her.

He rolled off the tall woman and grinned at the young girl. “Well, well, enter the little sister. Like the song says: double your pleasure, double your fun.” He was already up and striding towards her.

“Ann…” Janice whispered unsure of what to say next. She glowed bright red as emotions flooded through her.

“Ann…Little Annie…Come on in.” He held out his hand.

Ann took a step back, but paused; she couldn’t take her eyes off of the weapon he displayed.

The man stepped forward and took her hand and led her towards the bed. “So little girl; your sister didn’t tell you about me, huh. The princess keeping the jewels to herself.”

“What are you doing?” Janice barked harshly as he guided Ann to the foot of the bed and gently lowered her to the mattress. She moved as if floating in space, her eyes still watching him.

“Come on, princess, you know what comes next.”

“She’s a child!”

Ann bristled noticeably, giving the man confidence. “She looks plenty willing to me, plenty ready too.” He looked at the lovely blonde on the bed; she was lying flat out and her breasts swelled and rocked as she breathed. She moved her knees up and pushed her feet into the mattress hiking the skirt up her legs; her thighs opened and closed nervously.

“She’s a child,” Janice repeated.

“You a child, doll?”

“I’m nineteen, twenty in a couple of months.” She sucked on her pinkie coyly and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“See,” he said with glee, talking to Janice but smiling wickedly at Ann. “She’s old enough all right. Ripe and juicy, just waiting for a big man to do her up right.” Ann’s tongue darted out, a fragile little flower, there one second, then gone. She smiled coyly and fluttered her eyes again.

“Tell you what, princess, you take a break while me and sis here get acquainted. I’ll find you later and take care of you.” And he noted to himself that he hadn’t banged a pair of sisters in quite awhile; today was going to be a good day and it was going to last all weekend.

Miss May, 1971 was no fool. She could see the electric current passing between her sister and the champion ball player and she could anticipate his plans for all of them. Without another word, and without looking at Ann, the stately Pl@ym@te lifted her head high and marched out of the room. As she passed him, the man pulled the sheet away, exposing her bronzed flesh. She was gone and the door closed with a click.

He lowered himself on to the bed, a black cloud looming over Ann’s tiny body. He stretched out next to her, resting on his side; she looked like a petite and fragile doll next to him.

“So, sweet cakes, you a bunny too?”

Ann frowned for a moment, unsure of what he meant, but she knew it had something to do with Janice posing for Pl@yb*y. She shook her head quickly.

“You sure look like a bunny, a soft sweet little bunny.” His face was close to hers. “And I’m the big bad wolf.”

Their lips pressed together like two magnets joining as one. Her eager mouth unfolded to him, a soft flower; their tongues flitted back and forth, entwined in the taste of his lust for her. She jutted her chest up, feeling his fingers nimbly undo the buttons of her dress. She was still on her back with her hands racing over the muscles of the black man looming over her.

He lifted his head and looked down at her body, spreading the dress open like a curtain. Ann gasped to see her warm white flesh glowing next to this huge black man. He licked his lips, admiring the banquet before him and eager to gorge himself. Her breasts were two large mounds of cream longing to be licked; she held her stomach tight and the pink skin looked luscious; she spread her thighs slightly to give him a peek at her sheer white panties and the dewdrops on her dark bush.

He got right to it, squeezing her breasts together and plunging his face into the sweet valley; his tongue slurped wide circles around them and she moaned when it touched the tender flesh under the breasts. He gobbled up her nipples, sucking them like candy. She was so delicious he opened his mouth wide, trying to suck the entire mound deep into his voracious maw.

Finally sated, he started on her belly, licking her like ice cream, twirling his tongue in her navel. She arched her back as the tickling sent chills down her spine. When his lips moved towards her bush her head snapped up.

“What are you doing?” she cried in shock.

“What you think? I’m gonna eat your pussy.”

“What?” she asked again, now a gentle whisper.

“You mean nobody’s eaten this fine snatch of yours.”

She shook her head.

“Shit, let’s do this right.”

He sat up and lifted her to a sitting position too. With almost balletic gestures she helped him take the dress off, moving her arms like graceful swans as the fabric slid away.

She used his shoulder for support, lifting her delicious bottom so he could remove her panties. He tossed her shoes over his shoulder.

“Damn girl, you sure should pose for Pl@yb*y.”

“Maybe someday,” she sighed.

With a firm hand he caressed her velvety skin; arranging her body so her legs dangled over the edge.

He knelt down on the floor between her legs and gazed at the glistening petals unfolding before him. He gently stroked her thighs, making her spread her legs; she raised herself on her elbows and watched him, mesmerized by what was to come.

He bent in closer.

Is there anything more erotic, more satisfying, more delicious than going down on a sweet delicate girl? What is more the essence of sex than a woman’s honey? The source of her pleasure, home of the clitoris, center of her sexual universe?

He wanted her desperately; she looked so fresh and innocent, her head cocked to one side as she watched him with glowing eyes. He had to prolong the pleasure. He stood up and bent over her, gently kissing her neck and shoulders. She began murmuring in a soft unfathomable language, the wordless siren song of the eager nymphet. With caresses, kisses and licks he worked his way down her chest, lingering on her breasts. He circled her aureoles with both lips and fingers, then lightly squeezed her nipples; she felt the vibration right down to her buzzing pussy.

He moved down her body, his lips hovering over her skin and causing tingling sparks where ever he brushed by. He dropped down between her legs again; she was primed and aching for his tongue. Her wordless murmuring rose to a higher octave and became for frantic and pleading.

He took his time, savoring the sight, the smell, and the glory of it all. He kissed it, caressed it, rubbed his thumbs all over the soft folds of beautiful flesh. Slow and thorough. He licked her outside and inside pussy lips first, with broad, flat strokes of his tongue, licked around the inside of her sheath using his stiffened tongue like a mini cock, sticking it in and out of the hole. From deep in his chest he roared deep bass notes of pleasure. She was vibrating, sobbing and moaning; he moved his tongue up to her clit and toyed with it cruelly, licking around the nub in circles, licking over the top, around the bottom – A sharp gasp from the trembling girl because he was suddenly sucking her clit into his mouth and licking it fast with the tip of his tongue. While his tongue was dancing on her clit, he rubbed some of her juices around the little hole of her rear. She was concentrating on his tongue so much that his finger didn’t matter, it just felt soooo good. As she got closer to climax, he continued to rub around it until she was breathing heavily…getting very close. Now – he stuck his finger in the little hole just a bit, as far as the second joint, no more. She squealed in shock and then, as the figure probed her, she screamed with pleasure, her orgasm going off like a time bomb; she began bucking her hips like they were on fire.

Still he worked her. With his tongue on her clit, he reached up, and gently held her breasts. Still sucking her clit, he circled her aureoles lightly; her breathing and writhing announced another impending orgasm, he squeezed her nipples, sending her crashing into climax at warp speed. Her moans and cries were music to his ears. Her hands squeezed his head like a vise.

His legs were tightened springs and Ann felt herself lifted as he moved his massive body up onto the mattress, his mouth never leaving her pussy. With grunts and cries from the tender girl he wormed his way onto his back while she straddled his face, and she began to grind her pussy into his face as hard as she could. He reached up to play with her breasts and sent her to the stratosphere. Still not done he flipped her body so he was eating her from behind while she was on all fours in the doggie position. Again she came while he was happily lapping her juices. He twisted her body standing her up; then he was lying under her spread legs. Her knees wobbled and she fell backwards, bucking and gyrating in another climax.

He attacked her again. When he held her clit in his lips and hummed, it worked like a small vibrator, and the pulsations spread from her clit to all areas, making her tingle like a tuning fork. She sang out another climax.

Still he was sucking on her clit and she was squirming and shaking, her breath coming in gasps, her clit-- the center of her universe.

When he finally finished the bed was a mess, the sheet tangled into knots where she gripped it tightly. Their limbs were twisted together; his goatee was slick with the sweet nectar he drew out of her. He untangled himself and sat next to her. Her body glowed with satisfaction and she stretched lazily, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Her lips parted sexily, letting out the soft mews of a compliant sex-kitten.

“You like that, little sister,” he chuckled. “I gave you the deluxe edition, it being your first time.”

She nodded contentedly, sighing while closing her eyes and sinking into the mattress as if to sleep. “Wait up, little sister,” he growled, shaking her tiny foot. “I did you good, got you off nicely, now you do for me.” He gestured at his big cock.

Ann stared at him with large doe eyes; her body trembled, the after shock of ecstasy mixing with palpitations of foreboding.

She felt her head nod almost involuntarily; he grinned at his victory and set to work.

She let out little whimpers as he arranged her supple body on the bed. When he knelt between her legs and lifted the heavy hard cock and rested it on her bush and belly she finally spoke.

“Can I suck on you instead?”

‘What do you mean ‘instead?’ You sure will suck me—after I do a little drilling.”

She looked at him with pleading eyes. “You ever do this before?” he demanded.

“A little,” she said meekly.

“What do you mean, a little?”

She just shook her head.

The man looked down on the soft pliant girl; her nude body was warm and moist. She watched him with her eyes. Ripe and ready, he thought to himself.

“OK, little sister, I’m gonna take you around the world; you just follow me.” He slipped his arms under her shoulders and rocked his hips up and down; the cock glided over her bush and belly. She watched it transfixed. He sensed her fear and took his time.

Over and over he glided across her soft moist skin, the cock a huge black snake slithering over her. Now he pulled back farther, stretching his body so the head of his cock caressed her pussy lips before pushing through her bush and onto her tummy. As his body moved, his voice purred over her, a seductive litany in a low murmur vibrating through her. “You’re so soft, so pretty, you’re my sweet little bunny girl.”

He repeated the dance over and over. Caress, push, glide, caress, push, glide. Her body began to sway along with the rhythm. The cock was floating on the gently rocking sea of her flesh. “So soft, so sweet, my good little girl,” he growled.

“Are you going to come?” she purred.

“No doubt about that, baby doll.”

“I want to see you come.” Suddenly her eyes opened wide. She remembered watching a porno movie with her sister one Mansion Movie Night. She remembered how the men all pulled out their cocks and ejaculated on the girls. She convinced herself that men liked that and she dreaded that he might come inside her. “You can come on my face,” she sighed. He just snorted.

The shaft stopped at the pussy lips again, nudging them apart gently, softly, then the head caressed the swelling lips and pushed through the wet curls over her bush and over her sweating belly. “So sweet, so soft,” he was almost humming his voice so low. He repeated the dance over and over, nudge, caress, push, glide, nudge, caress, push, glide. Her body undulated in a gentle wave under him.

“This feels nice,” Ann cooed, relaxing more. A look of blissful contentment flushed on her face.

Her breasts heaved and, as he rocked up and down, his chest caressed her nipples, twisting her nerve endings tightly. Still they rocked together. Nudge—this time a little firmer a little longer, caress, push, glide, nudge, caress, push, glide. Nudge—a little deeper, caress, push, glide, nudge, caress, push, glide.

Ann was purring, falling into a deep trance. Her palms lightly brushed over the muscles of his back. Her thighs opened and closed in the same rhythm as his rocking. Her eyes were open wide, staring into his. Over and over they danced, nudge, caress, push, glide, nudge, caress, push, glide. She didn’t notice his arms stiffening over her shoulders; she rocked gently in the rhythm. The cockhead nudged those sweet swelling lips, caressed them gently, pushed through the wet jungle of dark curls and left a trail of heat as it slithered over her soft belly. Nudge, caress, push, glide, nudge, caress, push glide.

She purred with a soft smile on her face; her eyes misted over but still stared into his. Their bodies rocked gently. The cockhead nudged those silky soft lips.

And rammed in brutally.

He dove down, using the weight of his body to drive his cock deep into her like a spike. He grunted pleasurably, savoring the delicious 110 pound pressure of a nymphet’s pussy over his cock.

She howled in some primitive language; she fought, clawing, biting, kicking. He rode the wrath and writhing of her body like a skiff in a hurricane. Pulling her shoulders down he began to pump into her, letting her struggle create the rhythm as her body arched like a bridge and snapped back. Over and over. In and out. Her eyes blazed with fury -- she cursed him, gasping for air. Over and over he thrust into her. Each touch into her depths setting off an explosion.

From deep down inside her another rhythm rose; still in agony she began to undulate with him, allowing him to set the pace. In and out he thrust and it was sweet agony. Her arms gripped his neck and she kissed him hard, fucking his mouth the way he was fucking her pussy. Her nipples stabbed into him; her legs wrapped over him, pulling him in. In and out in the ancient dance. Where was the harmony of spirit in all this, let alone sublimity? How were such mechanics, such stops and starts, such frantic pulsing transmuted, in spite of her innocence, into erotic gold? We cannot imagine how earnest, how petulant, how accommodating, how willful was her quest for something beyond herself; she revealed in conjoining her tender sex with his massive cock, but joining too their separate spirits, into one throbbing lust. Her entire body, nubile and soft, submitted to that primeval erotic rhythm. The agony of his shaft buried deep inside her urged her on in her writhing. A virtuoso of sex, he played her with magnificent artistry; the first rhythms were harsh and quick, brutal thrusts deep into her tenderness to show her who was in charge, then a slow measured stroking, sliding in and out to seduce her. Next came a canter and gallop with his cock guiding the rocking of her supple hips, riding his luscious filly into ecstasy, then an easy ambling, prolonging the blissful in and out as he smiled down on his girl and she gazed up adoringly. He was balling her but she was created a new cosmos of bliss for herself.

He fucked her for a long, long, long time before he gentled her into the flow; her tight sheath got tighter with every stroke as she learned to control the pressure on his cock. The honey dripped over the shaft in little jewels, more with each stroke. She gazed up at him and what could he read in her eyes? Puzzlement – alarm – desire? Could he read love? In that nymphet’s eyes could he read worshipful love?

In and out of her he moved carrying her to bliss; by now she was wide eyed and smiling, proudly riding his cock with delight, squeezing it, teasing it. In and out and she purred.

“You fuck good, little sister.”

“Yeah?” she breathed out.

“Oh yeah, you can be a bunny just like the princess.”

“Pl@ym@te.”

“Yeah, you make a good little Pl@ym@te.”

“Yeah?”

In and out, in and out of that glorious sheath.

“Am I good as my sister?”

“Hey, babe, she’s been at it longer. You’re doing fine, real fine, so fine.” He resolved to compare them later when got to balling them together.

In and out—her sex was so tight and sweet; he never wanted to leave.

“Are you going to come soon?” she panted.

“Sure, little Pl@ym@te, sure.” His body was tense with pleasure, moving in a greedy rhythm, each stroke into her sweetness drawing contractions around his throbbing shaft.

“Come on my face, Ok? Like in the movies.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Am I doing it right?”

“Shhh little sister.”

In and out and she swooned with the dance.

“Nobody ever came in me before.”

In and out and she sobbed with the painful pleasure.

“Nobody’s ever been inside me before.”

“Nobody ever ate your pussy before either.”

“Yeah,” she giggled nervously. Her young body rocked and writhed in erotic rhythm with each of his masterful strokes.

In and out and her body lifted and dropped, riding the brutal torture of his cock.

“Don’t come inside me.”

In and out.

“Don’t come inside me.”

Her tiny hand reached down and tickled his balls and it was like she had popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.

Her eyes goggled in shock, the pressure of the onslaught of his climax slamming the breath out of her. She looked at him with an expression of pain mixed with angry puzzlement. Her insides burned as his white fire gushed deep into her sweetness. She let out a silent scream and her body went rigid, frozen in the ecstasy of this explosion.

He shot into her long and hard and fast. He lunged in deeper and triggered her resistance. She thrashed and bucked as fire devoured her insides. She swooned as his heat seemed to flood every vein and nerve of her body. She screamed herself into the stars as one touch of his finger on her clit released the pent up fury of her climax.

Ann finally sank back into the mattress with a gasp.

“Wow!”

“You like that, little sister? Don’t worry; we’ll go again soon.” He was standing at the foot of the bed.

“Where are you going?” she said with a pout.

“Gotta take care of the princess now,” he chuckled, leaving the room.

Ann didn’t know how long she had slept, but she woke to find herself on top of her sister, the huge man on top of both of them and his cock pushing into her throbbing pussy. She looked up into her sister’s gloating eyes and screamed her ecstasy.

[keats]

Suze was nervous; she didn’t know if she was going to be kept on as a Playboy Staff photographer, but she also wasn’t sure she wanted to be kept on. She initially had great success with the magazine. Lately, however, she was feeling stifled; Suze, creative and ambitious, had her own ideas about what nude photography was all about. Sex, pure, uncompromising sex, why do anything else?

She had come over from Europe with her Leicaflex SL2 camera, an overstuffed suitcase of lingerie, and the luscious Lillian Müller in tow.


Suze had discovered Lillian in London; the nubile young girl worked strutting down catwalks but Suze’s photo of her for the Sun’s Page 3 capapulted her to fame among the afficiandos of that softporn outlet. Suze sold four more pictures to Page 3 before convincing the Nordic beauty that their future was in Los Angles.

Lillian was Suze’s calling card to the Playboy Mansion and while Lillian quickly became Miss August, Playmate of the Year, and the publisher’s bedmate, Suze landed the coveted contract which, perhaps, wasn’t so coveted anymore.

She labored as a staff photographer for over a year, shooting Lillian’s Playmate spread of course, but then relegated to doing test shots of models who never made the grade. She did get to shoot herself nude for a feature but by then she was becoming bored with Playboy’s conservative approach to photography. Undaunted and needing a steady job to maintain her green card status she tried her best to make a go of it at Playboy; she offered several imaginative ideas for pictorials but all of them were rejected as too risky, too risqué, too explicit. Finally after months of badgering she was allowed to do a shoot her way; the good news as that she’d be shooting luscious Lillian Müller once again but the bad news was she had virtually no budget.

Suze was never one to let any impediments keep her from her goal and she embraced the chance to do the shoot with the delicable Nordic beauty. Always determined and focussed, she began to inventively solve the problem of a limited budget. First she secured the Playboy Mansion itself for the set; the Great Hall and staircase were perfect for what she envisioned. Next she recruited a chapter of the Kappa Omicron Xi fraternity, the Cocksmen. This fraternity had a long history with Playboy and Suze had heard the wild stories; when the president of the chapter got her call he was more than happy to oblige.

Two nights later Suze was at the fraternity house selecting the models for her shoot; her selection process was rigorous and each candidate had to strip down in front of her while she took photos and each had to ball Nina Fause, a porn actress she had brought along to the audition. It was a long night but in the end she had the six men she wanted.

Two nights after that the six were in the living room being coached by Suze on their wardrobe. Playboy had provided racks of costumes from previous shoots and parties; Suze eventually got all six men in a variety of period outfits making them look like pirates if pirates could be members of the Hell’s Angels with lot of satin, leather, and chains.

Lillian was upstairs in the first bedroom at the top of the Grand Staircase. With the door open, she sat primely on the edge of a chair as she listened to the raucous laugher of the men in the room below. Looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered how she was going to manage this shoot. Her head cocked to one side like an elegant bird, canny but confident, she could make out the different voices and she sorted them out, matching them to their names: Berger, Karl, Schultze, Thiele, Dix, Squirrel. The four Germanic names she imagined to be strapping examples of well-fed, well-exercised American males, descendents of old familes from Europe. She didn’t understand where “Dix” came from; she thought of Dixie, the South, and Clark Gable as Rhett Butler. A squirrel she had learned, when Suze told her the names, was a forrest animal; she knew it as an ekorn. She smiled, trying to picture a man willing to use that name.

The men, clearly excited about the shoot, indulged in that American bluster which Lillian knew was an attempt to hide their nervousness. Suze teased them, making it clear to Lillian’s attentive ears that the photographer was using her own sexual wiles to get the men worked up.

Suddenly it was quiet and Suze’s voice dominated, speaking softly in a conspiratorial tone. Lillian could hear pages shuffling; the photographer was showing sketches, her plan for the shoot. The men were almost menacing in their silent attention. Lillian tried to picture what the sketches might bring; Suze hadn’t shown her, explaining that she wanted to capture Lillian’s honest reactions as the scenerio unfolded. But the men downstairs were being fully briefed. Finally one of the men murmured, “Damn,” his voice thick with incredulity. Lillian felt a chill, as if a cold draft was flooding the room.

Everyone was leaving the living room. Lillian heard their shuffling, Suze arranging them at the bottom of the stairs. It was almost time. Lillian heard Suze climb the steps. Then she was in the doorway, the lucky Leica drapped around her neck; Lillian knew several more cameras would be ready downstairs. The Nordic beauty rose and walked slowly to the door and Suze, uncharacteristically, embraced her. “We’re going to have a great shoot,” she gushed into the lovely model’s ear, “You’re going to have a ball.”

She stepped back, inspecting her model, nodding her approval. “Give me just thirty seconds them come down. Take your time, nice and slow, let your beauty seduce.” Then she headed back to the men.

After a pause, thirty seconds that seemed an eternity, Lillian gracefully began her descent down the Grand Staircase.

Her negligee whispered as her body moved. The gown was cut severly, long sleeves buttoned at the wrists, high collar over her elegant throat, and dozens of gleeming black beaded buttons from her waist up to the top of the gown to hold it closed. The skirt was flowing and soft, echoing the gentle rocking of her hips as she stepped down the stairs. The negligee was cut severly but it was made with a sheer black fabric that allowed her flawless skin to glow from underneath, clinging gracefully to the full curves of her luscious breasts, shimmering with each quiver of flesh as she moved. Her beauty was not that of the girl next door; she was lovely in an elegant, regal way and she moved with a grace mysterious and magestical.

All eyes were on her; she heard a collective groan and the busy action of Suze’s Leica. She had shot Lillian on the stairs earlier; now she was shooting the men reacting to the delicious Playmate approaching them.

She took her time, appraising each of the men. As she expected most were athletic, tall, handsome; four were Nordic blondes like her and she concluded that they would be the boys with German names. Another was taller than the others, dark, his smile confident, even arrogant; he was Dix she decided. Squirrel was obvious; the men were arranged in two rows at the bottom of the stairs and he was on the far end on the left. He was smaller, clearly, but he had a nervous energy too, his hands in motion as if anxious to reach out and touch her.

“Don’t touch her,” Suze called out as Lillian wriggled between the two rows. “Lillian, head to the coach and gesture them to sit down.”

The men were clearly instructed on how to arrange themselves on the coach, four sitting and two standing on either end. Lillian noticed Squirrel was one of the two in the middle; the other was the dark one.

“Lillian, you’re going to sit in their laps with your legs across their hips.”

Lillian analyzed the pack with a cool gaze, assessing with the skill of an anthroplogist; she could read Dix’s expectations in the smirk on his face. He was presuming that she’d sit in his lap. Instead she sat on Squirrel, giving him a warm seductive smile as she wriggled her delicious derriere into his lap. She gracefully stretched her legs across two laps, giving each man a glance and but saving a final radiantly sensual smile for Squirrel.

“Squirrel, put your arm around her shoulders, good,” Suze took command. “Lillian drop your head back; he’s going to kiss you. Good, open mouths, lots of tongue! Lillian, I want to see that pretty pink tongue of yours. Great.” The camera was clicking, rapid fire.

Lillian poured everything into the kiss; her dancing tongue glistened in the light and her luscious body squirmed with pleasure, twelve hands caressing her. She could taste Squirrel’s frantic hunger as she moaned into his mouth. His arm pulled her in closer, squeezing possessively.

“No, no buttons yet,” Suze barked. “Berger, you can push the skirt up over one leg. No, the one closer to the camera. Everything to the camera.” Lillian’s shapely leg was bared; she bent it as several hands caressed the soft skin. Her shimmering tongue continued its dance with Squirrel until Suze commanded her to lean back and kiss the next man, Karl. More tongue and more writhing; she had to squeeze her thighs closed to keep roving hands away but her bare leg was lifted straight up in the air and mouths and hands were assaulting the skin. Now it was Schultze’s turn; he was standing on the end and had to bend over the now suppine girl. “Open mouth, open mouth! Show me everything!” the photographer demanded. She stopped shooting for a moment to adjust his head so the camera could see more of Lillian’s sweet rosy tongue. Somehow the blantant exposure of Lillian’s tongue, that moist glistening flesh, seemed almost pornographic and suggestive far more explicit carnality.

“Schultze, lift up her shoulders; Lillian bend forward for Berger’s kiss.” Berger was the man on the other end, the one who had raised her skirt; now her bare leg drapped around his waist as her arms held his neck. They kissed wildly. “Good, good, more tongue. Fuck his mouth Lillian, show me pink. Yes, good, good. Pink, good, this shoot is going pink like never before.” More clicks of the camera. “OK, good. Take a break. Schulze, get her some water.” Several hands helped her sit upright; she moved her legs to a more comfortable position, tucking them underneath herself, and she leaned against Squirrel’s chest. She felt Dix’s eyes burning into her. She gratefully took the water glass and drank deeply in two sexy gulps. As she drank she scanned the six men, evaluating them; as an expert she could tell a lot from a kiss. The four blonde boys she knew she could control; Germanic in name and looks but Amercian through and through, they still were polite and considerate of her. Dix thought he was the leader and he led by bullying; he would be cruel to her every chance he got. Squirrel was volatile, full of nervous energy; he would fall in love with her. She calculated how she would control these men as the shoot went on; she knew Suze’s shoots could get intense and she wanted to be prepared. She gave Schultze a warm smile as she returned the glass.

“OK,” Suze was pointing and arranging, commanding an army. “Thiele, you’re up.” The man sitting on the other side of Dix rose eagerly. “Pick her up. Lillian, put your legs around his waist as he carries you. OK, kiss him too. Good.”

Lillian felt a thrilling chill as he lifted her off of Squirrel; wrapping her limbs around him, she kissed him softly and sweetly, generous open-mouthed kisses. He was strong and held the pose for a moment, letting the camera get several shot of her ass through the transparent skirt; Lillian turned her head and gazed seductively into the camera lens then stretched her neck up to twirl her tongue in Thiele’s ear. Then Suze gestured and he carried her to a pillar at the base of the staircase. He lowered her feet to the floor, guiding her back against the pillar. “Berger, Schultze, hold her arms. Squirrel, Dix rip her skirt like I showed you.”

Lillian’s slender arms were raised above her head. Dix and Squirrel squated and began to shred the bottom of the skirt into long strips. Lillian had to cross her legs defensively when Dix tried to reach up up under the skirt. He stood straight up, tied her wrists together, then tied them to the pillar as Squirrel covered her eyes with a semi-sheer blindfold. Lillian’s body stiffened in shock; she had not been expecting any of this. Even under the sheer blindfold her eyes glittered with brief anxiety but she took a deep breath and rethought her calculations. Dix tied another strip around her throat, making her gasp in panic as he pulled it too tight; but Squirrel loosened the noose as Dix tied the other end to the pillar. The men had their instructions and they eagerly carried them out; somebody pressed play on a boombox and Led Zepplin’s Kashmir poured out, the pulsating beat guiding Lillian’s helpless writhing. Somebody removed her slippers and she suddenly felt more vulnerable. Others were busy helping Suze to set a large camera on a tripod in front of the luscious captive and then focus lights onto Lillian’s deliciable flesh.

Suddenly a stillness flooded the room; everything was concentrated on Lillian’s precious body bound to the pillar as she gyrated to the pulsing bass of the music. Suze studied her composition in the viewfinder of the camera. Karl and Squirrel, the smallest, were behind the pillar just out of sight. Berger and Schultze were on the left, standing where they were close to the captive girl but out of the camera’s range. Thiele and Dix were on the right. Damn, Dix had switched with Karl.

Suze marched up to the pillar, pausing to pat Lillian’s warm check affectionately. “You look so pretty,” she purred. Lillian looked at her through the sheer mask, trying to look confident; her breathing was rapid and nervous. Suze, though, was busy using her 110 pounds to pull Dix’s 210 pounds from behind the pillar and pushing Karl to his correct position. “Do what you’re told,” she snarled before stomping back to the camera.

“Ok now. Dix and Thiele, you hold her legs. Good. The rest of you open the buttons; take your time and go with the music. Lillian, you react anyway you like, just feel it, show it to the camera.” Suze held up her shutter release cable. “Let’s have some fun.”

The camera captured twelve hands moving over Lillian’s bound body. Karl, from behind the pillar, was working the buttons on the sleeves; Squirrel had the buttons from her throat down. Two others, alternating from left to right, did the rest of the buttons. Dix and Thiele were on their knees at the bottom. Dix’s grip hard and cruel, Lillian struggled against him even as the undoing of the buttons aroused her. As instructed, they took their time and there were a lot of buttons. Their fingers lingered lovingly over each individual bead, prolonging the pleasure of stripping her while elevating her dread and trepidation. The camera could only see Lillian’s writhing and the men’s hands as they slowly undid each button one at a time. Slowly her radiant warm flesh was revealed to the lights and camera lens. Lillian undulated, letting the music pulse through her, letting the gradual stripping slowly arouse her, letting the men’s lust entice her towards the dangerous flames of desire. The song, Kashmir, playing on a loop, seemed to ensnare the girl in its relentless beat. Her breathing was shallow and frantic; her body shifted its weight from one foot to the other as her hips gyrated and her arms swayed as much as the bonds allowed.

Although masked, her eyes could watch through the sheer fabric; the strip around her throat kept her head pinioned to the pillar but she could move enough to watch the hands undressing her. Under the mask her eyes glowed -fury, indignation, arousal, maybe all of that- but the blaze in her eyes fueled their lust and flashed into the camera lens, burning onto the emulsion of the film.

With her arms bound over her head the sleeves, now unbuttoned, slid down to reveal her slender arms; the negligee fell open, drapping over her curves in soft folds with her soft flesh displayed for the camera and for their lust. A strip of sheer fabric was arranged over her lush breasts, too sheer to hide them but dark enough to add another level of mystery to her allure. Her golden pussy was bare but in her writhing and gyrating it was only glimpsed in brief flashes.

The men, following Suze’s instructions, stepped away so Lillian could be photographed in her helpless pose. Her eyes studied her own body, lingering over the exposed flesh of her torso and thighs; lifting her head she gazed into the lens, her eyes begging and challenging the camera.

Then she looked at the men now silhouetted by the camera lights, but she could still read their bodies and their lustful eyes. The four blondes were all gawking with stunned adoration, their bodies coiled as if ready to pounce on the helpless girl. Squirrel swayed in jittery anticipation, his eyes roving over her beauty. Dix stood apart, his body rigid and hard; lust blazed in his eyes and Lillian didn’t dare look. His hands, unfurling and folding in a steady pulse, frightened her.

She didn’t see Suze’s signal but the men charged forward, three on either side of her. Dix crouched at her feet on the left, began to rip the skirt to shreads; Thiele crouched on the right joined in. Lillian began to kick and buck but they held her ankles; Dix’s nails dug into her flesh. Karl, standing on the left, started shreading the negligee from the waist up; then Berger assaulted on the right. Now Schultze joined in tearing the left sleeve away; then Squirrel ripped away the right one. Now working in unison twelve hands ripped the shreads of the negilee, creating a frenzied storm of black threads floating around her.

Finally, except of the sheer band over her breasts, the collar and the blindfold, she was resplendently and ecstatically nude. The men staggered back, stupefied by her beauty. The black shards of fabric fluttered around her like dark adoring angels, then floated to the floor. The camera was almost shaking with pleasure. Lillian’s eyes, apprehensive and roused, looked down at her own nakedness, soft beads of sweat glistening on her brow. She looked from face to face, then back to the ever clicking camera, then back to the faces; the lust and hunger she had seen before was magnifed to madness and Dix’s glare even darker.

The men, without taking their eyes off of her writhing body, were feverishly shedding their own clothes. The sight of six raging hardons made Lillian close her eyes and moan. This was all the siren song they needed; bursting like a storm, they assaulted her in one lust-filled swoop. Twelve hands pawed and pinched over her flesh, six tongues licked with teeth nibbling at her deliciousness. She pressed her hips together, desperate to protect herself from the invasion but it wasn’t her defenses that saved her; the men, in their greed, were pushing and pulling each other’s hands away.

Dix’s mouth nudged the fabric off her right breast and his teeth clamped down hard on the rock hard nipple. Lillian screamed, her body thrashing and her bare feet slapping over the floor. Still the hands assaulted her beauty. Dix’s mouth engulfed one breast; his hand squeezed and pinched over the other.

A sharp blast cut through Lillian’s shrieks and the men’s lustful grunts; Suze, anticipating the uncontrolled frenzy, had brought along an air horn. The emergency signal shocked everybody; Lillian froze and the men staggered back, Suze stepping between them and the captive beauty. “We’re working here,” she demanded. “Stick to the storyboard.” The men retreated, unnerved by the photographer’s fury. Dix lingered for a moment but he couldn’t stand up to her vehemence.

Suze turned to the girl and softly stroked her cheek. “So pretty, pretty, pretty,” she purred, soothing the Playmate slowly. She leaned and whispered into Lillian’s ear. “We started this together. Page 3, LA, Playboy, Fucking Playmate of the Year…” She breathed the next words out, savoring them like an orgasm, “Fucking Playmate, my darling fucking Playmate.” Suze gazed into the helpless Playmate’s eyes, appraising her and warning her, with an evil glint in her gaze, what was to come. The photographer nodded, both to herself and to Lillian, signaling that the time had come. The captive girl was whimpering softly but her writhing slowly subsided as she surrendered to the other woman’s will. Suze held a cup of water to her lips and she gulped greedily, sexy rivulets dripping down her chin and onto her breasts. “We should finish this together, Lillian,” she whispered. “You and me. We can make history. We’re in the fucking Playboy Mansion and we can take to the next level.”

She gave Lillian a chance to breathe; she brushed loose strands of hair from her soft face. “I need you to trust me, baby.”

Lillian looked doubtful; her eyes darted to the pack of lust-filled men behind Suze. “We’re strong women, Lillian. We rule them, me and you. We’re going to take this all the way. Show Hefner what sexy really is. Will you help me, baby?”

Lillian nodded, hesitant and wary. Suze suppressed a grin and gently kissed her cheek. “Good girl, so good.” She gestured for the men to approach slowly, maneuvering them with her hands, positioning them around the scrumptious captive. She even posed their hands: Berger standing on the left, holding her right arm with one hand, the other behind her back; Thiele on the right, mirroring the pose; Schultze stood near Berger with one hand on her breast; Karl mirrored him on the right; Dix kneeling on the left, Squirrel on the right and both with an arm around one of her legs. It wasn’t lost on Dix, or anybody else, that his position was almost always at the majestic beauty’s feet; his mood continued to darken as he calculated his revenge.

After commanding them to hold the poses, she backed herself to her camera. “Nobody does anything without my instructions; we’ve got all night so we’re going to take our time. Everybody’s getting a turn; everybody does her but only on my say-so.”

Lillian was worldly and fluent in three languages, but American slang could be elusive. This was the first time she heard of “doing” someone; she wasn’t certain what it meant but she dreaded the sound of it.

Lillian’s body was rigid with trepidation except for the heaving of her breasts under the men’s hands as she breathed rapidly. The men too were trembling with anticipation.

Suze directed with a firm hand. “Dix, pull her leg up over your shoulder. We want to see that pussy. No, on the other side of your head; we want her leg, not your face.” Lillian’s leg quivered as he manhandled it; once resting on his shoulder, the graceful limb glistened with soft sweat. Her pussy sparkled too with little golden beads of nectar, a hint of the arousal swirling inside her.

Squirrel’s hand rose as if to touch the sweet warm honeypot but Suze took command. “Isn’t her skin so pretty, so soft? What does it taste like, do you want to lick it? Go ahead, a nice long lick up her leg.” He eagerly obeyed, his tongue hot and rough against the soft sheen of her flawless skin as he licked from her knee to her pussy; her foot almost slipped as she struggled to keep her balance. “Isn’t she delicious? Now the other side.” He eagerly bent forward and his tongue lapped over the leg on Dix’s shoulder, drawing a moist line from her knee up to the delicate fold where her thigh met her pussy. “Thiele, don’t you want to kiss those sweet lips?” Lillian’s eyes had been mistily watching Squirrel’s tongue on her skin but Thiele turned her head and pressed his mouth over hers. His kiss was gentle, a surprise and a gift; the girl swooned with pleasure even as Squirrel’s tongue twirled over the curls of her sex. Schultze and Berger began on her breasts, tugging away the fabric and fondling the creamy flesh; with a signal from Suze their tongues and teeth went into action over her nipples.

Squirrel’s tongue was twirling in ever-tightening rings over her pussy; now he traced the edges of the gate to her treasure. One soft flick and she moaned, the tongue hinting at the invasion to come. He withdrew, circling again, then approached once more, the tip of his tongue probing, teasing, delicately pushing between those luscious lips. His tongue buzzing like a swarm of bees returning to their queen, the touch of the tip inside her softness now gave off electric shocks. She groaned into Thiele’s greedy mouth then twisted her head to kiss Berger. Her delicate nectar oozed into his gulping mouth. Her body trembled in ecstasy, hands fondling her breasts, caressing her skin, Squirrel’s tongue vibrant in her sweetness, his hands gripping her legs to keep her in place. Dix snarled, biding his time; on his shoulder, her shapely leg kicked up and down frantically.

She came in sobs and spasms; her curvaceous body undulating and jerking, her arms above her head straining against her bonds. She rewarded Squirrel’s pulsing tongue with a flood of warm sweet honey; he eagerly devoured the gift, his lips and tongue creating another torrent of bliss, laying another climax on top of her already stunning orgasm. His tongue became the architect of her ecstasy, building layer upon layer of bliss, her climax becoming a skyscraper inside her. Her magnificent edifice, though, was doomed; her own body bucked and thrashed in clamorous lurching paroxysms, endless earthquakes destroying her until she collasped in one more long scream of ecstasy, fading and falling, dangling from the bonds on her wrists, one leg drapped over Dix’s shoulder.

Squirrel gave one last lingering kiss to those luscious folds and gently kissed through his retreat, caressing her pussy with his lips, then her thighs until his kisses faded away. Dix assumed he was next at the feast but his head was blocked by her leg and before he could move Karl was already in Squirrel’s place.

Karl held her legs and she gazed down on him with her eyes only slits under the translucent blindfold; still a fiery glow beamed out from her blissful beautiful face. She wimpered softly, resistance and submission at once. He kissed delicately, his lips floating over the smooth flesh of her thighs. And then his tongue came out, prodigious in length, stretching out towards her pussy like a massive cock. As the tip brushed over the dewy curls of her bush, he lifted her other leg onto his shoulder spreading her wide for him and the camera; she was babbling in Norwegian now, pleading futilely. “Nei, nei, det kan jeg ikke…”

The tip of his tongue licked over the lips of her sex, spreading warmth and arousal. She shuddered and begged desperately. “Ingen kan ingen stopp oh gud ja ja…” Now his massive tongue fucked into her, caressing the sweet spots inside her, probing her delicious depths. With one hand he held her leg tight on his shoulder and with the other he found her clit and with one touch launched her into orbit. Squirrel had built, layer by layer, a glorious aedifice of bliss inside her, but Karl was building planets and galaxies; she thrashed and twisted in the fury of creation. “Ja, ja!” she shrieked, her prayer to the gods of orgasm. Her spine arched, thrusting her chest up, then snapped back, slamming her plush derriere against the pillar; she jerked and quaked, then arched again and again, coming in a supernova, stars destroying themselves inside her. He kept at her, his impossibly long tongue delving into all her secrets until she spasmed and writhed into a blissful dizziness.

Dix attacked quickly, suprising everyone with his agility and speed. He dropped her limp leg the floor and rose quickly, pushing the others out of his way. In a second he was undoing the bonds holding her to the pillar and she fell lifelessly into his arms, pliant and helpless, submitting because that was all that was left. He clutched her greedily and he pivotted, holding her like a ragdoll as he turned back to the couch, determined to fuck her hard. Lillian, her eyes dreamy and soft, was already spreading her thighs to receive him.

Suze’s horn went off and everybody froze. “You’ll have your chance but we have another shot first. Schultze, Thiele, you’re up” The two men grinned and quickly approached Dix and his captive. He sneered but released his prize. She slid like a sleepy child into Schultze’s open arms. The blindfold had slipped away when Dix untied her and her eyes were wistful and her voice was a singsong wimper. “Du er min helt,” she purred, wrapping her arms around Schultze’s neck and her legs around his waist. He was standing in position in front of the camera; Thiele stood behind her, supporting her limp weight. The others watched with wrapt attention; they knew what was coming.

Schultze shifted her limp body against Thiele’s chest and he slowly aimed his cock up towards her moist pussy. Together the two men eased her down onto the throbbing shaft.

Lillian, still dreamy and blissful, opened her eyes wide. “You’re not kødder ikke,” she giggled, slipping into Norwegian again. Schulze groaned with pleasure and slowly pushed up into her, grunting against her tight sweetness. “Ja ja knulle meg,” she whispered seductively as his cock filled her completely. She began to rock her hips but he refrained from pumping into her luscious tightness. Instead he pulled her away from Thiele and held her against his chest, his cock throbbing inside her.

“Thiele, you know what to do with that ass,” said Suze; she stepped close to him and applied baby oil to his raging hard on. Once he was slick enough he crouched so he could aim his cock into her juicy rear. As he entered her head dropped back. “Oh Herregud hva gjør du med meg?” she groaned. They held the pose so Suze could get her shots but then the two men began fucking furiously, thrusting their cocks deep into her wriggling body. Their legs, coiled like springs, powered each lunge into the bucking girl; with the grace of a prima ballerina, she gyrated and wriggled, finding music in their lust-filled thrusts. Her golden hair flew over their faces as she bounced in time to their attacks; both her pussy and her bottom seemed to tighten lovingly with each assault of their cocks. Suze’s Lecia clicked furiously, the photographer barking commands the men couldn’t hear in their frenzy. Lillian and the cocks found new rhythms, alternating thrusts and lunges sometimes, working in unison sometimes, sometimes slow and loving, sometimes fast and manic, always an infernal machine of lust driving the girl to ecstatic heights. She could have balled like this forever, her mind long gone and given over to endless bliss, but the men were breaking, their legs straining to keep her upright, their cocks throbbing with tension and about to explode. Thiele came first, a fireball shooting up into her and exploding in her stomach. This sent Lillian into twisting seizures of bliss and her body dropped back into his arms, his cock sliding out of her ass as he held her now vertical body in the air. This gave Schultze more leverage and he plunged in deeper as if to break her in two but instead she lunged back, squeezing her legs around his waist and rewarding him with a flood of her hot juices. Commanded by Suze they carried the girl to the couch, Shultze’s cock still drilling into her. Spreading her writhing body over the cushions he finished her off, unleashing volley after volley of his seed into her depths; Lillian met the spreading fires with her own orgasmic fury, coming in a twisting, screaming, clawing spasm of passion that echoed through the entire Mansion.

He finally slowed his pace, gently pushing in and out of her, soothing her with a slow gentle fucking, bringing the girl’s ecstatic frenzy to a dreamy blissful murmur, a long sweet climax vibrating through her luscious body like a gentle song. She hugged him finally as he withdrew and lifted himself off of her and she gazed mistily into Suze’s camera.

Squirrel brought her water and she gracefully lifted her head to sip delicately, feeling her pounding heart calm itself.

Suze took a few more shots of Lillian’s blissed-out beauty then signaled the men to huddle with her by the camera table. She had more storyboards spread out. Nobody noticed that Dix was missing until Lillian screamed.

He was top of her straddling one of her legs; one arm was rigid, fingers tight around her throat. Lillian’s other leg was flailing wildly as Dix tried to position himself to impale her with his cock; she was resisting, beating him with fists, scratching, clawing. Her face was a grimace, her eyes goggling as he choked the air out of her. The scream had been her last breath.

The four blondes men and Suze were on him in less than a second, pulling him off and pounding him. Suze kicked him over and over shrieking, “You asshole, motherfucker!” They were too busy to notice Squirrel scooping up the luscious girl and carrying her like a bride up the stairs.

Lillian, soft and luscious, seemed to float in his arms like an angel; Squirrel, hungry and enflamed, bounded up the stairs like fireman escaping the flames of hell. The beautious girl was dizzy and dazzled, the rollorcoaster of emotions had driven her to a dreamy state and she felt safe and secure being held by this eager man. She snuggled into him, seeking his warmth; he breathed in her honey sweet hair.

At the top of the stairs she lifted a languid arm and pointed to the open door of the bedroom. “Her min kjærlighet,” she whispered. He gently deposited her onto the satin sheets and luxuriated in their cool splender, rolling onto her back and spreading her arms wide as if to embrace the elegant fabric. The soles of her graceful feet glided, making delicate music. She lifted her head and spread her golden hair over the deep cerulean of the shimmering sheets. She gazed languidly at Squirrel, who had withdrawn to the doorway, overwhelmed by this vision of a goddess. “Du er så søt…Du er min helt,” she purred, sultry and tender. Squirrel stood by the door as if guarding his treasure. Her naked skin glowed, glistening with misty sweat and arousal. Her eyes smoldered with yearning and bliss.

She held out her arms, inviting him. “Kom hit, min helt.” Squirrel looked puzzled. Lillian giggled dreamily. “Oh my darling boy, I speak in Norweigan when I am excited.” She held her arms wider. “Come here, be with me now, my hero.”

He slid onto the bed, his body gliding up her, naked skin on naked skin. She drew him close, enfolding him in her arms. She lifted her angelic face to his. Her pink tongue, glistening and alive, sought, then found, his lips. She kissed him tenderly; her tongue offered worship and adoration and promised endless erotic pleasure and it was sweet and vibrant, eagerly dancing in his mouth.
His hands caressed over her body, fondling and loving very inch of her beauty.

After this long blissful kiss finally subsided like a soft wave caressing over the shore her hands came alive; she guided his hands to her luscious breasts, softly stroking his hair while he fondled those suculent mounds; she murmured softly. Her nipples surged with life and desire; all she could focus on was to feel the loving warmth of his eager mouth suckling on her pliant flesh. “These are for you, my darling, my brave hero. Don’t you want to kiss them?” Then she drew his lips down over her nipples. “Yes, yes,” she hissed as her soft flesh was sucked deep into his greedy mouth. Finally she caressed over his chest and belly, gently stroking his cock and guiding it to her hungry pussy. “Vi elsker nå…we make love now,” she prayed and he entered her slowly and reverently. She groaned with pleasure and they rocked in a delicate, gentle dance which, ebbing and flowing in innumerable rhythms enthralled the dainty Playmate.
Her long graceful legs, and thighs
gripped his waist and she moaned her surprise and joy.
Her belly, and her derriere danced with the rhythm of his cock gliding in and out of her depths, and her entire body embraced him.
Her hair, in sweet sweat soaked golden ringlets, shimmered over the cerulean sheets as her head rocked gently. Then something shifted, like a massive plate under the earth, causing a quake and violence and he fucked into her harder, faster, deeper, urged on by her passionate screams. “Dypt inne i meg ja takk dypere dypere ja ... du er helten min ... så ib og sterk, ja, ja, ja…” He came in a blazing thunder, flooding into her as she screamed and still her body writhed and bucked, her spine arcing then snapping in a frenzied dance of ecstasy. Her climax hit her hard; already dizzy and strained, her brain had no brakes so it drove into an orgasm as solid and brutal as a brick wall. Her libido smashed into the cosmos and she came in comets and supernovas until her fragile body sank into the cerulean sheets like a flower dropped into the ocean.

She woke, blissful, happy, and submissive. Suze was at the foot of the bed, standing next to her large camera. She gestured to the five men standing around the bed and gazing at Lillian with lust and adulation. “Shall we get started then?” Suze said to no one in particular. Lillian nodded and sat up; raising her arms she invited the men to her, offering her radiant beauty without any limits.

Her voice was lilting and eager, “Ja, nå begynner det.”

[keats]

From the Newark Star-Ledger, July 26, 1953
How did she do it, a reporter had asked her. Grinning widely and flashing at the cameras her radiant smile she seemed to glow the way a trophy case glows with dozens of gold and bronze cups decorated with fabulously built female figures, female athletes, goddesses really and all nude and all alive and each frozen at the point of that sport's orgasmic release. How did she do it? Nancy told him. "Easy," she said with a wink. "The left shoulder is high, the right shoulder is high too, the right elbow is even higher so is the left, and the right hand is the highest. There's the scheme. Follow that, and the move takes care of itself."


Even before Nancy Cameron finished her balance beam routine, she flashed her irrepressible grin, and the crowd loved it. Nancy was a champion all the way; her body throbbed like a wild mare in a sunlit canyon. Fans clapped along and roared, not knowing that they were looking at the gymnast who was likely the new Playboy Anniversary Playmate.

Though several more gymnasts in the individual all-around event had yet to compete on the balance beam, Nancy did not have to fret. Her performance was already good enough for gold — and her succulent body, so perfectly formed by her athleticism and her feline grace, was good enough for her to make Playboy history as well as gymnastics history. By winning this competition, she became the all-around champion for the league; and even more thrilling to the young girl there was somebody in the audience who was scouting her for something truly amazing: she might be confirmed as the anniversary playmate.

A few months ago Nancy, an 18-year-old from Pittsburgh, PA, had been given a card by a representative of Playboy and encouraged to call about becoming a playmate; she had made the call and now was waiting. Meanwhile she had one more gymnastic event to complete.

So far the contest was going really well for the luscious girl. While her competition drowned in tears mixed with disbelief, Nancy posed on the raised bar, put her hand on her heart and soaked in the adoration of the crowd as they chanted, “Nancy, Nancyy, they chanted, for the luscious girl. While her competition drowned in tears mixed with disbelief, Nancy posed on the raised bar, put her hand on her heart and soaked in the l and now was waiting. Meanwchat's outfit didn't hide much but there’s nothing like the nude body.

From the very start, the competition for the all-around gold was between a rail thin sprite and the buxom future playmate. The sensational Nancy made a statement at the start, a mixture of acrobatic skills, dance elements, leaps, and poses and she knocked out two breathtaking vaults that put her in the lead after the first of four rotations. And her nubile body was sexily on display with every shift and turn as she performed.

Nancy looked as light as a butterfly as she twirled and flipped; the graceful, effervescent 18-year-old flipped, somersaulted and bounded her way to a gold medal and maybe even a Playboy centerfold.

While the audience was enraptured by her brazenly atavistic sensuality I could see her body nakedly respond to the bright TV lights and the lustful adulation.

Nancy swung her arms to begin the first back handspring of her dismount. She was poised on the single beam, one graceful foot in front of the other. Her torso bent forward and her lithe arms stretched above her back. The tight leotard stretched over the fabulous curves of her full and luscious rear. She spotted and reached for the center of the beam by bending her body backwards. Her breasts jiggled enticingly. Like the rest of the crowd I leaned in for a better view of that glorious body in action. Suddenly she was balancing upside down. Her hand placement on the beam was secure and steady, but brief; for a fleeting moment her shapely legs were on display in the air as her palms supported her on the beam. In a burst of energy she completed the back handspring, her legs landing sequentially. Her left foot centered on the beam as she reached down with her right. Her arms were straight, not swinging, as her momentum carried her forward. As she reached again for the center of the beam, her push-off had to be quick to maintain speed. A slight forward lean captured the momentum from her handsprings, so she could launch into the air. She quickly lifted her legs toward pike position so she could rotate through two somersaults. Her curvaceous body was a symphony of feminine allure as it flew through the air. In the pike position, her legs were straight and together, and her toes were pointed.

Her eyes spotted the mat as she rotated. Even as she spun her glorious ass jut into the air to tease the crowd. Her shapely legs flipped above her head as though she were being fucked and she WAS being fucked, fucked by the lust of the crowd. The first somersault completed she was still spinning in the air, a sex goddess on display.

With the crowd’s roar ringing around her she bent her head back to spot the ground before completing the second somersault.

The pike position meant her legs were straight, glistening in the spotlights and looking supple and firm with a delicate sheen of sweat. Her legs bent to absorb the force from her somersaults and her body quivered as if in orgasm. She landed with her feet slightly apart for a wider base of support, and a small step would cost her a deduction. But she posed fetchingly for the crowd, her graceful arms arced above her head, her creamy full breasts jutting out fetchingly, and her leotard so moist with sweat that she may as well have been nude.

She lifted her arms to straighten up as quickly as possible then dropped them to her side. She ended in a full upright position with every curve of her body shimmering with seductive power. She stretched. She threw her arms out to the side and lifted them very deliberately up above her head. I watched. I made plans.

Her scores were almost perfect and she blushed and grinned and looked impossibly sexy as she drank in the adulation of the crowd. My partner Dan was in the circle of photographers shooting the scene. He had captured the entire routine as we thought it might be used in the centerfold spread. Nancy’s coach stepped forward and hugged her. He whispered my message into her ear and she turned her head to the crowd as if she could spot me among her adoring fans. I caught Dan’s eye and pointed to the door to the locker rooms and offices. He knew what to do.

The crowd was still clapping as I made my way to the floor. The coach draped a towel over Nancy’s shoulders and she did a little dance, shifting her weight from foot to foot, still scanning the crowd; the ends of the silk scarf around her waist floated in a dreamy tango. Then she spotted me, guessing I was the one coming to meet her and she rewarded me with one of her vibrant smiles. She kept her gaze on me as I approached and her grin morphed into a sly smile and her eyes glittered.

“Nancy, this is the man who came to meet you,’ the coach explained and Nancy held out a moist hand.

“Hello,” she said, still confident from her performance on the balance beam. Her entire body exuded energy.
“I’m Peter,” I said as we shook hands. “Your coach has been good enough to arrange a place for us to talk.”
Nancy suddenly looked like the teenager she was as she looked to the coach to seek his permission. “Is it OK?” She kept her hand in mine.
“Go, go,” he waved us away. “I’ll watch the other girls. You have lots of time before the medals.”
Nancy squeezed my hand and I led her out of the gym.

We were still holding hands, our arms stretched down between us, her fingers, still sticky from gymnasts’ rosin, were gripping me tightly. Her body was still tightly coiled from her athletic exertions but now tense with anticipation of the new life she was prancing towards. She radiated heat and even sweaty and sticky in her leotard she smelled sweet and fresh. She used her other hand to undo the ribbons holding her hair in a ponytail and her fox red locks streamed out like a flower bursting open. In this simple gesture she embraced her new life. She leaned her head on my shoulder and sighed. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She squeezed my hand.


We passed a bathroom and she squeezed my hand again for a moment. “Wait right here,” she said in a husky voice as if she were saying, “Let’s go to bed.” She went in the girls’ room for a few minutes and if you want to know what impatience means try standing outside a bathroom and waiting for a luscious playmate.

She emerged with that winning grin on her face and held up her hands.

“No more rosin!” She laughed and took my hand again. We strolled on.

Finally I opened the door to the room the coach had provided for our meeting. The place was cluttered; in one corner stood a messy desk and a few old wooden office chairs, but the opposite wall was covered by a mirror as though this was used as a dance studio. An old beat up couch was in another corner and Dan had already set up some lights and tripods and was now covering the frayed couch with a fur blanket.

I introduced Dan as my photographer. “He doesn’t say much,” I explained.
Still holding my hand and leaning on my shoulder she smiled at Dan warily. “You’re taking photos now? Oh my god, I’m a mess.”

“You look wonderful.”

“I have no clothes.”
“That’s right.”
In gymnastic flight or in stillness, Nancy always radiated an effortless grace and lively intelligence. Now she stood still, her eyes sparkling as her brain actively parsed the last two sentences of our conversation. After a short silence she spoke. “Nude…you’re going to do nude photography.” She said it slowly as if the reality had just dawned on her.
She released my hand and stepped away. She looked around the shabby room but from the glint in her eyes she could have been looking at a palace. She smiled shyly again at Dan. “I bet you’re a good photographer,” she said and Dan shrugged. I knew him well enough to tell that he was enthralled by the vivacious girl’s attention.
She looked across the room at my reflection in the mirror. “You’re going to make me a playmate.” She said it softly as if she were uncertain. I remained silent and watched her; once again her intelligent eyes gleamed as she reviewed her own conclusion: I was going to make her a Playmate, Miss January 1974, but she was also going to become my playmate. Her eyes continued to sparkle and her body radiated energy, the way an athlete radiates confidence and poise in competition. Her fox red hair shimmered as she nodded to herself softly and began to walk towards my reflection in the mirror as though she expected to walk through a magical looking glass. I watched her go — she had a good walk, just a step on the right side of seductiveness, as much provocation as a girl could get away with without looking like a slut. I wondered how long it had taken her to learn to walk like that. Or if it was natural.
She stood close to the mirror and gazed at herself, checking my eyes as if seeking my approval. Her appraisal of her own body was the frank self-assessment of the athlete or dancer. She liked what she saw. It wasn’t vanity; it was the honesty that comes from hard work and dedication and the thrill of what the future was going to bring thanks to all those years of industrious effort. She was beautiful and sexy and ripe and she knew it.
I looked at her. I looked at the brilliant body in the tight gymnastics outfit. The leotard was wet and it hugged her like an old friend. I looked at the fox red hair that was almost golden. I looked at the mouth. It was red and wet. It looked ravenously hungry.
Her eyes then went back to my reflection in the glass and she gave me the same rigorous examination. I tried not to flinch under the cold and uncompromising study she was giving my looks, my expensive clothes and shoes and my own confidence. I must have passed. She said, “You want to take nude photographs.” It wasn’t a question but I nodded.
“Will you undress me?” she asked. She still had not turned around and her confidence was shaking a bit as her eyes darted to the floor.
I looked at the double image. In the glass was her voluptuous body in the tight black leotard damp with sweat and clinging to her like a lover. It was cut deep so the quiver and sheen of her lush breasts was offered as a gift. Her lustrous hair shimmered in a chaos of curls around her flawless face. Her eyes glowed with an innocent and a bold curiosity. Her mouth was firm and full and was still only because she was biting her lower lip in excitement. The fluid lines and curves of her torso created a symphonic poem on the pleasures and rewards of a life in gymnastics and it was all feminine and sweet. Her legs were muscular but smooth and graceful, legs designed for wrapping around her lover. The cut of the leotard was generous over her hips to reveal the smooth soft flesh of her body.
All that was in the glass, but facing me was her back, the lithe grace of her shoulders and spine in the low cut leotard and the plump rich feast of the two perfect orbs of her ass. Her sumptuous hair tumbled over her shoulders and back and her hands were clasped behind her. She was a girl meant to be viewed in all her glory, front and back.
I stepped forward and she gasped as she turned her head.

She was surprised by the kiss. My crotch was jammed up against her tight ass; one of my hands pressed her belly while the other tugged her hair, pulling her face into mine. My tongue was warm as it slithered into her mouth and she moaned softly as she received me.

I tasted her sweetness then pulled her delicate butterfly of a tongue into my mouth kissing her slowly and deeply for a long time. When I finally released her she straightened her body and pressed herself against the mirror. She planted her feet in position for action—heels together, toes pointing left and right, her rear tight and firm and her back straight; she was ready to fly, ready for my command.

We gazed at our reflections for many minutes, neither moving, both challenging the other.

Nancy could feel my heat and power behind her; in the glass she could see me standing there, and excitement pulsed between us. She wanted to burst into somersaults and fly around me, to flaunt her acrobatic skills, her gyrations and her leaps, to show me her soul through the raw physicality of her young body, but she knew that stillness was what I wanted-- and something more, something dark and hidden. So she stood motionless, as lissome in stillness as she was in flight.

With the slightest lowering of her chin she accepted her destiny. The cool gaze in her eyes belied the volcano inside her, her knowledge of what that destiny would be.

I had resisted touching her again, letting the girl decide her own fate. Even after that delicate, almost unperceivable nod of her head I waited; I let her contemplate her destiny and my power over her. I let out a deep sigh of longing as my palms finally pressed against her full hips, my breath warm and moist on her bare shoulders. Wisps of her hair fluttered in a quiet dance.

I reached around and undid the knot of the scarf she wore around her narrow waist. The shimmering silk fluttered to the floor. She gracefully wriggled her feet out of the soft leather gymnastics slippers. As each toe unfurled her leg quivered in the air and she breathed out a soft mew. Even curling her toes was a sensual activity for her.
My strong hands traced a line up her spine and she shuddered at the touch but she kept her feet planted firmly on the floor, her spine straight, her gaze defiant; she would submit but I had to conquer her. My fingers splayed across the expanse of bare flesh where the leotard dipped down to display the soft skin of her back.

Nancy watched, entranced, as I began to push the leotard down off her shoulders. The black nylon was tight and formfitting on her body, revealing every curve; but under my warm touch it seemed to melt away as my hands guided the glossy fabric down her slender arms. She was biting her lower lip but her eyes were speaking, enthralled to see my hands undressing her. I paused, watching in the glass; the material covering over her breasts held fast, reluctant to loosen its grip on those succulent nipples.
With a subtle and simple slight lift of her heels Nancy lifted her body enough to tug the leotard away and her mounds sprang out, perfect glowing alabaster orbs. In an elegant gesture worthy of the most graceful ballerina, she lifted each arm out of the leotard and elegantly dropped both to her sides, palms facing the glass to signal her submission.

I was dumbfounded. I thought I knew the glories of a woman’s body from years of seducing playmates but seeing this luscious girl’s flesh exposed and offered to me was a vision of heaven I hadn’t expected. Maintaining her haughty prideful gaze Nancy smiled inside as she studied my reaction to her flawless body.

I couldn’t help myself now; I reached around and my large hands covered those luscious orbs and I crushed her to my body. The top of the leotard hung limp around her waist and she wriggled out of it while pressing her back into my chest. She stretched her body up on her toes and opened her mouth to kiss me.

She smelled like honey and tasted like ambrosia. She had wild eyes and her pretty breasts quivered with excitement. Her breathing sounded frantic. She was in a panic, in her own quiet way. She was eager. Things looked fine.

But I was setting this one up slowly, building it right. So I kissed her some more, and kissed her more after that and played games with her breasts. They were nice breasts. Firm, sweet, big. I stroked them and fondled them and she seemed to enjoy it as much as I did.

The battle was won, but I was still damned determined to play it to the hilt. I ran a hand over her, starting at the neck and winding up at the Promised Land. She moaned happily, and that moan was not an act. She was hot as sunburn.

"Nancy," I said softly, "I want you. Will you pose for me?"

Which made her ecstatic.

From there on in, it was heaven and a half. I came at her like a bull at a matador and wrapped myself up in velvety skin. She kissed with the freshness of an impatient virgin and the ingenuity of a sex-crazed whore. Her nails poked holes in my back and her thighs thrust against me.
Soft hands on the back of my neck. Fingers drumming out not-too-complex rhythms.

"I can’t help myself. I want you to have me."

I smiled.

"Well, what do you think?" she said, her eyes laughing at me. She posed with a brazen and wholehearted sensuality. Lithe arms over her head, her fingers poised as in delicate song, head up and eyes flashing with pride, a fetching and teasing smile, luscious breasts jutting forward as if gravity was just another challenge to be conquered. It was the pose she had struck after her victorious balance beam routine but now she was unaffectedly and delightfully nude.

“You’re making Dan very happy.” My partner was circling her with his face behind his camera, the shutter going off in a rapid staccato.

“Do I make you happy too?” She struck another pose, her fingers twirling her shimmering hair as she grinned.
“When I fuck you, you’ll know just how happy you make me.”

She paused, a sharp intake of breath. Her arms suddenly covering her in modesty, one arm across her magnificent chest trying to do the impossible—her glorious breasts were too large to hide behind one trembling arm. Her other arm reached down to cover the sweet softness of her pussy. She stood that way for a long moment, looking like Venus coming to life. She spoke shyly. “Werge to hide be

“Nothing can stop us.”
“And Dan will take pictures?”
“I want to remember the look in your eyes when I come inside you.”
She pondered this for another moment and dropped her arms in submission.
She reached out a finger and chucked me under the chin. She was stunning, youthful and eager. When a woman's beauty blinds you, all you can do is surrender. A certain part of your anatomy leads you around.

"You're sweet," she said. "Very sweet."

I could feel the honeyed animal warmth of her.
She moved more than her arms.

The camera shutter played on her and showed me how stunning she was.

Dan gestured to the couch with the fur cover on it. “Let Dan get some shots of you now,” I said.

Her body was so tightly coiled she could have done some gymnastic flips to get to the couch; even the brazen strut she used radiated sex and vitality. She sat one the fur and lifted her legs in the air and began to laugh as Dan snapped shot after shot. I stood behind the lights where she couldn’t see me and got myself ready for the next event.

Nancy was getting into it now; posing became another gymnastic event for her as she became aware of every curve of her body and how to display it. She leaned an elbow on the back of the couch and put her hands behind her head and pulled her legs up onto the cushions. Her face was earnest and eager to please.
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and turned directly to the camera giving the lens a long and loving look with her eyes sparkling with desire. The slight smile on her moist lips and the almost downcast gaze she gave the camera made her look wickedly angelic. She let herself slide down so she was reclining now. With one hand entwined in her hair and another resting on her shoulder she turned away from the camera with a pensive gaze into space; she twisted her hips, tightening her thighs over her treasure and her imagination drifted to me and what was coming. She let out a gasp and turned to the camera with a soft O on her lips.

She rolled onto her side and rested her head on an outstretched arm and keeping her other arm behind her so her breasts jutted forward. She bent one leg to her belly and crossed the other leg over it to sustain the erotic pressure between her thighs. She looked boldly into the camera, her gaze audacious and seductive. Holding that expression she went onto her back so her breasts spread out like a creamy feast; she formed a frame around her face with her bare arms and the camera lights kissed her warm skin where her tan glowed and where her breasts were pale from the bikini she would sometimes wear.

Dan, with her assent, climbed onto the couch and stood astride her. She looked up at him and the lens and the image was captured of her, doe-eyed and amorous while resplendently naked and fervent.

I had to fuck her.

I stepped into the light. She was naked and nubile. I wanted her. Things were going to happen.

She started to say something but stopped with her mouth hanging open.

I could understand it. There was something electric in the air, something neither of us could have put into words. Talk was suddenly impossible. I knew it and she knew it.

I took a step toward her. We looked at each other some more. The electricity was snapping and sparking.

I wanted to say something but I couldn't. I am certain that it was the same for her.

I pulled my shirt out from my pants. I started unbuttoning it. I got it off and let it fall to the floor. I turned to her and she came close, reaching out a hand and touching my chest. She traced a line across over my waist and stepped around me. Her hands slid down my belly and found my belt buckle, then the zipper. Still behind me she crouched down and slipped off my loafers. Rising again she kissed my spine. With a giggle she pushed my trousers and shorts down. But then she stepped away as if frightened.

When I turned to her once again we were both naked. I looked at her, all of her. I started at the face and looked all the way down past breasts and waist and hips to bare feet. Then I came back up again and my eyes locked with hers.

No words.

The only sounds in the room: Dan’s eager camera shutter, her passionate breathing, and the dull roar of the crowd down the hall where gymnasts were still working.

We walked toward each other until our bodies touched. I wrapped her up in my arms and held the sweetness of her against me. The relentless clicking of Dan’s camera drifted like words from a brainless dream. The crowd in the auditorium down the hall was stamping its feet and clapping.

She kissed me.

This was the kiss of promise from a girl trembling with desire and dread. Nancy hadn’t had much experience with men; clearly she was no virgin but she was still virginal. Her tongue fluttered in sweetness and submission. Her body throbbed with craving.

She broke the kiss and looked at me with devilish eyes. “Don’t move,” she said huskily and she disappeared beyond the lights. Dan followed. When she returned she stepped into the light her lissome and nude body upright and confident. Dan followed behind carrying one of the wooden office chairs.
“Sit,” she commanded. I sat.
She came at me with the same fervor she had when she approached the mat and the balance beam during the competition; she may have had trepidations but she embraced a raw physicality that made her body and her mind a picture-perfect masterpiece of sexual excitement.

She planted one bare foot on the seat of the chair, her ankle pressed against my thigh. With fluid grace and agile impudence she lifted herself onto the chair, standing and facing me with both her feet firmly on the seat, both her legs astride my hips, her delicious pussy offered right in front of my face.

She moved now with the same grace, agility, and control she showed on the balance beam. It was all about the sensual pleasures of give-and-take, an electrifying progression pushed to the max, with standing oral orgasm for her, some really deep drilling for both of us, and a seated blowjob finish for me. From start to finish, this was hers for the taking. She got to control things from the moment she marched over and put my head between her legs. From there, she decided everything from the depth of penetration and the rhythm of intercourse to my moment of ejaculation. While she took over, my job was simply to sit back and enjoy the ride.

There’s nothing more arousing for a guy than when his lady knows how to grab control from the get-go. Who doesn’t crave a little dominatrix action? Here, she playfully pushed me down on the seat and, while she stood astride me on the chair, commanded me to kiss and caress her thighs and pussy. This position gave her the power and control over where I licked, while I could relax in comfort, needing to concentrate on only one thing: stimulating her clit. For balance I grabbed hold of her bottom.

No sex technique says, “I want you” quite the way that cunnilingus does. Oral adoration of her most intimate parts is one of the greatest gifts you can give a woman. Like every gift that will be cherished, it was just as wonderful for me to give as for the soon-to-be-playmate to receive.
Cunnilingus is sex, and a beautiful form of sex at that. Cunnilingus with the scrumptious Nancy Cameron was a transcendent manifestation of how holy and sinful a young and nubile girl’s snatch could be. I licked around her thighs, teasing her before my tongue licked over those lusciously moist lips. Nancy, in her eagerness, took hold of my head and guided me –no urged me desperately to pierce her with my tongue. My lips engulfed her and my tongue drove in, and she was as tight as a virgin but ten times more eager to please and she was as hot as a flaming rum punch and a thousand times more intoxicating. I got to taste, smell, and touch the writhing girl all in the same moment.

Cunnilingus with Nancy Cameron turned every second into an epic sex event. She stood above me, proud and agile, and her body trembled with every stroke of my tongue and every breath I poured into her.

She conquered by taking control of the situation, moving her body over my tongue to hit all the right spots and send her pleasure level soaring. I ate her pussy for a long long time and she resisted the orgasm that was swirling inside her; clever girl, she knew that perpetual anticipation was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

But she couldn’t hold out forever and she came in a gushing squeal and a fierce grip on my head as the acrobatic girl struggled to stay upright while her soul melted into bliss.

Eventually her body melted too. When her excitement drove her to take me inside, she slid down my body, rubbing her thighs along the sides of my chest as I kissed her stomach and breasts. She sank down until her bottom was over my hips, her knees against my chest, her feet flat on the seat and her palms on my shoulders. Face to face, she looked at me with a dreamy smile and she kissed me slowly and shyly, then she kissed with more impatience, then with a passion that drove arousal for both us. So her tongue was fucking my mouth the way my tongue had fucked her delicious snatch.

My cock was pressed over her belly and as she kissed me wildly she wriggled her body until the head of my cock was kissing the flower of her soft pussy and throbbing fiercely to pierce her. I was primed and ready to slide inside. She leaned back as I opened my thighs just a bit, allowing her to adjust the rocking until each gentle movement was hitting her G-spot for an intense orgasm. Her tongue fluttered in my mouth as the mere suggestion that my cock would soon be inside her brought on a crisp but furious climax in her tight and agile body.

Her snatch was warm and willing but my cock was a firebrand, a pipe full of molten lead. After she came she pulled her face away from mine and she looked down and there was my cockhead pressed between the soft lips of her sweet sex, the shaft of my cock throbbing and eager to plunge deep into her softness. She looked in to my eyes and her sweet face betrayed her trepidation.

I showed her reality by pressing my cock into her but with her own arms and thighs she took control, letting my hungry shaft in but letting it in slowly, centimeter by sexy centimeter. She sputtered out tiny gasps but she fed my cock to her pussy with a fierce determination. She was working my shaft like she worked the balance beam; she controlled its danger. And every second was a flood of glory; her pussy was tight and wet and warm and alive like honey still in the hive.

And then we sank together and really started fucking and forgot the world. Even the roars of the crowd still cheering in the gym seemed to be urging us on in our own sexual Olympiad.

It took a long time. There was the first time, wild and free, and it was very good. We were face to face and she smiled and cried and laughed and begged for mercy and then she was merciless; her athletic body knew a million ways to lift itself up and plunge down over the cock inside her. Her pussy was hungry and found a million ways to feed on the agony and the heat of the throbbing power inside her. Her spine undulated in an impossible arc and her shoulders rolled in some kind of frenzied dance while her nipples caressed over my chest. She came, pressing her face into my shoulder and biting down hard as she rattled in ecstasy, her nails digging into my arms. And then I came and she pressed her forehead over mine as my load flooded into her.

That first time we fucked-- it was very very good. Then there was in between, with two heads close together and wild sweet talk in whispers and sweet wild kisses from her young and delicious mouth.
And then there was the second time — controlled now, but still more passionate. If that is possible. She was good, damned good, in case I haven't managed to make that point yet.

As she held on to me by my arms, she slowly leaned back until the entire length of my shaft penetrated her juicy flower. This sensually intimate position allowed her to engage her muscles by pressing her knees together, applying exhilarating pressure to my cock and enjoying powerful to-and-fro movements in unison with me. Her hands gripped my arms, her nails digging; as she writhed and wriggled she stretched her body back further and further until her hair was brushing the floor beneath her. Her flexibility and agility allowed her to dangle and balance so that my cock was a pile driver pounding deep into her sex. She came with a sharp surprised scream and she came with stars floating around her. I came in a series of volleys that made her body tremble until she screamed some more and I unloaded into her tightness again. She let herself dangle for bit more while she savored the aftershocks and then she smiled and raised her eyes until she could spot the floor and in a rush of athletic grace her arms flew out and with palms on the floor she dismounted the chair and my cock in a flawless somersault worthy of the balance beam competition. She flipped again and stood in front of me in her victory stance, arms overhead, fingers delicately poised, her legs in perfect alignment, her luscious breasts jutting out and a wicked smile on her face. Then she stepped towards me and knelt at my feet and licked her lips. Like a gymnast getting ready for a routine she gathered herself for an intense physical effort; she paused as her breasts passed my cock and gently she rubbed its tip against her supersensitive nipples.

Finally, she uses her breasts, hands, and mouth one after the other to give me a thrill like no other.

With me leaning back in the chair, she used her hands and mouth to bring me to a powerful erection, taking charge of my ecstasy in the same way she ruled the balance beam. She used this erotic opportunity to touch herself too, her nimble fingers stimulating her clitoris and G-spot and bringing herself to orgasm. As excitement built, she took me deeper into her mouth. In this position, I was completely immobilized, so there was no need to be concerned that I’d get overexcited or start moving around.

Control was hers, and she used it to try a whole host of new experiences, from deep-throating to using her hands and mouth to stimulate my scrotum as well as my dick. Her tongue did backflips and somersaults and at the same time plied the nerves of my cock the way a musician plies the tightly wound strings of a violin. And she used her entire body to give me this mind-blowing blowjob. Her head of course bobbed and twisted, but her hair teased over my skin, and her shoulders rolled and shifted in pursuit of more and more of my cock in her hot wet mouth. Crotched before me like a supplicant she used her legs to leverage her body in order to constantly shift the angle of my cockntly shift the angle of and twisted, but her hair teased over my skin, and her shoul at me with adoration, checking my response to every move she made. When I poured my load down her throat she gurgled, her voice a mountain stream in springtime and when I was finished she lovingly kissed my thighs and belly and then she rose and fed her nipples into my mouth. I rose from the chair as she wrapped around me and I carried her to the fur covered couch; she was so flexible and limber that I could fuck into her wonderfully tight pussy while I devoured those creamy soft breasts. It was Nirvana.

I was the skilled giver in this position, but even the strongest handyman needs a partner to help out, especially when it comes to screwing. In this position, Nancy was face up, using all four limbs to hold her body weight off the couch. She planted her feet behind my back, kept her knees raised, and straddled me by gripping with her inner thighs, holding on to my shoulders for further support. I entered her from a kneeling position, building up momentum as I jammed my rod into her receptive V and feasted on her breasts like a wolf devouring a lamb. This position requires strength and balance on the lady’s part, and even though I was rubbing the luscious girl’s G-spot and even though she was exulting in the scintillating sensation, it was strenuous even for a gymnast like her to maintain. My mouth was full of her succulent flesh but as she arced her body into me her head dangled down and plenty of frantic noises came from her luscious mouth. I came in a barrel full of hot white fury and she rewarded me by coming right back at me. The crowd in the gym cheered frantically; Dan’s camera was shooting in eager staccato clicks. She rattled like a prisoner in the electric chair and then she collapsed onto the furs.

Eventually we were sated. I think if she came even once more she would have burst into cosmic fragments.

I was lying on my side and listened to her breathing. I rolled over to look at her. Her body was not the same. Before it had been something to desire, something to break down into its component parts of breasts and hips and thighs and belly and behind, something to consider. Now it was her body. Now it was a body I had known. It was her. It was the body of the anniversary playmate.
She looked warm and yet fresh like daffodils bursting open in early springtime sun.

She was smiling. "You look silly," she said. "Wrapped up in that fur like a bear.”

I growled like a bear.

She pouted. "Aren't you glad to be with me?"

"You know the answer to that one."

"You don't seem glad. You didn't even kiss me in the last couple of minutes."

I kissed her. And then it all came back, all the way back. One kiss did that. She was that kind of girl.

Her eyes were laughing. "You silly man," she said. "You don't need that silly fur, do you?"

I didn't

She wriggled and writhed her body; she pulled me on top of her, her hands probing and teasing over my skin. She giggled when her fingers found my hard cock.

"That's better."

"Much better." I couldn't stop looking at her.

Much later I opened my eyes. She was curled up like a sleeping kitten with her fox red hair all disorganized over my chest. I reached out a hand and ran it over her body from shoulder to hip. She didn't stir.

When I turned back to her she had her eyes open.

She smiled for an answer.

"You're pretty great, you know."

Her smile widened.

"I want you."

She bit her lip. "Peter —"
I waited.
I waited.

I sat up on the edge of the couch and took her hand off my shoulder. Her nails had been digging into me. I don't think she realized it at the time.

She looked sweet and virginal and lovely, and I waited for her to rush and wrap herself around my neck.

She turned her eyes on me and her eyes said a great many things that cannot be translated too easily into English. Sure, it was nice to have her body. It was nice to be in inside her, too. Many things were nice.

When Nancy climaxed it was always like the first time. And the second time, and every time. I guess electric is the right word for it. It was exactly that effect.

Electric.

She knew how much I wanted her. And now she was teasing, playing games. I looked at her and watched her turn into a sex symbol in front of my eyes. She did not look sweet and virginal and lovely any more. I looked at her naked body and saw breasts and belly and hips. I looked at her eyes and saw lust as naked as my own. Our eyes locked.

"Peter —"
I put my hand on the very soft skin of her throat I ran it down slowly over her breasts to her thighs. I pressed her.

I kissed her face and her throat. She stretched out on her back with her eyes closed and purred like a sleek cat in front of a hot fire. I stroked her and she moaned. Dan shot some photos.

She grinned. She reached out a hand and touched me, a gentle touch. I reached for her.

We made love very slowly, very gently, and very well. Her mouth tasted warm and sweet.

I liked the way her body was pale white on her breasts and around her bush and tan on her arms and legs and face. I liked to look at her and I liked to touch her, and I liked to move with her and against her. And afterward it was good to lie next to her, hot and sweaty and magnificently exhausted, while the earth shifted slowly back into place.

She didn't tell me that she was the closest thing in the world to a certified virgin; she had had a lover but having another man opened up the world of sex for her. She didn't apologize for fucking me. She wanted to have fun.
She snuggled close to me, her cheek on my breast and her hair tickling me chin. Her nails scratched over my belly.

I can’t believe this is real,” she said.
“It’s real.”
“And you’re going to make me a playmate?”
“You’re going to be the anniversary playmate.”
She giggled but before she could speak there was a knock on the door.
“Nancy, are you in there?” It was the coach. “They’re starting the closing ceremony.”
Nancy pouted. “I don’t want to go.”
“You should go get your medals. Come see me later. Pack a bag. I’ll fly you to Chicago.” I gave her the name of my hotel.
She resisted for another moment. “Will we fuck in the hotel?” I nodded. “Will we fuck on your plane?” I nodded again. “And I’m really going to be Miss January 1974?” I nodded again. She sprang to her feet and pranced across the room, a very naked gazelle. She wriggled into the leotard and looked very cute and sexy doing it. Hoping on one foot at she pulled on the slippers. She glanced in the mirror and saw the sexy mess her hair was and she grinned. Nobody was not going to realize that this luscious girl had just spent the afternoon in a frenzy of mad fucking. She grinned and winked to herself and to me in the mirror and then she was gone.

[dv01]

I notice that erotica fans frequently ask for a story about a specific name (their name, people the know in real life, etc). There's a website, www.putmein.net, that does it for you. You put in a literotica link or copy/paste text and tell it what names to change, sort of like CHYOA. I liked it and thought I'd share. Sorry if this violates some rule about spam--genuinely thought people would find it useful.

[keats]

Peter looked at the three paisley ties spread out on the bed and shrugged. They looked ridiculous and he had no intention of wearing any of them. He shoved them back into the Brooks Brothers bag and tossed the bag into a wastebasket behind him. He looked at himself in the mirror and felt ridiculous. He was a young man, already incredibly wealthy because of his skills as an investor; but while he would gladly have voted for Eugene McCarthy if he had won the nomination, nothing was going to make Peter into a hipster or a hippy. His clothes were expensive only because he respected quality, but they were not hip. The style of clothes he wore in 1968 would be the same style as the clothes he wore fifty years later.

This would not have been a problem except that the publisher of Playboy had asked him a favor. Peter had already delivered one favor; he had successfully seduced the buxom and luscious Cynthia Myer and convinced her to be Miss December 1968. Now he was asked to do a similar favor by finding and seducing the lovely and enigmatic Debbie Hooper who the publisher hoped to make one of the Playmates of 1969.

The publisher had seen her in a newscast during the infamous chaos of the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago. She was not part of the crowd rioting and being teargased in Lincoln Park but she had come to the city as part of the youth movement and counterculture protests. She would have been there in the park; she had intended to be there but instead she had spent the night before in the Lincoln Hotel getting balled by the members of MC5. The band, energized by their political commitment and charged up after a delicious night with Debbie, had gone to the park and played for eight hours and after that came the riots. When the rioting had started Debbie was still back at the hotel sleeping peacefully and dreaming pleasant dreams. After all there were five members in the band and Debbie hadn’t wanted to disappoint any of them.

When she finally did leave the hotel room the lobby was crowded with reporters desperate to interview real live hippies. As soon as she stepped off the elevator she was swamped with lights and cameras; microphones thrust themselves into her face. That’s when the publisher saw her in her nearly transparent white peasant blouse; she looked directly into the cameras and espoused the simple philosophy of love, explaining that if all the girls in the park only offered to make love with the police there would have been no need for tear gas or violence.

The publisher was immediately inspired to make her a Playmate but she had disappeared into the exodus of hippies leaving the city. That’s when he turned to Peter for the favor. Locating her no trouble; the detective agency actually enjoyed re-tracing her trek back to California. She wasn’t too hard to find; she had started to follow the band Creedence Clearwater Revival and she could be seen gyrating in the front row of all their concerts and balling in the hotels with them after the shows. She was with them in San Francisco in late summer, flew with them to Hawaii, then back to San Francisco and then, in October, New York.

New York is where Peter caught up with her. The paisley ties were the publisher’s ideas; Peter found them waiting for him in his suite at the Plaza. They were supposed to make him more appealing to the girl. Peter, after tossing the ties away checked himself in the mirror. He wore casual tan trousers and a white shirt with a classic navy blue sports coat. His shoes were custom made; his watch was quiet but clearly elegant. He skipped the tie and headed down town.

The detectives traced Debbie to a small protest in Washington Square Park. Peter intended to approach her there and discuss the possibilities of becoming a Playmate but, stepping out the cab, he was just in time to see her being hustled into a police car, which departed with a roar.

In the police car, the two officers were wide-eyed at Debbie’s half-nakedness, as she proudly carried her pants in a dripping ball. When they had arrested her one of the leaders of the protest was balling her, banging her in an upright position right near the famous fountain and just before the arrest they had tumbled in, causing a public disturbance and giving the police cause to run them in.

As the police car shot through traffic the cops tried to get control of the situation. “Okay sister, cover it up!” said one of them brusquely.
“What?” said Debbie, “my things are soaking wet! How can I put these on?”

The protest leader, who had been securely pinioned in the corner of the back seat, suddenly lunged forward.

“Perfect!” he cried. “Perfect! Her breasts are perfect!”

“You’ve got a screw loose, buddy!” said one of the cops, giving the hippie a terrific blow on the head with his nightstick.

The car was plummeting down MacDougal Street, sirens wailing, so that Debbie had to shout to make herself heard.

“Stop that! You can’t hit him like that. Let me see your credentials.... I don’t believe you’re even police officers!”

“Here’s a credential for you, tootsie!” said the officer in the back seat with her, and he tore open his fly and forced her hand inside. Debbie flailed at him wildly with her free hand, half rising and falling against the driver in her desperation to escape the obscenity.

“Look out!” yelled the driver, for the girl had half obscured his view and interfered with his control of the machine--but it was too late, for at that moment a truck pulled out of a side street directly into their path.

“Christ! Christ!” shouted the driver, swerving the patrol car sharply, and with an agonizing scream of brakes the car careened hopelessly sideways past the truck, righted itself momentarily and then crashed headlong into the Café Reggio.

In the confusion that followed, Debbie found herself being pulled away from the scene by an unknown man.

“Quickly, quickly,” he kept saying in an urgent whisper, and it was apparent he was helping her escape from the authorities. They were soon to Third Street, rushing down it toward Sixth Avenue.

“Whow, this is groovy!” Debbie was saying as she ran along beside him, modestly trying to conceal her sweet nakedness. Then they were at the avenue and the strange man assisted her into a cab after gallantly covering her with his sports coat.

“The Plaza,” he said to the driver, “and hurry!”

“Right!” said the driver, craning forward over the back seat for a moment, trying to see through the half-light of the cab into Debbie’s little honeypot.

“I’m putting on my things,” exclaimed the girl, “wet or not! What a drag!” And she began to get into them, the man beside her helping with the pants.

“Thanks,” said Debbie, feeling a good deal more secure once she had them on again, “and thanks for the rescue! Good Gosh, I thought we were going to jail!”

“So you were, my dear,” said the man. “Now let’s introduce ourselves,” he went on, extending his hand, “My name is Peter.”

“My name is Debbie Hooper,” said the girl, “How do you do?” She looked at his face then glanced away, feeling his eyes burning into her as if studying her soul.

“Glad to be acquainted with you,” said Peter. “Yes, you were going to the jail all right, that much is certain. Now we’ve got to get you out of this town. Tonight.” He was formulating his plan as he spoke: get her on a plane to Chicago, hide her in the Playboy Mansion, sell her on the Playboy lifestyle.

“Out of town?” said Debbie, “Bummer, what have I done?”

“Well,” said Peter, putting one hand on her wet knee, “Who can say? The point is this, that these authorities, would have put you in jail. That much is certain.”

There was something in Peter’s manner that reminded Debbie of Steve McQueen, and she felt a confidence and rapport warming inside her.
“Yes, they certainly weren’t very friendly,” she agreed.

“Certainly not,” said Peter. “They have no understanding of the youth movement whatever!”

“I’ll say,” said Debbie. She began trying to smooth out her blouse, which was wrinkled and still quite wet. “Ugh, these things are all icky,” she said. “I don’t know whether to keep them on or not!”

“No matter,” said Peter, “We’re almost to the hotel.” The cab pulled up in front of a large elegant building and stopped. He got out and paid the driver and helped Debbie out.

“What a bummer, I hate to go in like this,” she said, “I must look a sight.”

“No, you’re fine,” said Peter, “I can take care of this. Come.” He led the way up the steps and into a large foyer; she felt oddly comfortable with the flat of his hand on her back, guiding her, taking command. A receptionist snapped to attention and he went directly to her.

“This girl is with me,” he said, “She’s been in a slight accident and obviously needs some fresh clothes. Will you send them up to my suite?” He was already writing instructions down on some hotel stationary. He was a connoisseur of the feminine form and already judged her measurements quite accurately: a delicious 36-24-36 figure on a petite 5’3” frame. He jotted down her size, listed the items he wanted, and handed the slip back to the girl. “Bergdof’s will be fine. Have this charged to my suite.”

“Yes, of course,” said the receptionist, looking into his eyes. “I will arrange for this immediately.” Debbie felt another strange emotion: jealousy; she sensed that if Peter and the receptionist hadn’t already made it, the receptionist was going to make a point of making that happen. She could picture Peter and the receptionist balling right there on the desk and she could feel herself becoming possessive of Peter and angry with the other girl. The luscious hippie shoved away that uncool feeling but she took Peter’s arm possessively and made sure the receptionist saw it.

In the elevator the operator was gracious enough to look away from the soaked girl. She snuggled against Peter for warmth, getting his shirt and slacks wet in the process. Peter put a paternal arm around her shoulder and she felt enveloped in security. They exited on one of the upper floors and Debbie liked the way he kept his arm around her as the elevator operator escorted them to their suite.


Debbie, on her rock and roll tour, had been in a lot of hotels but she was still awed by the opulence that greeted her as the door swung open.

“Groovy,” she gasped, her brown eyes wide with wonder.

“This is where the Beatles stayed,” the operator added helpfully before disappearing.

“The Beatles! Groov--vey!” she squealed before embracing Peter in a wet hug. She decided that balling in this suite would be like balling the Beatles.

Exhilarated, all thoughts of the police gone from her mind, she turned and took in the room. And a great mass of feeling rose in her throat at the blessings she felt; she put her arms around her delightful body and hugged herself, so glad at being alive, really alive, and her eyes brimmed with shimmering gratitude.

Once more she spun around to embrace Peter; her dark brown hair, still damp from the fall into the fountain, whipped across his face and she kissed his check to make amends.

“We need to get both of us out of these wet things,” he said, squeezing her breast while she felt the sweet little nipple reaching out like a tiny mushroom.

“Groovy,” she purred once more and stepped away from him. In front of them was a huge gilt-edged mirror and Debbie was drawn to it as if by magic; her reflection seemed to command her to take off her clothes, to lose the confining trap of material things, to be naked where the Beatles had stood. Standing before the glass, Debbie finished undressing--unbuttoning the sports coat Peter had given her, slowly, carefully, a lamb eager and compelled to the slaughter, dropping the coat to the floor, and taking off her peasant blouse, gradually revealing her nakedness to herself, with a little sigh, almost of wistful regret, at how very lovely she was, and at how her nipples grew and stood out like cherrystones, as they always did when she watched herself undress. How he wants me! she thought. Well, right on! And, as she touched her curls lightly she tried to imagine the raging lust that Peter felt for her. Then she cast a last glimpse at herself in the glass, blushing at her own loveliness, and trembling slightly at the very secret notion of this cosmic union, she turned back to him.

Peter was already naked, gazing at her with bold, demanding eyes, when Debbie appeared before him, standing for a moment in full lush radiance, a naked angel bearing the supreme gift. Then, embraced him quickly, almost soundlessly, breathing “Darling, darling” and cuddling him to her at once, while he filled his head with the most lustful thoughts imaginable--all about the deep and dark things he’d be doing to her body, but his thoughts were invaded by a single reminder: get her to agree to be a playmate!

“Do you want to kiss me some more, darling?” asked the girl with deadly soft seriousness, her eyes wide, searching his own as a child would a parent’s. She glided to the couch and languidly stretched herself out, lifting one of her bare breasts in offering to him.

Peter had only one thought, his head thrusting forward to cover the breast with his mouth. Debbie sobbed, “Oh darling, yes,” and allowed her head to recline gently against the couch. “Do you want to make it with me? I want you to,” she pleaded. “Baby, let’s make it.” And she let him kiss and suck her breast, until the nipple became terribly taut and she began to tingle all down through her precious tummy, then she pulled his head away, cradling it in her arms, her own eyes shimmering with tears behind a radiant smile. Then he swiftly glided his hand across the moist sheen of her rounded tummy and down into the sweet damp.

“Oh, darling, yes!” cried the girl, but he didn’t need encouragement; his expert fingers were already rolling the little clitoris like a marble in oil. Debbie leaned back in submission, her heart soaring. With her head closed-eyed, resting again on the couch, she would sustain this forever if she could. But, before she reached the saturation point, he had nuzzled his face down from her breast across her bare stomach and into her lap, bending his arm forward to force legs apart, “Yes, yes, darling!” she sighed, and he soon had his head below her knees and replaced his fingers with his tongue. This is cosmic, Debbie kept thinking, so much, as he meanwhile shifted her body, tugging one slender ankle as he adjusted her legs and was at last on the floor himself in front of her, with her legs around his neck, and his mouth very deep inside the fabulous honeypot.

“Cosmic,” Debbie kept repeating to herself, until she didn’t think she could bear it another second, and she wrenched herself free, saying “Darling, oh darling,” and seized his head in her hands with a great show of passion.
“Do me, baby,” she begged, holding his face in her hands, looking at him hungrily. “Please.”

“I need to fuck you!” he said huskily. He put his face against the upper softness of her marvelous bare leg. Small, dark sounds came from his throat.

“Oh, darling, darling,” the girl keened joyfully, “I can’t bear waiting.” She sighed, and smiled tenderly, stroking his head. “I think we’d better go into the bedroom,” she said then, her manner suddenly wise and capable.

Debbie knew from hotel suites; confidently walking backwards holding his hands, she guided him along and they floated to the nirvana of the bedroom. Without needing to look, she backed to the edge of the bed, then she sighed and lay back, slowly spreading her arms to make him the gift of all her wet, throbbing treasures, as he, fire-eyed and growling, slipped down beside her.

“I want you to fuck me, darling,” she murmured, as in a dream, while he parted the exquisitely warm round thighs with his great head, his mouth opening the slick lips all sugar and glue, and his quick tongue finding her pink candy clit at once.

“Oh, darling, darling,” she said, stroking his head gently, watching him, a tender smile on her face.

Peter put his hands under her, gripping the lush flesh of her buttocks, and sucked and nibbled her tiny clit with increasing vigor. Debbie closed her eyes and gradually raised her legs, straining gently upward now, dropping her arms back by her head, one to each side, pretending they were pinioned there, writhing slowly, sobbing--until she felt she was no longer giving, but was on the verge of taking, and, as with an effort, she broke her hands from above her and grasped
Peter’s head and lifted it to her mouth, coming forward to meet him, kissing him deeply. “Come inside me, darling,” she whispered urgently, “I want you inside me!”

Peter, his brain seething with pure lust, hardly heard her. He had forgotten about talking her into posing, and his head was about to burst in trying to control his lust. Inside his mind was like a gigantic landslide of lava surging forward. While his eyes grew wilder and burned until only black covetousness showed, Debbie, sensing that he was beside himself with desire for her, covered his face with sweet wet kisses, until he suddenly went stiff in her arms as his racing look stopped abruptly on her glistening eyes, and Peter flung himself forward, clutching her to him feverishly. Then, as in a fit of hungry triumph, he twisted his cock savagely into her coiled sheath, and her pussy gripped it so tightly that his entire body shook for a moment, he lunged headlong, his cock plunging deep, one of her nipples locked between his teeth.

Debbie had started up, his velocity almost lifting her, one hand instinctively to her pert, pulsating breast. “Darling, is this good?” she cried. “Darling, you aren’t going to . . .”

Peter slowly rose, as one recovered from a seizure of apoplexy, seeming to take account of his surroundings anew, and, he studied her face; his cockhead poised at her gate, ready to lunge again.

“Yes, darling” murmured Debbie, curling her lovely legs around Peter’s waist slowly drawing him into her sweetness. “Yes! YES!” she cried.

And as he began to thrust into her, she sobbed, “Oh, yes, darling, yes.” her long round limbs twisting, as she turned and writhed, her arms back beside her head as before, moving too, except at the wrist where they were as stiff as though clamped there with steel, and she was saying: “Yes! Fuck me! Yes, yes! Fuck me!” and now her ankles as well seemed secured, shackled behind his back, as she lay, spread-eagled, sobbing, straining against her invisible bonds, her lithe round body arching upward, hips circling slowly, mouth wet, nipples taut, her teeny piping clitoris distended and throbbing, and her eyes shimmering fire, as she devoured all the lust in the world; and as it continued she slowly opened her eyes, that all the world might see the jubilant tears there--but instead she herself saw, through the rise and fall of his hips--Peter’s gleaming cock! The cock, the thick, hard forever, tree-trunk of cock, and it struck her, more sharply than a cosmic blast, as something to worship--the naked, jutting buttocks, upraised in a sexual thrust, not a thrust of taking, but of giving, for it had been an image of the universe, of her own precious treasures, naked and upraised, gleaming white, and thrusting upwards, giving herself to the universe! His cock was the key to the universe.

With a wild impulsive cry, she shrieked: “Give me your cock!”

Peter was startled for a moment, not comprehending.

“Your cock, your cock!” cried the girl, “GIVE ME YOUR COCK!”

Peter hesitated, and then lunged headlong toward her, burying his cock deeper between Debbie’s legs as she hunched wildly, pulling open her little labias in an absurd effort to get it in deeper. “Your cock! Your cock!” she kept crying, scratching and clawing his back now.

“Fuck! Shit! Piss!” she screamed. “Cunt! Cock! Crap! Prick! Kike! Nigger! Wop! Pig! War! Cock! COCK!” and she teetered on the blazing peak of pure madness for an instant ...and then dropped down, slowly, through blue and green clouds of psychedelia, into a deep, soft, black, night.

Peter woke hours later to an empty bed. He slipped on a robe and padded with bare feet out to the other room. Debbie was sitting on the couch, her lovely legs curled under her. She was wearing a multi-color silk print dress with long streaming sleeves pleated folds flowing down to highlight the arc and lift of her firm young breasts and the allure of her luscious curves. Peter recognized it as a Zandra Rhodes from Bergdorf’s.


“Like it?” she said happily, smoothing out the sheen of the silk. The receptionist delivered it about an hour ago.” Debbie then giggled wickedly. “I don’t think she liked seeing me naked when she opened the door.”

Speaking of naked, Peter noticed his luscious guest was studying the current issue of Playboy; Majken Haugedal’s graceful centerfold was spread across her lap.

He gestured to the magazine. “Like it?” He was about to pursue her own appearance in her own centerfold but Debbie opened her pretty mouth and made a speech.

“Oh, she’s pretty, but this magazine is nowhere. She began flipping pages. “She’s living the Man’s dream and not her own. Better to live for yourself, ‘cause self-love is love for everybody. You can ball whoever you want now and sex should be totally spontaneous and chicks should be allowed to do whatever they want. Good sex is when you get zapped immediately by someone’s charisma and you ball him; it’s groovy to ball, but groovier to make love. This is so fake like she’s a doll for sale. The whole thing’s a lie. You try to tell people what to think and you end up a little Madison Avenue mind fascist.” She was now pondering some of the advertisements. Her brow furrowed, irked by middle-aged advertising copywriters. “It’s these squares who make egg rolls look erotic but worry about what sex is doing to their children,” Debbie looked askance at the ‘what sort of man reads Playboy’ ad; her eyes seemed to abhor the conformity. Part of Peter thought she had a point.

With a disdainful snort she tossed the magazine away but she picked up another with a cover showing the Beatles in India with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. “Now this is out of sight. Imagine the chance to get some real spiritual enlightenment.”

Peter closed his eyes, recalibrating his plans. As if drawing from some infinite well of wisdom he repeated something he saw on a brochure recently. “He who knows need not speak; he who speaks does not know.”

“Far out,” she squealed happily, “That’s what I’m saying, right? I’d love to study with a guru.”

Peter opened his robe as his plans clicked in his head. “I think I know a place. We still have to get you out of town anyway.” The brochure was for some mediation center out in Southern California wheren the high priest had tried to get Peter to invest. He could picture the place now. Some barns and trailers. As his mind worked he idly wrapped some of Debbie’s long lustrous hair around his fingers and drew her head forward.

“Far out,” she gushed but at the last “ow” sound her lips were pressed over his cockhead and the shaft pushed down her luscious throat.

“We’ll fly you out first thing in the morning,” he said dreamily, rocking his hips while guiding her pretty head.

“Far out,” she tried to mumble; her mouth full of him, she slurped and sucked happily knowing she was one with the universe.

The estate was large; just two hours drive from the Los Angeles airport, it seemed worlds away from the hurly-burly of the big city. The perfect place for spiritual enlightenment Debbie decided as the taxi rolled up the long drive to the main compound. Lazy cows glanced at her indifferently as they munched grass. A cloud of dust rose higher and higher as the cab bumped along the dirt road. When they stopped they were at a trailer set across from a large red barn. Debbie suddenly realized that she had no money; all she was wearing was the silk print dress Peter had given her yesterday. She tried to explain to the driver but he just waved her off. “All paid for already Miss, and the tip too.” He gestured to the trailer. “You just go in there and you’ll be fine.”

Debbie clapped her hands, a gleeful child; she could feel spiritual enlightenment flowing to her already.

Inside the trailer she was greeted by a friendly but impassive girl with blonde hair that came to her waist; she seemed to be expecting Debbie and tapped on the enthusiastic girl’s name on a clipboard. “I see you’re scheduled for a session with the master himself.” She looked at Debbie a little less impassively, “You must be a very spiritual person.”

Debbie did a little pirouette of joy, twirling the skirt just above her sweet knees. “Oh I hope so,” she gushed; then she remembered to be humble. “But I know I have a lot to learn.”

“Do you know Sanskrit?”

The question dampened Debbie’s enthusiasm for a moment as she shook her head no. “Bummer,” she said, “I guess I DO have a lot to learn.”

The blonde nodded, indifferent once more. She stepped from around her desk and led Debbie to the door and pointed across to the barn. “In there,” she pointed.

Debbie, suddenly hesitant, shuffled across the dirt road. She paused at the latch to the small door to the barn.

“Just go right in,” the blonde called out.


“OK,” said Debbie. She pushed open the door, and was on her way in, waving back at the blonde-haired girl who watched her disappear into the dark space from the steps of the trailer.

The space was dark but Debbie could smell the familiar scent of newly harvested hay through the absolute blackness. It was plenty exciting for the young girl and made her dear young tummy tingle.

Finally her eyes adjusted and she started walking. The space was cavernous and quite dark; the hay was stacked in rows to form a sweet smelling maze to guide her way but from one bend to another she could always just make out the faint glow of light ahead. At last she came to a long, unbroken stretch of pathway and she could see the soft light glowing at the end. As she got nearer, she could also make out the figure of a man there. He was sitting in a chair reading a book by the lamp overhead.
When Debbie reached him he acknowledged her with a nod.

“Hi,” said Debbie, a bit breathless but more keen for her work to begin. She waited for a response, noticing the lurid paperback in his hands, Mickey Spillane’s I, the Jury. She pondered the woman on the cover opening her blouse defiantly and the brutal man with a gun. Her brow furrowed cutely and she wondered about the complexities of spiritual enlightenment when it came to books like that. She nervously cleared her throat, anxious for a response to her greeting.

He looked annoyed but didn’t look up from the book. He gestured towards another pile of books on the floor.

She bent down and picked up a massive tome of Sanskrit, the characters wriggling on the page like snakes. She tried another one and it was more Sanskrit in even smaller characters. Finally she found a book that was illustrated. The pages were brilliant with color, men and women in ancient Indian garb engaged in all sorts of carnal activities in positions that only the greatest of contortionist could dare. Debbie shrugged and began to study zealously. After thirty minutes or so she felt eyes burning into her.

The man watched her curiously.

“So, you have come,” he said at last.

Debbie wondered why he wasn’t helping with her studying instead of sitting there reading, and she decided that he might be on a spiritual plane too high for her.

“Yes, and I better get cracking on this work!” she said without looking at him.

The man nodded. “I have been expecting you,” he said.

There was something in his odd tone that caused Debbie to turn and look at him carefully, though as she scrutinized his face for a clue to age she felt she had never seen anyone whose age was so indeterminate. Anyway, she thought, with an urgent flutter somewhere behind her precious labia, he was not a boy but a man. Large, with a great bald head, and huge black mustache, his eyes blazed at her in the half-light; and if Peter had been impressive with his penetrating eyes, this man was a veritable Svengali. She knew at once that he was the man Peter had spoken of, and she knew too somehow that he was to be very important in her life.

“Are you . . .” she faltered.

“I,” he said with soft drama, “Am ...Marlon.”

Debbie was confused and embarrassed by his piercing look, which seemed to her to be undoing the soft ribbon on the neckline of her shift and moving across her bare breast where the nipples now began slowly distending and throbbed painfully. She turned her eyes back to the book and turned some more pages, and the man looked down at his novel again. Debbie was sure that he was the most spiritually advanced person she had met and she wondered what she should say to him. She tried to lose herself for the moment in her work and began a furious hunt and flurry through the books until she found a volume of Sanskrit grammar.

She opened to a random page and began to read out loud, “The vowel ‘a’ is especially significant in the Sanskrit tradition, as this verse from the Bhagavad Gita shows: Of letters I am a. Of compounds I am the dual. I alone am unending time, the Founder facing every side.” She gasped in awe. “Far out,” she intoned reverently.

She continued to read furiously, determined to become more spiritual. From time to time she would stop to get her breath and flip to another part of the book. About the fourth time she stopped to do this, the man on the chair raised his eyes from Mickey Spillane.

“That is enough study,” he said. His voice, like Peter’s, was very strong, though not at all unpleasant. In fact it seemed to add a certain poetic seriousness and drama to his words. Debbie had no doubt that he was very superior, so she was quite ready to obey; also she was tired of studying now.

“OK,” she said, and placed the book into the little pile she had begun.

“You have studied well,” said the big man watching her.

“Thanks,” said Debbie, brushing her hair with her fingers; she felt the warm sustaining glow of accomplishment within her. “We could use some lunch after that work,” she said.

The big man put the novel in his pocket.
“I do not care to eat,” he said, standing up. “However, we must have another lesson now.”

“Right,” said Debbie, “...but I haven’t learned Sanskrit yet.” She was looking at the pile of books.

“No, this will come later. Now we must let the lights study you.”

He took her hand and led her through another maze of stacked hay. Debbie quickly lost all sense of direction then suddenly they were at a door and he led them inside a large room with spotlights focused on one corner. A stack of silk pillows gleamed under the lights. Debbie did not realize that it was a simple photography studio.

“Remove your clothes and stand there.” He pointed to the pillows. Debbie hesitated wondering if the bright lights signified enlightenment. She was about to raise the question when he waved away her concerns. “You must be naked and let the light cleanse your body and radiate into your soul. I will of course withdraw. I can guide you through your journey with my voice alone.”

Before she could respond he was gone, disappearing behind some screen beyond the lights.

Debbie moved into the bright flood of warm light, nudging the silk pillows with her toes. She turned and faced the screen and felt doubtful but a firm voice boomed from a speaker. “Remove your dress; feel the light cleanse you.”

“Yes, of course,” said the girl. She was confused by this, yet it was not wholly an unpleasant sensation.

She slithered out of the silk shift and the lights did feel pleasant on her bare skin. The voice commanded her to kneel on the pillows and pose herself by lifting her breasts toward the lights. Then she had to lie on her back with her legs straight in the air. The voice guided her through a series of alluring poses and Debbie, while not feeling any more enlightened, certainly felt breathless and aroused under the all-seeing lights. Suddenly the lights dimmed and she was told to put on her dress again.

The man appeared once more, as if he had never left the room. “Good,” said the big man. “Now we go on.”

It seemed to Debbie that he was in a jovial mood now, and she decided to risk a question.

“Did Peter write to you about me?” she asked, not realizing for the moment that of course there had hardly been time for a letter.

The big man looked at her a few seconds without speaking. Then he said: “I am in communication with Peter, from time to time during the night and day. I knew that you were coming. Yes. And that you are ripe for spiritual advancement.”

“Far out,” said Debbie, “He said that?”

“You have come, seeking truth, have you not?”

“Oh yes,” the girl was quick to assure him.

“Then you have come to the right place--we will begin at once. Tonight.”

The attention of the great man, denied her up to this moment, was now like a luxurious bath to the young girl.

“I ...I hardly know what to say,” she began with gratitude.

“He who knows need not speak; he who speaks does not know.”

“That’s what Peter says!” cried Debbie with the delight she always derived from knowledge. “He got that from me,” said the big man. “He is my student.”

He stated it factually, as a child would, without pride or embarrassment; but it was a fact quite impressive to Debbie even so, because of her strong memory of Peter and the day behind her, so much of which was connected with warmth of her own joyous heart.

He led her through another maze and into what appeared to be a lounge. Debbie and Marlon sat talking--he on the edge of the couch, and she at his feet.

“What stage of spiritual advancement are you in at present?” he asked the girl.

“Whoa! I have no idea,” she said. She thought about Peter’s cock connecting her to the universe. Was that enlightenment?

“Ah yes, the heart knows,” he said. “And the heart knows best.”

“I think I’m in an early stage of some sort,” said the girl with perfect candor. She was about to explain about the cosmic power of fucking Peter when he started to expound on his lesson.

“There are six stages along the mystic path,” said Marlon, “and you are in one of them or another, at all times. Now your first stage is this: to have read a large number of books on the various religions and philosophies, and to have listened to many learned doctors profess the different doctrines--and then to experiment seriously yourself with a number of doctrines.”

“That’s only the first stage?” asked Debbie, hardly able to believe it.

“Yes. The path is arduous, you see--many take it; few arrive.”

“What is the second stage?”

“The second stage is to choose one doctrine from among the many one has studied and discard the others.”

“Gosh,” said Debbie.

“Then does the path become truly arduous. The third stage is to remain in a lowly condition, humble in one’s demeanor, not seeking to be conspicuous or important in the eyes of the world--but behind apparent insignificance, to let one’s mind soar above all worldly power and glory.”

“And then?”

“Then you must attain the fourth stage: indifference to all. Accepting with equal indifference whatever comes: riches or poverty, praise or contempt. Giving up the distinction between virtue and vice, honorable and shameful, good and evil ...neither repenting nor rejoicing over what one may have done in the past.”

Debbie was enjoying it immensely. She settled herself more comfortably.

“Then what?” she asked, wide-eyed and lovely.

“Then do you attain to your fifth stage,” said Marlon, “There to consider with perfect equanimity and detachment the conflicting opinions and the various manifestations of the activity of beings. To understand that such is the nature of things, the inevitable mode of action of each.”

“Deep, man,” said Debbie.

“Yes, the mystic path is an arduous path, you see; many depart, few arrive.”

“What on earth is the sixth stage?” the girl wanted to know.

“The sixth stage cannot be described in words, unfortunately. It corresponds to the realization of the void, which, in Lamaist terminology, means the Inexpressible Reality.”

“I don’t get it,” said Debbie.

“Well,” said Marlon, “one must understand here the realization of the non-existence of a permanent ego. This is your great Tibetan formula: ‘The person is devoid of self; all things are devoid of self.’”

“And that’s the end?” said Debbie after a moment.

“Yes, for all practical purposes it is. There is a seventh stage, physically, of suspended animation. But that need not concern us here.”

“Suspended animation!” cried Debbie, as though that pleased her more than the rest.

Marlon nodded, and the girl gave him a searching look, wondering indeed if he were not capable of this feat himself.

“Gosh, I’d love to be able to do that,” she admitted at last. “The path is arduous,” said Marlon.

“Right on!” said Debbie.
“Well, what do you say? Will you walk the mystic path? Already you have good spiritual potential.”

“Well, I would like to try,” she said, “What do we do first?”

“First you must have a good guru, a spiritual teacher, to train you.”

“And you . . .” Debbie began.

“I shall be your guru.”

“Oh that’s wonderful,” said the girl; she was doubly pleased and stood up as though to kiss Marlon, but he was quick to reassert a more formal tone.

“First,” he said, “there is the problem of mental discipline and the basic yoga exercises.”

He drew out a bead necklace from his pocket, not unlike a rosary chain, with the beads arranged along it in varying groups, and he placed this around Debbie’s neck, the girl arching her slender throat graciously to receive it. Then he explained how she was to practice her yoga breathing patterns by feeling the different groupings of beads along the necklace.

Next came instruction in the famous exercise of “opposing thumbs,” then the secret of “standing sleep,” whereby the successful practitioner can receive the physical benefit of 14 hours’ uninterrupted sleep in only two or three minutes.

“Now, perhaps your most important yoga exercise,” said Marlon, with extreme seriousness, “For it is the true key to Infinite Oneness--I speak, of course, of the Cosmic Rhythm, which you must achieve to be in harmony with all things, and to find Nirvana. Now, relax your body, and let it follow movements which the pressure of my hands on it suggests.”

So saying, he placed his hands on Debbie’s lush, rounded hips and began to rotate them slowly, back and forth, in a smooth undulating motion.

“Just so,” he said, stepping back to watch her performance, “yes, very good.”

The movement, in any other than a mystical context, would have seemed suggestively sexual, and perhaps even obscene; Debbie was aware of this and her lovely face went crimson for an instant, but she crossly blamed herself for making the association and attributed it to her own impure and undeveloped spirit.

While she was practicing the Cosmic Rhythm, Marlon was directing her, causing her by command to vary the tempo of her gyrations. Debbie, so intent on mastering the exercise, had not noticed that he was standing so close, and was slightly taken aback by the sudden sound of his breath on her throat, as indeed was Marlon himself, completely absorbed in seeing that the execution was correct. She felt his wet lips on her skin and let out an involuntary yelp of “Hey man, cool it.”

At the girl’s words, he gave a bellow of rage, wheeled and rushed against her with clenched fists, as she, in turn, fled hurriedly to the other side of the room.

“This doesn’t seem enlightening,” she cried in retreat, but her voice trailed away as she saw the distain in his eyes.

“You silly child!” said Marlon in genuine annoyance as he came back to Debbie. “What you need is a horsewhipping!”
Debbie was impressed by his show of heat and impatience at the interruption, and was pleasingly flattered that he had such an interest in her progress with the exercises. Certainly too she was keen to get on with her mastery of them and to achieve some real advancement along the mystical path. She tried to divert his annoyance by doubling her zeal in practicing.

“Yes!” said Marlon. “Excellent! Now then, our next. . .” But he stopped short and put his great head sideways in an attitude of listening. “Hear that?” he said,

Then Debbie heard it too, a faint whistling, very near another door opposite from where they had entered.

“Wait here,” said Marlon as he went to the sound. “That is your next exercise: wait here and think of nothing.” He turned the knob and swung the door open. It led outside where the sun was long gone.

“Right!” said Debbie.

Marlon went out the door into the night, and Debbie tried to make her mind a blank, but she was too excited for the moment to do so. She thought if she went to the door and looked up into the dark sky, she would be able to do it. “Unless there are stars!” she said half aloud, and she walked to the door and looked out at the sky. As she did, however, she could not help but catch a glimpse of Marlon, standing in the shadows beyond the door. He was talking in a low voice to two men there, and one of them seemed to be giving him something--money, it appeared to be, from the deliberate way he was handing it over, little by little, as though counting it out, and rather furtively too. He then handed what was clearly rolls of film to the men. She could hear him whisper, “She posed completely nude and she is spectacular. These shots will prove she is great Playmate material.” All three men chuckled the way men did when talking about naked women. Then the two strangers faded quietly into more shadows and away. Evidently Marlon had just sold photos he had taken in the bright lights without her knowledge.

This realization came as a shock to Debbie, and she drew away from the door and lowered her head to pout prettily, not raising it when Marlon reentered the room seconds later. He was rubbing his hands together briskly--in a manner actually suggesting the accomplishment Debbie knew of already, to her repulsion and horror.

“Well!” said Marlon with great gusto. “Now then! Where was I?”

“You were,” said the girl with cutting hauteur, “At the point of selling nude pictures of me!” And she burst into tears, covering her face and rushing to one corner of the room. “I didn’t mind being naked but not for the capitalist pigs to exploit my feminist spirit!”

He looked at her blankly.

“How could you?” she cried, really brokenhearted. “How could you?”

Surprisingly, Marlon did not seem taken aback by this accusation, but only slightly annoyed at her outburst, and the sound of her crying, which he seemed to find unpleasant.

“That!” he said, waving his hand and frowning with impatience. “That was nothing--a mere material transaction. Of no significance whatever.”
“But why did you take the money?” the girl demanded, raising her lovely tear-glittering face for a moment to show the hurt and betrayal she felt.

“Peter wouldn’t have taken it!” she cried. “He said I was here for spiritual learning, and so did you! He wouldn’t have taken it, and he’s only your student! I think it’s awful!” And she hid her face again, sobbing terribly.

“What did he say?” asked Marlon, coming near her.

“Enlightenment!” whimpered the girl in a child’s voice. “He said I would be enlightened, and so did you!”

“Of course you will be enlightened,” said Marlon, placing a hand on Debbie’s shoulder, “All reality ...” his hand described an arc, searching for the word, “…Is mere appearance, illusion. A dream, certainly.”

“But why do you have to have money in a dream?” the girl wanted to know, tearful as ever.

“Ah!” said Marlon, his fingers toying the back of her sweet left ear, “It is a dream, yes--but we make it a pleasant dream, not a ...a nightmare!”

“But you’re making it a nightmare,” said Debbie, “Selling those pictures to the capitalists like that-- it’s ...it’s like stealing!” The last word, and the host of implications it held, caused her to sob anew, oblivious, it seemed, to the lavish caresses along her neck and spine, with which Marlon was trying to soothe her.

“Let me ask you this . . .” said Marlon, “Who are the happiest people in our world? Who besides, of course, those well advanced on the mystical path are happiest? Is it not those who create? Of course! It is the artist. It is the artist who is self-sufficient and happiest in our world. Yes! But the great art comes from those who have suffered--history will bear me out!” In his discourse, he had abandoned the girl for the moment and was pacing about the room; this may have been what caused her now to raise her eyes like two saucers and stare after him, somewhat longingly it seemed.

“History will bear me out,” he repeated, “it is the deprived cultures who have produced the greatest number of artists; thus have we, here tonight, struck a blow for all that is fine and good in the dream world! Art!” Debbie was watching him wide-eyed and he returned to where she was standing in the corner of the room. This had the effect of relieving her anxiety in one way, but made her renew her tears just the same.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, hiding her face, “it just seems so ...so shoddy, taking the money like that.”

“Shoddy!” said Marlon. “I suffer for my art!” He looked fierce, disgusted with her. “You are not enlightened,” he said.

“No, no,” said Debbie, shaking her head blindly.

“You deny it with words,” said Marlon, “But what do your actions say.” And he crossed his arms as if dismissing her.

“Oh no, don’t!” cried Debbie, raising her eyes and touching his arm in real concern.

“Too late! Too late!” said Marlon, glowering vigorously, “I see no enlightenment here!”

This left Debbie with a tremendous feeling of responsibility for the loss. “Oh, I don’t know what to say,” she cried, squeezing his arm.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Marlon, as he surreptitiously pocketed the loot; he lowered his head, looking almost sheepish. “It was just ...just that I wanted to ...to teach you,” he said, and he allowed a tear to form in his eye and to slowly course down his heavy jowl.

“What?” said the girl, too amazed. “Oh my darling,” she said, putting her arms around him, “My precious baby,” and she stroked and fondled him feverishly to bring comfort, drawing his great head down to her shoulder and rocking it there like a big strange infant.

They were standing like this then, with Marlon letting his massive head slide down the front of the girl’s shift, cleverly manipulating his huge cleft chin to undo ribbon closing it. The dress was sliding off her shoulders. “Yes, my darling, yes,” she sobbed preparing herself to become one with the universe.

“Ah, you wicked creature,” he scolded but not without affection. “You try to tempt me with carnal pleasures. I’m too enlightened for that.” He opened the outside door

Marlon drew the girl outside into the shadows.

“More important work awaits us,” he said, inadvertently, or so it seemed, touching her crotch for a moment. “Come.”

So saying, he took her hand and led the way, along the rocky path and down the bramble bush hill to a stream there at the bottom, which they followed then, curving around the hill and the barn above.

Debbie ran alongside the stream, lifting her skirt a bit, terribly excited by the wild moonlit aspect of the countryside and overjoyed at this sort of informal outing she and Marlon were having.
Round a bend, and they came to a shimmering pool, and behind it a grotto, or water-cave, the mouth of it dark against the silver water.

“Oh, how lovely!” cried the girl, clasping her hands together at her breast, as though the sight were so lovely indeed that it gave her a pang there.

“Come,” said Marlon, taking her hand again, “We must go inside.”

They had to walk through a foot or so of water to reach the mouth of the grotto, which Debbie did with little squeals and shrieks of pure delight: then they were inside, and Marlon lit a lamp that was sitting on the wide reef-ledge of the grotto. With this soft yellow light and the moon coming in through the mouth, the already interesting interior, its cavernous roof spidered with stalactite formations and glints of quartz, took on a quite remarkable beauty. Blue-green moss and rich fern grew in abundance along the walls and on the ledge itself, forming a veritable carpet there, the thickness, almost, of a love-couch.

“The path is arduous,” Marlon intoned. “This is where I give lessons.”

“Oh it’s just too marvelous,” said Debbie in a whisper, looking down now into the blue pool itself and the deep, wavering splinters of phosphorus below the surface.

Marlon, though, was watching the young girl; in this setting she was nothing so much as a perfect nymph, or the immortal beauty Diana herself.

“It’s good that you wear that simple shift,” he said, matter-of-factly, “It will expedite the next lesson considerably.”

“Are we really to have another mystical lesson now!” exclaimed Debbie in sheer delight, actually giving a little jump of joy; it was all too perfect already! And now another mystical lesson as well! She sat down eagerly on the fluffy bed of moss, arranged her skirt primly, tucking it under her precious knees, getting comfortable and making her mind ready and alert, just the way she had always done in the interesting courses at school. She had a momentary regret that she didn’t have her notebook and pencil along, but she quickly dismissed this thought for the infinitely more preferable notion of Arcadia, with the students sitting around under the trees, listening to the master talk, and not taking notes but absorbing everything, everything. That’s the pure way and the true way, thought Debbie and was extremely pleased.

“First,” said Marlon, sitting down beside her, “we’ll want to get out of this worldly apparel.” And he began taking off his wet shoes. Then he started undoing his trousers.

“Do we have to?” asked the girl shyly; she wanted to be worthy.

“‘Put your house in order,’” quoted Marlon, “‘that is the first step.’ Certainly we must divest ourselves of all material concern--in both spirit and body.”

“Right!” said Debbie firmly in an effort to dispel the great warm reservoir of feminine modesty she felt glowing up inside her and finally flushing her pretty face, as she slipped out of the simple garment.

“There!” she said pertly, and in an abrupt little movement that spoke well of her bravery, she put aside the soft shift, which was all she was wearing, and gave a little sigh of relief that she had actually been able to do it; and yet, even as she was sensing a certain pride and accomplishment in the feat, her sweet face flushed maidenly rose as, under Marlon’s gaze, she felt her smart little nipples tauten and distend, as though they, alerted now, had a life quite their own.

“Good!” said Marlon. “Now then, lace your ringers together, in the yoga manner, and place them behind your head. Yes, just so. Now then, lie back on the mossy bed.”

“Oh gosh,” said Debbie, feeling apprehensive, and as she obediently lay back, she raised one of her handsome thighs slightly, turning it inward, pressed against the other, in a charmingly coy effort to conceal her marvelous little spice-box.

“No, no,” said Marlon, coming forward to make adjustments, “Legs well apart.”

At his touch, the darling girl started in fright and reticence, but Marlon was quick to reassure her.

“I’m a doctor of the soul,” he said coldly; “I am certainly not interested in that silly little body of yours--it is the spirit that concerns us here. Now is that understood?”

“Yes,” answered the girl meekly, lying very still now and allowing him to adjust her limbs, just so, well apart, and turned out slightly.

“Eyes closed,” said Marlon firmly, and when Debbie had obeyed, he sat back and surveyed the whole.

“Good!” he said at last. “Now then. This lesson will be devoted to the transcendence of the bodily senses. Under my guidance you shall achieve the ability to master all bodily feeling. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” whispered the closed-eyed girl. She was greatly reassured by Marlon’s tone, which was like that of an instructor in logic, but she was still flushing and somewhat annoyed with the way her pert little nips kept pulsing and pouting. Those bad little smart alecks! she thought crossly to herself.

Marlon leaned forward with outstretched fingers and allowed them to play idly across the golden melon of the girl’s budding tummy. She moved a bit and even gave a little nervous laugh.

“Now, now,” said Marlon sharply, “You’re not a child! Try to be serious! The mystic path is not an easy one--many take it, few arrive.”

Under this admonishment the girl sobered quickly enough and tried to order her thoughts.

“Now this is a so-called ‘erogenous zone,’” explained Marlon, gingerly taking one of the perfect little nipples which did so seem to be begging for attention between his thumb and forefinger, turning it gently back and forth.

“Right on,” the girl agreed, squirming despite her efforts to be serious.

“Yes,” said Marlon, nodding sagely, “And this too, of course,” taking the other one now, giving it a series of fondling tweaks, while the girl stirred uneasily.

“Now then,” said Marlon, abandoning the nipples for the, moment, leaving them there, like two tiny heads, craning up eagerly, and allowing his hands to caress slowly down the wondrous arch of Debbie’s delightful body, down the sides, along the hips and over the inner thighs to converge in the glistening down, beneath which the fabulous lamb-pit was sweetening itself.

“Oh gosh,” the girl murmured, as Marlon carefully turned back the rose-petal labes and revealed, in all its tiny splendor, the magnificent little jewel, the pink pearl clit, shimmering, it seemed, in absurdly delicious readiness.

“This is another of these so-called ‘erogenous zones,’” announced Marlon contemptuously, addressing the perfect thing with his finger, giving it several gentle flicks.

“And how,” Debbie was quick to agree, fidgeting now in spite of her attempts at control. Marlon applied himself to massaging the clit adroitly.

“Goodness . . .” said the girl in soft fretfulness, “...I didn’t know it was going to be like this.”

“Yes, you must master these feelings,” said Marlon easily. “One who is not master of his feelings is not master of his house--he is like the reed, tossed on the waves of chance. Tell me, how does it feel now?”

The lovely girl’s great eyelids were fluttering. “Oh, it’s all tingling and everything,” she admitted despairingly.

“First,” said Marlon, continuing the massage, “you will learn transcendence of the senses, and in that way will you soar above all sensory concern; next you will learn control of the senses, whereby you may come at will--instantaneous orgasm, untouched, at my command.”

He stopped the massage and raised himself to his knees.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “I will show you an example of such control. You will notice that I have caused my member to become stout and rigid--as though it were in the so-called state of ‘erection.’”

It was true, as the girl saw soon enough--Marlon close at hand displaying his taut member, and she flushed terribly and averted her eyes.

“No, no,” said Marlon, raising her demure chin with his hand, “Do not allow vulgar sexual or material associations to bear upon the matter--it is a demonstration of perfect sensory control, I have merely willed the member to become stout and rigid. It resembles the so-called erection, does it not? In the sixth stage, one masters all such muscular control, even that which is most involuntary--thus can one, by the will of the advanced intellect, achieve what was theretofore a secret of nature. Regard how I have willed my member: no base or material desire is connected with it, yet it resembles the so-called sexual erection. Does it not?”

The sweet girl nodded shyly, scarcely able to look. “Yes. Touch it,” said Marlon, “you will see for yourself.”

He took her hand and encouraged it forward, and she touched it lightly. Being able to regard it now, impersonally, not as an object of lust but as a demonstration of spiritual advancement, made it a thing of interest to the young girl and she examined it curiously, touching it here and there, still with a certain reserve because she wanted to be sure she was being enlightened and not merely lustful.

“You can squeeze it if you like,” prompted Marlon, “...Yes, do.”

Debbie squeezed the swollen shaft interestedly in her delicate grasp, and what appeared to be a drop of semen formed on the end.

“There!” said Marlon, in triumph. “See that drop--that’s an example of glandular mastery as well! It is extremely rare. The late Rama Krishna approximated it, but did not fully achieve it in the end. I have willed the intricate chemistry and secretion of the fluid.”

“Far out,” said Debbie, raising her beautiful eyes to the great man, her face radiant now in frank reverence.

“Now resume the basic yoga position,” said Marlon, “and I will continue with the instruction.”

Debbie lay back again with a sigh, closed-eyed, hands joined behind her head, and Marlon resumed his fondling of her sweet-dripping little
fur-pie.

“Does the tingling sensation you referred to before continue and increase?” he asked after a moment or so.

“...I’m afraid so,” said the girl sadly, panting a little.

“And do you experience feelings of creamy warmth and a great yielding sensation?” demanded
Marlon.

“Yes,” Debbie sighed, thinking he was surely psychic.

“Now I’m going to put this member into you,” said Marlon judiciously, “and in that way can the sensation of the so-called ‘sexual act’ be approximated and surveyed to advantage.”

“Far out,” said Debbie in veneration, unable, despite her efforts, to shake off all the old associations it had for her. And, almost in reflex, she drew her marvelous thighs a bit closer together.

“Never mind your crass and absurdly cheap philistine materialist associations with it,” said Marlon crossly, as he adjusted her legs again and ranged himself just above her. “Put those from your mind--concentrate on your Cosmic Rhythm, for always remember that we must bring all our mystical knowledge to converge on the issue at hand-even as does the tiger his strength, cunning, and speed.”

“Now I am inserting the member,” he explained, as he parted the tender quavering lips of the pink honeypot and allowed his stout member to be drawn slowly into the seething thermal pudding of the darling girl.

“Oh my goodness,” said Debbie, squirming her lithe and supple body slightly, though remaining obediently closed-eyed and with her hands clasped tightly behind her head. Her hips rotated into the weight and girth of the massive shaft as it slowly filled her.

“Now I shall remove the member,” said Marlon, “...not all the way, but just so, there, and in again. You see? And again so, I will repeat this, several times--while you do your Cosmic Rhythm.” He repeated the in and out motion, rocking her like a little ship in a wild surf; she writhed, wriggled, and squirmed with arousal.

“Gosh,” said Debbie, swallowing nervously, “...I don’t think I can concentrate on it now.”

“Oh yes,” said Marlon, encouraging her hips with his hands, setting them into the motion of the Cosmic Rhythm Exercise she had practiced earlier in the barn. And when she had satisfactorily achieved the motion, Marlon said: “Now this, you see, approximates the so-called ‘sexual act.’”

In and out, in and out, they rocked steadily.

“I know it,” said Debbie fretfully, greatly distracted by the thought.

“I shall presently demonstrate still another mastery of glandular functions,” claimed
Marlon, “that of the so-called orgasm, or ejaculation.”

“Oh please,” said the adorable girl, actually alarmed, “not ...not inside me ...I ...I . . .”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Marlon, breathing heavily, “Naturally, in willing the chemistry of the semen, I would eliminate the impregnating agent, spermatozoa, as a constituent--for it would be of no use to our purposes here you see.” He began to grunt, rutting into her sweetness, lustfully.

“Now then,” he continued after a moment, “tell me if this does not almost exactly resemble the philistine ‘orgasm’?”

“...Oh gosh,” murmured the darling closed-eyed girl, biting her lip as the burning member began to throb and spurt inside her, in a hot, ravaging flood of her precious little honey-cloister whose bleating pink-sugar walls cloyed and writhed as though alive with a thousand tiny insatiable tongues, “...Far out!”

During the next few days, in the course of instruction, it was necessary for Marlon to enter the adorable girl with his member any number of times. It was decided, too, that because of her need for periods of uninterrupted meditation, it would be best for Debbie to remain permanently in the grotto, rather than return to the camp. Marlon would visit her there from time to time, bringing food, checking her progress, and carrying on with the instruction.

She was quite comfortable there and the guru had helpfully left the Sanskrit grammars and more illustrated books; Debbie was proud now that she was able to replicate many of the exotic positions with her guru and the sessions with his member inside her various lovely orifices could last for hours now. The Sanskrit was still the impossible mountain; after a week of study she could barely master the alphabet. But the master seemed quite pleased with her progress; sometimes they would study the illustrated books together while she practiced Cosmic Rhythm. He’d stand behind her, guiding her pace with his member pressed against her deliciously tight bottom. He’d reach over her shoulder to turn the pages until he found the position for the day’s lesson. Every day Debbie struggled mightily to meet the challenge and every day she’d cry joyously as he allowed his member to fill her with his not-orgasm; enchanting warmth flooding through her as she became one with the universe.

On the sixth day though, the girl seemed apprehensive when Marlon arrived. Along with the food basket he was carrying a large artist’s portfolio.

Debbie, always a ravenous eater, and expecting a calorie burning work-out once the lesson started devoured her meal quickly, anxious to practice a new position she discovered. She couldn’t pronounce the name but she diligently practiced the upside down contortions she’d need to accomplish the position.

But before they started Marlon unzipped the portfolio and drew out some large photographs. He did not allow her to see them yet. “I have been conferring with the other masters and with some special students.” Debbie’s heart soared; she knew Peter was one of the special students.

“We have discovered your special talents and your place in the universe.” He tapped the edges of the photos, seemingly hesitant to reveal them.

“Remember that art is suffering; but also art brings love to the universe. Forces rise here on earth and we must embrace them, love them, share with them.” Debbie was about to speak but he held up a hand. “Yes, even the capitalists. Your place is among them, to share your special art in order to guide them to the path. ‘He who knows need not speak; he who speaks does not know.’”

He then turned over the photos; Debbie saw pictures of herself posing her nude body while the Light cleansed her. Even in her humility she saw them as beautiful. She felt one with the universe.

“Are you really sure,” she asked, wide-eyed and darling, “Will this really help the capitalists find the path?”

“Certainly,” said Marlon with a show of impatience, “They will see your purity and they will understand that your true beauty is in your soul, your oneness with the universe.” He was reaching into the portfolio again and drawing out a paper. It looked like a legal document, a contract. “Why do you ask these questions?”

“Because,” said Debbie, lowering her voice and blushing deeply, “These pictures look I’m posing for Playboy Magazine!”

“Ach,” said Marlon, with a grimace of distaste to reassure her, “Nothing! That is nothing--in fact, it is a good sign of spiritual advancement. You have transcended judgment. You will pose for the capitalists and they will follow you. ‘He who knows need not speak; he who speaks does not know.’”

“Oh but I couldn’t,” said the girl, most convincingly, “They’re capitalists!” But already Marlon was extending the contract to her, clicking a ballpoint pen open.

“Sign here. And here. Very good.” Debbie looked at the Bunny logo at the top of the contract and she wanted to ask so many questions but she felt unworthy.

She looked at the pictures spread on the moss around them. They did look beautiful and laying in the soft green moss they did seem to make her one with the universe. Perhaps she could bring the capitalists to the path. And she could hear Creedence Clearwater again too. Her heart filled with confidence and she signed gleefully.

“Excellent,” Marlon said equally pleased. He collected the photos and contract and returned them to the portfolio. He rubbed his hands together briskly--in that manner of his suggesting the accomplishment, like after a particularly successful lesson with the illustrated book. “Now, show me the new position you’ve been practicing.”

“Far out,” said Debbie, so awed by the idea that she forgot her hunger and immediately moved into an upside down position, her palms and feet pressed into the moss as the sweet curls of her honey-pot rose up to him. “We better practice the Cosmic Rhythm!”

She groaned sweetly as his not-erection pressed into her soft depths. “Cosmic,” she purred and lifted one leg into his chest while the other wrapped around his waist.

The next day when he arrived he handed her an airplane ticket for Chicago. “Your spiritual advancement now is such that you are prepared for the highest enlightenment. You shall walk with the capitalists and bring them to the path. You are about to present the holy of the holy to the world.”

“Your plane is at 7:30--I believe we have time for one or two more exercises before your departure.” Debbie early bent down with her legs straight; her palms and feet pressed into the moss as his not-erection pressed into her tender bottom.

Debbie’s screams of pleasure shook the grotto as she sang out to the universe.

[keats]

You’re probably reading this on some kind of e-reader, a tablet, maybe even an i-Pad, or you’re on your laptop; but sure as shit you’re not in a bookstore which explains why my business went belly up after about forty-years. Not your fault; it’s what passes for progress.

I’m not opposed to progress, or technology, or even e-readers. Hell, I love my Kindle. It’s just I miss the romance of bookstores. And as I get older I miss that romance more and more. Bookstores used to be a great place for meeting up but it’s just not the same with FaceBook or whatever.

Here’s what I mean. I owned a bookstore in Beverley Hills; yes, that Beverley Hills. The shop was on West Pico Boulevard so maybe some purists would quibble about saying it was Beverley Hills but it was a nice shop with a nice clientele but even before the digital revolution bookstores had to struggle to make a profit because the big box stores were gobbling up everything; back 1982 my big idea to stay afloat was to put in magazines. And while the magazines didn’t do much for business they did lead to some surprises, some romantic opportunities.

It was raining pretty hard that afternoon in June. The store was empty and the rain was drumming loudly on the awing outside. The store, otherwise, was quiet with not a customer in sight and I was passing the time with John Irving’s latest, The Hotel New Hampshire.

I was fairly engrossed in the book and the rain was casting a soporific spell though I glanced up when the bell attached to the door jingled and when I saw the girl I slipped a bookmark into the novel. She was worth my attention: petite but with huge bouncy breasts that danced under the tight tank-top she barely fit into; the shirt was cropped short, short enough that it didn’t cover those breasts much past the two stiff nipples and the round wide areolae. Her belly was smooth and soft but trim too; this was a girl in good shape. Her satin shorts hung low on her hips and were cut high over her thighs. Her young face was oval and open, wide warm eyes, rosy cheeks, a perky nose and full kissable lips. Gold curls streamed down around her shoulders.

Her voice was lilting and girlish, full of laughter. “Do you have the July issue of Playboy?” she giggled and before I could explain that it was June she squealed, “Oh there it is!” Like I said the magazines were a new addition and I wasn’t used to the practice of each issue coming out a month before its cover date. The girl meanwhile bounced over to the magazine shelf and picked up the issue of Playboy she wanted. At this point I might have objected, thinking that she was too young to be looking at adult magazines but then she squealed again, “See! That’s me on the cover!” She held it up proudly, and the buxom girl on the cover, nude except for the telephone cord wrapped around her curvaceous body, was indeed the same girl that was now prancing around in my bookstore.

I barely had time to react; the young girl was already paging through the magazine. Giddy with excitement and almost breathless she exclaimed now, “And look! It’s me again!” and she let the centerfold drop open before my eyes.

In Lynda Weismeier's centerfold she's standing in a barn, in the process of removing some old-fashioned lingerie. She’s gazing into the camera and even in the still photograph she seems to be trembling with the expectancy of a fawn standing before a lion; she radiates a glowing beauty. It's not the glamorous beauty of Hollywood, but a very real, natural look. She’s fresh, vivacious, shyly showing she is eager for what must come next when a nubile young girl stands naked before a man.

We both studied the picture for a bit and while I kept my eyes on the centerfold she turned her attention to my reaction. First she checked my eyes and how they stayed focused on the naked flesh in the photograph. Then she checked my libido by noting the ever increasing tumescence in my slacks.

“Wow,” she whispered reverently still looking below my waist.

“Wow,” I responded still gazing on the photograph of her lush ripe breasts.

A crash of thunder came from outside and the sky suddenly brightened with lightning; the march of steady rain turned into a blitzkrieg as if pouring down Neptune’s fury. With the sudden thunder she startled and dropped the magazine. She bent to pick it up and she furtively brushed two delicate fingers over the still growing erection in my slacks.

“I never realized that when men saw my photograph…” She gestured toward the bulge as she folded the centerfold. “Wow! That’s really something.” As if to emphasize her point the rain on the canvas awning drummed with enthusiasm.

She regarded me with her head cocked to one side as if expecting me to say something profound. All I could do was stare at her. Her nipples, under the tight shirt seemed to reach out to me.

“My car is in the garage all the way down the block,” she said just to fill the space between us. She gestured with her arm, making the car seem really far away.

“You’ll get soaked,” I said. “You can wait here.” I paused and pointed to the window and the soaked street outside. “No more customers will be coming in now.”

I couldn’t help notice how confident she was; how high and proud her chin as she contemplated the rain. She was perfectly aware of my gaze, my own contemplation of her curves and the image of her nude centerfold seared into my brain. This was not the threshold to a pleasure dome of female flesh; it was a thoughtful establishment of the rules between us. While she may have been a young girl, a teen really, she was perfectly composed and aware of the effect she had on men. She stood as if she were posing, but she was also thinking, assessing. She let me study her curves for a moment then suddenly decided I’d been peeking too much.

“Something I can do for you?” the girl breathed out. A straightforward query without frills, accompanied by a direct gaze. She was cool, almost icy, but not cold and harsh; she had the mysterious cool majesty of glacier. She was telling me that she was in charge.

I plowed on. “Would you do me a very small favor?”

“I don’t know. It depends on the favor,” she responded.

More accurately, she said, “I don’t know, it dep-eeeends . . . on the favor.” The lengthening of the vowel and the slight pause before the ultimate phrase signaled a release of tension. This girl’s voice was flexible. It could change from silly to businesslike to seductive in a matter of seconds. Wasn’t this rather dangerous? Wasn’t it the sort of manoeuver we find in the classic femme fatale who leads a man to destruction and death?

But the girl was undoubtedly confident and playful, enjoying herself without being full of herself. Then she became on all soft again when I informed her that the store was going to close in an hour anyway, that I would be free in an hour.

“You begin to interest me . . . vaguely,” she said, leaning forward. Again, that pause before “vaguely” hinted at all sorts of concrete interests a dame pursued in her spare time. She really was a playmate, but she was other things as well. “You’re old enough to be my father,” she said it bluntly, without a disapproving smirk, but there it was. Her look was direct and bold, a little girl daring me to step over the line.

That directness, however, faded. Gradually, slowly, the glacier melted. The curves and the voice became softer and rounder.

Apart from the tonal variations she displayed, I noticed how she moved her mouth, forming a series of luscious O’s of different sizes; this girl’s mouth suggested an equal expertise in arenas of life that have nothing to do with just posing for magazines. In fact, several factors justified us in wondering exactly what she did before landing up in my bookstore.

“You’re closing in an hour? But you don’t really expect anymore customers today do you?” She smiled knowingly as she backed towards the door. She leaned against the glass and said, “Really no sense in me getting wet is there?”

I nodded obligingly.

“Why waste an hour? Don’t you agree?”

Again I nodded.

“Well, looks like you’re closed for the rest of the afternoon.” Her voice was husky and suggestive.

With her back still facing the glass and her arms behind her she located the draw string for the shade and began to slowly and sensually wriggle, pulling down the shade over the door, bending her knees as she did so, her whole body dipping down as she faced me, her whole body pulling down the shade. More pliancy, more flexibility. And she made sure I’d notice the neat way she had of playing with her tongue as she spoke. She was also highly attuned to the comfort level of a man, even a strange man. To put me at ease, she let her eyes sparkle with mischievousness; she shook her hair, and made yet another – possibly the biggest – O with her mouth.

Still I stayed where I was, not wanting to jinx anything, afraid to even put down the massive Irving novel.

Her eyes missed nothing. She read the title of the book in my hand making it sound like pornography. “The Hotel New Hampshire. Hey, I heard of that book. It’s about incest right?”

Her eyes continued to sparkle. “You’re old enough to be my father for sure,” she giggled but before I could pout she added. “I like that. Means you’re more experienced. And maybe I’ve always had a thing for Daddy. You want to play my Daddy? Can I be your naughty little girl?”

I shrugged. The book in my hand seemed to weigh a hundred pounds.

Lynda was pursing her lips and squinting her eyes, a schoolgirl’s idea of method acting; she was channeling all the horny characters from those Porky’s movies. “I need it, Daddy! I need it so much! Isn’t there anything you can do?” It was playacting and even as she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes like a siren in a silent movie I could tell she was amused and intrigued at the same time.

I put down the book, carefully placing it on a small table next to an armchair intended for readers who wanted to browse books; what I wanted was to keep my knees from buckling so I sat. My palm rested on the cover of the book as though I was seeking an anchor.

Lynda was standing in front of me with a pained expression on her cute little elfin face. Her huge breasts strained against the thin fabric of her tank-top, at odds with her otherwise-slight frame.

I tried not to stare at those luscious big round breasts, but it was a struggle, let me tell you. She was irresistible: the large breasts, the rounded curves, the glow of femininity that nymphets just exude so naturally.

I finally took my hand off the book and raised an eyebrow at Lynda, trying my best to play the role of disapproving father.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it, Lynda. You should’ve thought about all this before you let yourself be photographed for that magazine.”

She stood before me, biting a thumb and looking coy and seductive. She was young and flawless with a tight body and amazing big breasts; yes, I couldn’t help staring at those creamy breasts.

She was still standing in front of me, pouting at my response.

“Daddy, you’re so unkind. Here I am in all sorts of agony and you don’t even care.”

Her green eyes sparkled as she said it, knowing that I couldn’t resist her.

Her arms were folded underneath her breasts, resting on the slight swell of her nymphet belly. She saw my eyes flicker over her body, and I could have sworn that a knowing look entered her mischievous eyes.

She made an exaggerated expression of aching, her cute features crumpling in an irresistible way, and her hands went to her breasts.

“Daddy, look.”

She took a step toward me, and her hands started to massage her breasts, slowly, gently. “Don’t you think my breasts are pretty? Didn’t you like the pictures in the magazine? I posed because of you Daddy. I wanted you to see me all naked. Naked…and ready.”

Her hips were gyrating as she fondled herself, a playful smile glowed on her face. “When I posed…I was thinking of you, imagining you, all the things you could do to me; when I think of you I get so hot! It makes me crazy. Can’t you help me Daddy? Am I being too naughty?” The last word came out as one of those morsels she liked to roll around in her mouth and she drew out the diphthong slowly, danced over the breathless ‘t’ and groaned the final vowel. It was an operatic performance and she closed by running her pink tongue over her ruby red lips.

She continued eagerly fondling herself. “When I do this, it helps a little. Do you think it’ll be OK if I do this? It is allowed, isn’t it?”

I adjusted the way I was sitting, folding one leg over the other, all too aware that my cock was stirring in my pants unbidden at the sight of a luscious playmate fondling her breasts like that.

She took another step.

“Oh yeah, it does help Daddy. It helps a lot…but…”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked forlorn. She bit her lip and looked me right in the eye, an action that was so overtly sexual my already stiff cock jumped to attention, straining against the fabric of my pants. I crossed my legs tighter.

“Well, just now Daddy, you asked me to do you a favor, right?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

“It’s just that…I know something that you could do to help me.”

She was right in front of me now, her hands still massaging her heavy breasts, and the motion of her fingers was tugging the fabric of her top down just a little, exposing a little of the unblemished pale skin of her breasts. I could clearly see her puffy, engorged nipples through the thin fabric of her top. I swallowed, and my heart began to thump faster in my chest.

“Could you….could you help me, Daddy? Pleeeease?”

She was practically on top of me, looking down at me with those sparkling green eyes, full of knowing.

I took a deep breath, “Alright then, sweetie. Daddy will help you. What do you need me to do?”

My voice caught in my throat, thick with lust, with need for her. Lynda’s face lit up in happiness as she heard my words.

“Oh, I knew you’d help me, Daddy. Can you just do this for me? Massaging them seems to help, but I just know it’ll feel better if someone else is doing it for me.”

Without waiting for my answer, she hopped into my lap, forcing my legs to uncross and making herself more comfortable. She draped her nubile body over me, her ass grinding into my lap, her back against my chest and her head bent over my shoulder so I could see the lush pale skin of her throat and the luscious cleavage revealed by the tight tank top. My protests died in my throat as her eyes widened to feel my throbbing hard cock pressing against her.

“Oh my, Daddy! I didn’t realize that I was having such an effect on you!” She winked at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell if you don’t. It can be our little secret. OK?”

I just nodded, unable to even find words. Her body was soft against mine, and she was pressing herself against my rock-hard erection as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

She took my hand and pulled it up to her breasts, softly rubbing her flesh with my fingers.

“Just like this, Daddy.”

She let her hand fall casually, and it just happened to land on the straining bulge of my cock. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then focused and started to massage her big, round breasts, just as she had showed me how to do.

Her skin was so soft and supple, and her breasts were lush and creamy. As I rubbed her Lynda sighed in contentment, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as I delivered her relief. And maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I could feel her hand moving, ever so slightly, on my cock too.

“Mmmmm, that feels wonderful, Daddy. It’s so much better when you do it.”

One of my fingertips accidentally brushed against a nipple through the fabric of her top and her eyes opened and she gasped.

“Oh, Daddy,” she murmured. “Do that again, would you?” Now her hand was definitely caressing me through my jeans, each touch sending shivers of pleasure through me. She had me and she knew it. I couldn’t stop now. I wouldn’t stop.

I reached up and slipped the strap of her top from her shoulder, letting it fall down. Her breasts were now fully exposed to me, hanging heavy and swollen from her chest. Her puffy nipples were big and pink and swollen. Lynda’s eyes were closed again, her face flushed and her soft lips just slightly parted. “Oh Daddy,” she purred contentedly.

With the fingers of both hands I started to caress her bare nipples, causing her to moan in delight and arch her back, grinding herself down against my eager cock. It was my turn to sigh in delight as I watched her rapturous expression, so pleased, so sensual.

I ran my fingers in light circles around the edges of her nipples, and her flesh came up in little goose bumps. In response, she ground herself down again, rubbing against my shaft, harder this time, more insistent.

“Daddy, you’re so hard! I like that in man.”

It was all I could do to stop myself from unzipping my pants and letting my cock free.

I took each of her nipples between my fingers and rolled them, ever so gently, massaging and caressing and teasing. Lynda let out a little whimper of relief.

“Yes, that’s it Daddy! That feels so good, do it again!”

Her breasts were so full of sensual yearning that they ached. I continued to massage her, and now her bliss flowed freely, coursing through nerve endings of the perfect globes of her breasts in electric bursts.

She groaned in delight as the pressure was relieved just slightly, so I didn’t stop. It was slow going – each touch brought more pleasure. Her breasts were so large, so soft, and she had so much to give.

“Sweetie,” I said. “I like touching your breasts. But Daddy has a better idea. What do you say?”

She opened eyes heavy with lust, with need, with desire.

“Whatever you think is best Daddy,” she moaned.

I placed my hands gently on her hips, taking care to be delicate with her, and turned her around so that she faced me. Her soft belly was between us now and her legs wrapped around my waist, her pussy directly pressing against my throbbing cock. And her breasts, creamy and soft, were right at my eye-level, just begging to be sucked.

I cast aside the last of my inhibitions and doubt and leaned forward, taking one of her hard nipples between my lips. Immediately her warm flesh filled my mouth, rich and velvety and warm.

“Oh Daddy, you are insatiable!” she squealed.

I sucked gently while my hands at her lower back guided her hips, urging her to grind herself against me once more. She moved under my ministrations, mewling and moaning in pleasure as I devoured her. She tasted so good; I couldn’t get enough. Again and again I swallowed down the flesh that she gave me, warm and silky and luscious. My heart was racing at the delicious naughtiness of it; the forbidden thing that we were doing.

After a while I moved my lips to the other nipple, still hungry, still craving more of her. I drank her down in great thirsty gulps, each swallow increasing my desire for her, each mouthful making my cock throb with desire and need.

I was devouring her flesh in greedy gulps and when I stopped for a moment her eyes flew open and she stared at me.

“Daddy, you’re not finished yet! There’s still more for you to…um..do. You know? I mean, I want you to…um, you know.”

I smiled at her.

“I know, sweetheart. But first, I need you to do something for me. Can you do that?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Heat radiated from her breasts, and the sight of them was driving me wild. I shifted her back a little in my lap, and she looked down. My cock was huge and hard in my pants, pressing against the fabric.

“Just like you needed some relief, Daddy does too. Do you think you can help me out, just like I did for you?”

She looked a little unsure for a moment; her girlish face took on the look of a high school student trying to solve sin(x) + 2 = 3 for 0° < x < 360°. Then she got it. She quickly nodded; she was a genius. “Of course, Daddy. Anything for you. Do you want me to do what I think you want me to do?” Her voice was soft, knowing.

“You can start by unzipping my pants. They’re a little uncomfortable right now.”

“Oh Daddy!” she breathed, her eyes misty with desire.

She fumbled with my zipper for a few moments, eventually succeeding in getting it undone. My cock burst free, still covered by my boxer shorts. Lynda’s eyes widened as she saw it.

“Daddy, it’s so big,” she gasped. “Bigger than I’ve ever seen before.”

She looked overawed, unsure what to do.

“Don’t worry,” I crooned. “Daddy will show you what to do.”

Holding her steady in my lap, I instructed her to unbutton my boxers, and she did. Finally my cock was free of its constraints, standing big and hard and proud. The tip was purple and engorged, swollen with my desire for her.

“Take it in your hands, sweetie. Stroke it for Daddy, slowly and gently.”

She did as she was told, spitting on her hands for lubrication. I sat back in the armchair and groaned as she began to massage and fondle my cock.

“That’s it….that’s a good girl.”

Her hands were soft and gentle, and seemed so small on my throbbing shaft. She gripped my length with the both of her hands, her arms resting on the swell of her teenage belly as she masturbated me. At first she was shy and tentative, but she soon warmed to her task, picking up speed and becoming more confident.

It felt so good to have this little princess with her hands on my cock, and it was all I could do to stop myself from exploding too quickly, spurting my hot load all over her hands. I groaned and sighed as her hands moved faster and faster, expertly sliding up and down the slick length of my manhood.

“Am I doing good, Daddy?” she asked, looking at me with shy, hopeful eyes, eager for praise.

“Ohhh yes, baby, so good,” I moaned. “So good. You’re a very good girl.”

Without me asking, she then slipped off my lap and came to kneel in front of me, looking up at me with her wide green eyes.

“You helped me with your mouth, Daddy,” she breathed. “So I think I should do the same for you, shouldn’t I?”

I could only nod in response. She dipped her head down and took my tip into her mouth, lapping up the bead of white that had oozed from me.

“Mmmmmm,” she said appreciatively, and then pushed her head down lower. I could feel the soft flesh of her breasts pressing against my legs as she started to suck me, forcing her head down further and further each time, taking more and more of my length into her mouth and down her throat.

I gripped the arms of the chair, my knuckles white with tension. It felt so fucking good to have her soft wet lips wrapped around my cock, to watch her suck and lick and swallow. I was getting dangerously close to the point of no return, but I didn’t want to finish yet. I wanted to finish inside her, to give her a load of my own in return for the pleasure she had given me.

I gently put my hand on her head and guided it upwards, off of my cock. It stood huge and hard, covered in her saliva, glistening and throbbing. I stood up and helped her up, guiding her towards a table piled high with books; one sweep of my arm took care of the pile. She giggled at the booming noise and giggled more as I lay her back on the tabletop. She rested her hands on her breasts as though offering them, rested her heels on the edge of the table and spread her thighs slightly as though offering herself. She lifted her head and watched expectantly. I went and stood between her legs, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of her. Her breasts were so big and swollen, swaying in dreamy rhythm.

I tugged down her pants eagerly, and my breath caught in my throat to see her cunt glistening wet, just ready and eager for me to thrust into her. She looked at me intently, her face reddening.

“I couldn’t help it, Daddy. I just got too excited. But I’m ready for you now – as long as you promise to be gentle with me.” Her misty eyes took on a mischievous glint. “I’m a virgin, Daddy; your little girl is still a virgin.” Her face was glowing with excitement; the game was pushing her to places she’d never considered before.

I could play along too; she could play the virgin but I was still going to ball her. I gripped my cock at the base and the head nestled in the dewy glow of her golden bush; her tender body tensed as the moist and shimmering curls caressed over my cockhead. “Oh Daddy,” she groaned and I guided myself into her. She was so wet that I slipped effortlessly inside, pausing to let her feel the weight and girth of what I was putting to her; she trembled like a faun.

“Take me, Daddy, she urged and I rammed in, all the way down to my hilt. She cried out in delight as I entered her and grabbed her breasts, enjoying the way the soft heavy globes filled my hands.

I started to fuck her, gently at first, just like she’d asked. She was so tight, the wet walls of her pussy wrapped around me just right. I took my hands off her breasts and let them heave up and down as I thrust into her again and again, each stroke of my cock drawing a sharp gasp of pleasure from her.

“Oh fuck, Daddy! It hurts, Daddy, you’re so big! Oh fuck, it feels so good! Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

My hands roamed over her soft pliant body as I fucked her, exploring her femininity, each curve a delight, each soft expanse of skin a delicacy to savor. She began to gyrate her hips in time with my thrusts, taking her own pleasure as I took mine. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she murmured in frenzied prayer.

Faster I thrust, faster and faster, I couldn’t stop myself, couldn’t slow down. She squealed and panted and moaned as Daddy fucked her, harder, harder, her breasts bouncing, her little body rocking back and forth.

“Daddy, I can’t hold it back any more. I think I’m gonna come! I’m gonna come!”

I could feel her body tensing, her muscles stiffening as her climax approached, unstoppable and relentless. At her words, I stopped trying to hold my own back.

She screamed, loud and long, and the channel of her cunt spasmed and tightened around my cock as she gasped and groaned, her eyes screwed shut in the rapture of her orgasm. One, two, three more strokes of my cock and my own climax came, my hot seed spraying from me in great spurts, again and again and again. I gave her all that I had to give, filling her up with my sticky load.

Her own climax finally finished, and she slumped her arms down on the table and dangled her legs over the edge, spent and exhausted. She was breathing heavily, and little sounds of pleasure sounded from her mouth, little aftershocks leaving her trembling and weak.

My own knees were weak, my whole body tingling with the force of my orgasm. I withdrew gently from her, and she gasped as I pulled out. My load filled her tight hole – I could see it oozing from her; she was filled right to the brim with Daddy’s seed.

She knelt down, her hands resting on her belly, and looked up at me. Her face was flushed, her hair in disarray – at that moment she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I bent my face close to hers.

“Here,” I said. “Let Daddy finish what he started.”

I dipped my head down and drank the soft flesh of her creamy breasts, my tongue wrapped around her nipple, drawing out her sweetness. A few final mouthfuls of her succulent flesh and she was spent, empty.

For now.

She lay down on the table, a luxurious smile on her face as she hugged herself.

“Oh, thank you so much Daddy,” she breathed. “You don’t know how good that feels now.”

“It was my pleasure, sweetie,” I said.

Her eyes sparkled; her grin was full of mischief. She suddenly pouted as if remembering something. “I have to get back to the Mansion. Mr. Hefner doesn’t like the playmates to be out to long.” She was already gathering up her clothes.

I remained silent, watching her dress. She looked very sexy tugging her tight clothes onto her nubile body. She gestured to the window. “The rain stopped,” she said as if that settled everything.

She was fussing with her hair and caught sight of the magazine. “I can sign it for you,” she said.

I shrugged.

“Don’t be mad, Daddy. I have to go.”

I shrugged again.

“Daddy!” she whined. “I have to go.” She looked at the time. “Well, I guess I still have time for…” She knelt and filled her mouth, murmuring as she gulped my cock deep down her throat. “I wuff eww, Ddddy.”

I closed my eyes and enjoyed her teenaged mouth sucking my cock. I loved working in a book store.

[keats]

Somebody had brought a boom-box to the hotel room and somebody else had made a tape of Christmas tunes. Poor Bridgett Rollins would have prefered Frank Sinatra singing The Christmas Waltz or Bing Crosby crooning White Christmas but the frat boys prefered novelty tunes like Judge Dread’s mocking Christmas in Dreadland. Christmas for Cowboys wasn’t much better.

Kappa Omicron Xi fraternity, better known as the Cocksmen, may have Christmas music playing but Christmas wasn’t much on their minds. Their attention was on the only girl in the room, pretty and pert Miss May, lithe and lively Bridgett Rollins.

The Cocksmen were deep in debate over the luscious Bridgett; the issue wasn’t whether or not to do her because they were going to do her for sure, but they wanted to do her right.

Bridgett sat on a high stool in the center of the room; her snug-fitting white jersey seemed to tighten around her neck like a noose as she blushed. Her tiny hands were folded demurely in the lap of her blue plaid skirt and her saddle shoes tapped nervously on bottom rung of the stool.

As the men encircled the petite girl, she could smell the heady aroma of the various drinks being imbibed; she could hear their words of course, and some the lewd suggestions kept her blushing, but the reality of what they were saying didn’t sink in. She was too guileless to imagine they could mean her any harm.

And, in truth, they did mean her no harm; in fact all of them were already quite smitten with Bridgett’s sweet personality and girl-next-door prettiness. Still there was no doubt that at least one of them was doing this luscious playmate tonight.

Only one of the Cocksmen was sitting. He took the whole couch to himself, sitting in the center and spreading his arms wide over the back; even sitting he seemed taller than most of his fraternity brothers. Unlike his brothers for whom jeans and tee shirts seemed to be the dress code, he was dressed in a Brooks Brothers dress shirt open at the neck and expensively casual slacks; his loafers looked like they had never touched anything as pesdestrian as pavement. The cufflinks of the shirt were black, the silluette of the Playboy bunny logo.

Those cufflinks made Bridgett nervous. The other playmates had told her that the publisher liked to reward his friends when they were particularly successful in pleasuring the girls who posed for the magazine.

Unlike his brothers he was silent; instead he sat quiet and still, his gaze fixed on Bridgett. He was motionless except for the fingers of one of his huge black hands which seemed to be playing a piano concerto over the fabric of the back of the couch. His intense eyes gleamed merrily against the black skin of his face and something about his merriement made Bridgett want to be merry too; but another part of her brain was dreading this big black man most of all.

The frat boy banter went on for a while longer before the large black man finally rose. Even before he raised a palm to the crowd to gain their attention they were already quieting down and showing him deference. Some already began sulking, jealously eyeing scrumptious Bridgett, already knowing what the big man’s pronouncement was going to be.

“Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, I am dismayed by your collective display of vulgarity in front of our lovely guest.” He nodded galllently to Bridgett and she blushed some more. “And, gentlemen, your arguments are moot anyway. After all, ‘twas I who raised the entire amount of our donation to Mr. Hefner’s Chrismas charity. ‘Tis I who merits the reward he has so generously bestowed upon us.”

“Augustine…” one of the others addressed the tall black man but a raised palm silenced the objection.

“As president of our chapter of Kappa Omicron Xi mine is the final decision.”

As he was speaking he strode confidently towards the tiny playmate. One of his strong arms slipped easily under her legs as he dipped slightly. He rose and lifted her effortlessly as the crowd parted. Feeling almost giddy from the velocity of being elevated into his arms, Bridgett could see the bedroom door and, beyond it, the large bed. She gulped. He took a few steps and paused; lovely tiny Bridgett squirmed in his arms as he turned back to the others.

“You see gentlemen, this lovely Christmas nymph has been here as our guest, curtesy of Mr. Hefner and I’m certain you understand that she and I would like to retire to the bedroom for our own Christmas cheer. The bar is well stocked, gentlemen so enjoy yourselves.”

The song on the boombox had changed: Queen’s big hit: Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality

Bridgett gulped again as she was carried off into the bedroom.

One of the other Cocksmen pressed the stop button on the boombox. A knowing and a scandalized look descended on them all.

After entering the bedroom the big man stopped and nudged the door closed with his foot. Pressing her body against his chest he released her legs. “We’ll have to pretend there’s mistletoe,” he chuckled and pressed his mouth over hers. She dangled in his arms and her legs fluttered helplessly; his kiss was a command.

So Augustine continued, yet even while he was raping her mouth Bridgett’s resistance was fading, as at a departure, into silence. For suddenly and when least expected the magic moment had come. The girl’s soft, living mouth received the thick greedy tongue. Bridgett’s breasts, which his fingers had begun to assault—had warmed ... had thrilled. Now her resistance seemed to be rapidly dissolving between his tingling fingers into a flowing essence: an essence moreover that felt to him as if it hummed (for it was indeed more a feeling than a sound, this humming) like a telephone-wire on a still evening. Then all at once his own trembling hand, which did the holding, began too to dissolve away in this essence, like a sandcastle in a rising tide. Now there was direct access—a direct union between the two of them through which great pulses of Bridgett’s soul seemed to be pumped up his arm and his tongue, thence gushing into his empty chest, his head, his singing ears.

Augustine shifted himself and stared down into Bridgett’s wild-eyed face. What must she be thinking about this extraordinary thing that was happening between them? For it was surely happening to her body and his alike—it was happening to them both, to the very separateness of their being. Her enormous soul was pouring every moment more deafeningly in and out through the steaming gates of his, while the whole world clanged about them. Yet Bridgett’s expression was enthusiastic and frenzied and unfathomable: her incredibly innocent face perhaps even glowing ...

The bedroom was softly lit, candles everywhere and a string of Christmas lights framing each of the mirrors. The radio was playing soothing Christmas music. And Bridgett looked angelic and warm in the gentle glow of the lights and flickering flames.

“Angelic?”—Why, this young face out of the whole world was the sole incarnate meaning of that dumb word angelic! In the whole world’s history, the first true license for its use! Her radiant face under his gaze was so animated it hardly seemed to pause for breath. Her wide eyes neither met his nor avoided them—her tongue danced against his; her body melted in surrender to the inevitable. His cock throbbed in anticipation of the reckoning to come.

The touch of her feet to the floor, when it eventually happened, seemed alien and she had to struggle to allow gravity and balance to guide her out of the dizzy supremacy of his kiss.

She squirmed out of his arms like a petulant child but he held her tiny hand to keep her close. “Where are you off to Miss Bridgett?” he teased.

She tugged her hand away and brought it to her lips as if to kiss away the memory of his touch. “I don’t even know your name,” she pouted.

“Augustine,” he said, “Like the saint.”

She smiled slightly; this huge man, already aroused and ready to fuck her, hardly looked saintly.

Not for the last time that night he seemed to hear her thoughts. “Oh, Augustine was a sinner too, Miss Bridgett.”

She smiled again and he was encouraged. “I plan to do a lot of sinning with you tonight,” he continued. “Santa won’t mind at all if I play with one of his sweet little elves.”

She shook her head. Did she mean “No Santa wouldn’t mind” or did she mean “No, she wasn’t going to play?” Even she wasn’t sure which.

“How old are you little girl?”

“Eighteen,” she said, her tiny voice barely audible.

“Eighteen,” he repeated as if that was the finest news he’d had all day. His wide mouth grinned broadly, his teeth gleaming in the Christmas lights. The lechery in eyes flashing in candlelight. He perused petite Bridgett’s luscious body as if he were perusing his gifts under the Christmas tree.

“I’m going to lift up your little school girl skirt, Miss Bridgett.”

She was too dumbfounded to move but she trembled when, with surprising delicacy, he lifted her hem. He paused and admired her soft thighs and her gossamer panties.

“You look fine, Miss Bridgett; you’re my fine little elf, sent to me from Santa because I’ve been so good.”

She nodded shyly at this silly idea.

“Will you take your clothes off for me, Miss Bridgett?”

She shook her head fiercely.

Augustine was patient; he picked up a magazine that had been lying on the night table and gestured to the girl. Bridgett recognized the cover but still she was not prepared when he opened to the middle and held the pages up; the three-part foldout of her centerfold shot was displayed before her.

“So pretty,” he said.

But the other girls, the other playmates were prettier she thought to herself.

He nodded as if he had heard her. “You’re my pretty little Christmas elf; I only want to do you for Christmas.”

“I…” but she had no words.

“All I want for Christmas is you,” he said snappily and that brought a tiny smile to her lips.

He glanced at the centerfold, then back at the girl. “You look so pretty naked.” He paused, giving her a chance to comment. She only smiled shyly, crossing her legs together and tugging at the bottom of her jersey. “Your perky little titties and your sweet little bush. I bet you’re pussy is real tight and fine. Your body is so fine in these pictures, baby. Don’t you think it’s time you showed me?”

She blinked, not comprehending.

“Time you got undressed, Miss Bridgett,” said Augustine.

A dozen different responses flashed through her pretty head: resistance, capitulation, apprehension, exhilaration…A thousand pictures exploded behind her eyes: his mouth on her bare nipple, his massive cock pressing against her pussy…She took a couple of anxious breathes and then bit her lower lip to calm herself. The Christmas lights glistened in her wide-open eyes. “OK,” she breathed out finally; she stood in place though, still tugging at the jersey and worrying the weave of the knit.

He waited another few seconds to see if she’d respond or make a move toward undressing. “Come here,” he said finally, his voice was firm now.

Slowly Bridgett wandered across to have her clothes peeled off.

“Such a pretty doll,” said Augustine, mechanically, as he always would when stripping a girl he was going to do. He began to lift the jersey off of her; she raised her arms submissively, so the garment could come off.

“Ow!” said Bridgett, as she always did (for the neck of her jersey was too tight,) and wandered off again nursing her damaged ears. Augustine just had time to undo the three large buttons on the back of her skirt before she was out of reach, and as she walked away the blue plaid skirt fell off around her feet.

The rest of her undressing Bridgett could do herself, given time and her whole attention. It was chiefly knots and strings and hooks: she wore a bodice, a sexy sort of under-garment, which was tight with silk ribbons. But tonight her fingers fumbled feebly and uselessly, fainting at the very first knot; for her attention was all elsewhere.

A melody from the radio distracted her, the Chinese music from the Nutcracker. The bright and lilting tune lifted her into playful dance steps and she began now to make exotic swimming movements with her hands. The sexy bodice hung, half undone and revealing the sheer bra underneath.

“Stop dawdling, little girl” said Augustine, but without much stress; he knew she’d be bared to him soon enough and the pleasure of watching her strip could be prolonged. Bridgett made a brief effort; something else fell off her: a two-tone shoe favored by girls in Catholic school and she stepped out of it where it lay. Then she left the other one a few inches away from its mate as she drifted dreamily around the room; the Christmas music was more from the Nutcracker, the Waltz of the Flowers; soft and slinky now it made the tiny girl feel sexy and warm.

Minutes passed ...

“Wake up, Miss Bridgett: stop dawdling,” said Augustine.
Another brief effort, and balancing on one foot playfully she tugged off one frilly sock and then the other; they fell to the floor too, joining the trail of the shy girl’s clothes as she wandered further from him; she toyed with the remaining ribbons of the bodice, sometimes twisting them nervously, sometimes tugging the ends so they slowly unfurled and so it went on until all the many ribbons were undone and the bodice slid to the floor in surrender and at last Bridgett had on nothing but a clinging sheer bra and flimsy see-through panties as she stood at the window, her bare waist reaching just above the sill, looking out through the watery glass.

In the street far below people were still scurrying past, arms laden with Christmas packages. There seemed no end to them. That was what was wrong with Chicago: “If only there were fewer people in the world how much nicer it would be for us elves,” Bridgett told herself ...

“Us elves! Bunnies more like it, soft fluffy, helpless bunnies.”—Bridgett could think a bunny’s kind of thoughts much easier than other people’s kind, for her “thinking” was still more than nine parts emotion.

Yet again the big man seemed inside her head and listening; his sleek voice purred along with the Christmas music, “You’re my cute little bunny aren’t you? So sweet. You’re going to be so sweet for me.” Yet again she imagined him taking her, she could almost feel the massive thrust of his cock splitting her apart. She heard his voice, silky smooth, narrating the pictures in her head. “That’s right little girl; I’m gonna be deep inside your tight little pussy and it’s gonna feel so fine.” Bridgett’s tiny body stiffened; he kept talking about how tight she would be and her insides tingled as she realized he was right: she was small and soft and he was huge and hard. The tune on the radio was fast paced: Sleigh Ride; she imagined his cock exploding inside her, gushing hot and thick, filling her with ecstasy. She gasped and pressed a palm to the window; the glass was winter cold. The radio hummed Let It Snow, Let It Snow. She was doomed.

She saw in the window the reflection of the room behind her. She saw he was undressing himself and she gulped. Her finger traced a shape in the frost on the glass, a long thick shaft. She rubbed in between the lines until the drawing turned into a big, black…

“Wake up!” said Augustine—still without much urgency. “Bra.”

She blinked to attention and noticed in the glass that he was wearing boxers decorated with candy canes. She smiled and thought of Christmas again; he said she would be his little elf. She would make him happy.

“How about the bra now?” he reminded her gently.

Still facing the glass she watched his eyes in the reflection as he watched her unhook the front of the bra and slowly unpeel the sheer garment from her firm round breasts. The straps slid down her arms and caressed her back and hit the floor with a submissive flutter.

A final effort and the panties too lay on the floor. Augustine made stirring sounds in his throat: “Come on,” said Augustine to her reflection, “or I’ll pop a nut right here.” He could see those small, delectable breasts reflected in the window and her blushing nipples looked like bright candy. Her fine tight ass twitched nervously as he growled his words. He was brandishing his cock like a weapon and taking a step closer to her.

“Don’t!” said Bridgett indignantly, surprising herself with her forcefulness. She was unsure about the reason for her indignation but then she was sure. Again she imagined his shaft inside her, gushing into her with massive loads of his seed. “Don’t,” she said once more but wistfully now. Her cute little pink tongue moistened her lips.

Her back still facing him, she studied his reflection in the glass. He was proffering his cock to her now. She had known it would be huge but seeing it erect and hungry for her; she gulped. The black shaft’s reflection mingled over the reflection of her own nude body. She could almost feel it inside her already pulsing with black fury then erupting with white liquid fire…She gasped and blinked, averting her eyes from the massive weapon awaiting her. The Christmas candles flickered in excitement. She saw the bed waiting expectantly behind him; she couldn’t dare look at it too long. She had found the dark gleam of a cufflink still in the sleeve of his shirt on the floor and was trying to imagine herself fixing it in her navel, but it wouldn’t stay there of course. “If only I had some honey,” she thought ... but at that moment she felt herself lifted in the air, carried—her feet weakly kicking—and plumped down in the middle of the large bed. Augustine’s patience was exhausted.

Bridgett seized a pillow and tried to cover herself, and once more her thoughts were on the huge cock and how it would explode with power inside of her time body: fierce images flooding through her; so far this time they were not even fully formed when Augustine dragged off her hands and spread her protesting thighs.

“Now!” said Augustine, holding her struggling legs; he began warming the tender flesh of her thighs by pressing his lips against her skin.

She felt the moist heat, the sandpaper gruffness, the delicious hunger of his tongue lapping over her softness. Her brain wanted to scream, to struggle, but Bridgett’s tiny body was loth to move.

He licked inner folds of her left thigh, “One ...”

He licked across to her right thigh, “Two ...”

Then the secret door opened and in came Augustine’s tongue. He craved for and gulped a spoonful of sugar.

As for Bridgett, speech was so inadequate to express her longing that she was silently dancing it: her tiny body writhing in pleasure, her tongue stuck out as if in exile for its uselessness.

The best way to eat Bridgett’s delicious honey-pot was to gently spread her thighs apart, holding her limbs so she couldn’t shyly try to close them, and with her snatch open, she’d offer you her glittering, rosy, moist, honeyed, treasure. Then you lick over her tender skin, tracing the triangle of her bush and teasing the curls around her softness and then kiss the lips of her pussy with your lips. Oh yes, Bridgett’s own mouth was eager and energetic, imaginative and bold; the pleasure of her lips working fervently over your cock while your tongue lapped up her nectar—that was indeed heavenly. But when you held her down and let her lithe body wriggle and squirm in ecstasy while her own soft mouth burst forth with sweet moans of pleasure—that was cosmically divine.

Augustine was a brilliant pussy eater of the youthful passionate kind who wholly identified with the pleasures at hand. Thus once his lips were on the petals of her flower he forgot his own lust entirely. And this mattered greatly to Bridgett. She too knew how to merge herself utterly to the probing hunger of his tongue. Being pleasured this way was one of her loves; the moment the engine of his tongue broke into its purring, organ-like roar she opened her mouth and began singing treble to Augustine’s bass, and for an hour Augustine and she did not for a moment stop singing, through her helpless writhing and bucking, wordless implorations, climaxes, and more climaxes.

On the tops of those mellifluous high orgasms, above her ecstasy were the hanging clouds of black storms, the threat of the huge cock she knew would be ramming into her soon in the ancient ritual of tender girl and brutal man; there was only her delicate soul surrendering to the sensual pleasures of her body possessed by this man and caressing her soul as his tongue caressed her flower. And beyond those storm clouds was a sky full of angels. Bridgett had got her arms in the air now and waved to the angels, inviting their descent to make a trio of it.

Perhaps another orgasm?—A-a-a-ah! Thank God for his good gift of his tongue! Drinking ... Yes, drinking and probing and teasing, all hers but she was his: these were the times she really felt the him and the her were ‘We,’ were all one, felt she truly belonged.

She was happy. The room had begun to rock gently but only like—like a cradle: the motion was not unpleasant yet.

She was troubled in a deep corner of her mind, plagued with dark thoughts floating across things—thoughts that even the sweetness of his tongue could not dispel; and now these swimming thoughts had begun to coalesce in that queerly solid black cloud, curtaining totally one part of her mind. Now too that black cloud had begun to emit infinitesimal but brilliant blue flashes along its advancing edge ... for it was advancing, every now and then the cloud jerked forward a little further and the dread mingled with her rising ecstasy, the joy of her pussy being devoured. This was life itself-- the cosmos: a rope in the air she would climb, higher and higher, and—then, quite vanish into somewhere incomprehensible anyhow. Peace was a condition unknown to her and scarcely imaginable. The whole real-seeming world had melted round her. All she could think of was sex, her soft pussy gored by his hard cock, delectable and dangerous sex.

And Augustine too was swept away. An hour wasn’t enough for the succulent and sweet pleasure of her snatch, for the melodious tears of her ecstasy, for the warm moist deliciousness of her deepest secrets but his cock was hungry too; its massive girth and length, the sheer weight of it, loading up with seed to pump into the tender tiny girl: it was as irrevocable as the laws of physics. Slowly, urged by his cock’s lust, he rose on his arms, slowly as she spiraled in another climax, angels dancing around her, the shaft poised to strike.

At the sight of his own huge weapon about to assault the petite little playmate his conscience pricked him; but the cock had no conscience and its full force and fury fucked into the helpless girl in one merciless lunge. The angels were now devils torturing her soft body with their flames, dragging her to the depths of hell as the cock pounded her deep into the sheets. She shrieked loud enough for the men in other room to hear and glance at one another, raising their eyebrows at the conflagration ignited in the bedroom. She clawed and scratched and bit. The cock was massive and filled her entirely with a velocity of a bullet train bursting into her and then it exploded. White heat ripped into her, gushing through her filling her to overflow- his first ejaculation into her tenderness but not the last.

Like a cruel emperor with unlimited power, the cock remain hard, as unforgiving as an ebony club, and began thrusting in and out of the struggling girl.

She fought bravely for a long, long time; the agony of the massive shaft filling her, the indignity of her helplessness stoked a fury that would not be abated, but lingering behind, growing with each stroke into her tender depths was the erotic sensations, the pleasure of arousal and fulfillment; her own libido was teaching her to draw him in, to taunt and tease his shaft with the moist sweet tightness of her body. And her tightness was delicious torture for him; each thrust into her was a struggle for him to drive down deep in the writhing, whimpering girl and each time he was convinced his cock was going to burst into her once more but he kept pumping into her, over and over.

As a well-made kid glove will be so exactly filled with a hand that one can’t even insert a thin dime between them, so the membrane of Bridgett’s pussy was now exactly shaped and stretched to hold Augustine’s peerless shaft and nothing more; it felt stretched to bursting by it and couldn’t conceivably find a hair’s-breadth room for anything else.

Augustine navigated now with every hard deep stroke into her softness, exploring all the erotic zones of her soft sex. He was focused on one thing, like the yachtsman working along the coast who takes some point on his beam to steer by instead of looking straight ahead—some bold headland, or rock-girt lighthouse—and fills his mind with that cynosure, keeps taking new bearings on it, and reckoning his changing distance from it. This was very much the way Augustine now balled the delicious girl. Every inch of his cock, every nerve seemed aware of the direction Bridgett’s ecstasy lay, just as the body of the writhing girl could feel the heat of his cock as if the sun’s rays were pouring into her.

The cock was too heavy for the girl to be able to move her hips but every other inch of her body jerked and shook in paroxysms of rage and desire, and at every such movement all her tender contours crumpled and collapsed like a half-deflated balloon.


Slowly the bliss blessed them and the sensuous rhythms took over. They balled like machines dreaming. Bridgett was crying softly, stroking his face as he suckled on a nipple as he fucked into her.

This motion, now: was it a cradle, or was it a galloping horse giddy-up giddy-up ...?

“You are so sweet!” he suddenly exclaimed aloud.

The room faded and she was away: hounds in full cry, Black Thunder (or was it Volcano?) between her thighs, filling her with its power. Hup! Black Thunder it was: how beautifully she thrust up to meet top of the shaft and then the downward plunge, the miraculous recovery and away.—Aren’t you afraid?—Yes of course she was afraid..

... She was doomed she was going for the highest place of a-a-a-all! Fuck!—Oh, thank God!

There had surely been something a little vigorous and heartless about the way this orgasm broke her all through (or so it seemed to Augustine and even Bridgett too looking back on it afterwards); the screaming was all just a trifle noisier than humanly possible, the attitudes more striking: there was an evident bravura and a bravado about every stroke he pounded into her. For this playmate was somehow, some way, riding the cock to disaster. Thus in its approach it made poor Bridgett like a skater caught far out too late in a thaw, who knows her only, but desperate hope, lies in speed. The ice is steaming in the sun and there can be no turning back. She hears her own anguished cries but she lowers her head with muffled ears, she flails with her arms and thrusts ever more desperately with her legs in her efforts to skate even faster still on the cracking, sinking ice.

A shriek, a siren sounded—shatteringly, in that enclosed space. The yell could not possibly have lifted him but it nearly threw him over: extraordinary it could come from so very small a body!

Augustine, still humping the little body and her triumphant eyes were now on stalks; she was dropping into a climax as if she were falling down a mine shaft, Augustine just had time to clamp his teeth over one of her nipples Bridgett sprang squealing straight into his lap—with the curls of her pussy intermingling with the hair at the base of his cock; he was completely inside her, impossible to imagine that huge cock so deep in such a small body but now she was coming all around him, her ecstasy a cosmic fury.

Bridgett, complete at last, was in the seventh heaven of delight. She lifted herself to nuzzle her damp head against his chest, where she could breathe nothing but his magic smell, listen to the thumping of his heart.

Reluctant at first to let his momentum slow inside the sacred girl, he kissed tenderly at the steaming, flower-petal skin of her shoulder. But with her head against him she grabbed his hand tyrannically to her and pressed its hard hollow palm tight over her outside cheek and temple and little curly ear, so that her lucky head should be quite entirely squeezed between him and him. And him inside her too, coming again and again into her tightness.

How was it possible that she could hear carolers singing Joy to the World? And in her girlish imagination were those the bells of Santa’s sled she heard too? She burst into tears and an endless blaze of bliss and this was her Christmas.

[keats]

New Years Eve at the Playboy Mansion and Peter was bored. The party was noisy and smoky, a combination that did not appeal to him. He was in a good mood though; he had parlayed some investment capital into a tidy profit for his new consortium, including the host of this very party, and his reputation as an up and coming investment counselor was morphing into a reputation as the best counselor around period. And he was beginning a second career, an avocation really, as a scout for Playboy.

He wasn’t being vain as he counted off the playmates he had bedded: bodacious Cynthia Myers, seductive Leslie Bianchini, sweet Kathy McDonald, curvaceous Shay Knuth, and recently he beat the publisher in a competition for Chris Koren’s virginity. And then those twins from Malta…Christ, it was a good life. He looked in a mirror. The living room of the Playboy Mansion had a lot of mirrors; he looked and he saw himself as a heroic figure. Byron maybe. Certainly his combination of classic style and increasing wealth made him attractive to the kind of girl who would make a good playmate.

Tonight though, held no prospects for scouting; all the girls invited to entertain the guests were all ready affiliated with Playboy, most had modeled for the magazine, and some were even Playmates. Sure, he could enjoy the pleasures of one of these girls but he in a different mood; he felt on top of the world but the music and the smoke, the general self-conscious hipness of this party was, well, boring.

He didn’t care to go back to his hotel and he didn’t want to stay in the living room so he just drifted away, strolling through the Mansion with no real purpose. It was the quiet more than anything else that brought him to the library.

She looked like a school girl staying up late to do homework. She was sitting at the long table with a stack of encyclopedia volumes in front of her and several dishes of candies: chocolates, hard candies, licorice sticks, even crystalized fruit. She was wearing men’s pajamas several sizes too large for her but even the baggy drape of the silk and the buttons demurely buttoned up to her chin could hide the sexy curves of her young body and full breasts.
She was closely examining volume C of the encyclopedia and munching on a red licorice stick like she was Bugs Bunny with a carrot. Her cutely freckled face was frowning in concentration as though she was parsing out some difficult words and syntax. Her lips moved sweetly as she read. Her blue eyes sparkled in the soft light and they were illuminating the room; she twirled some strands of her corn silk hair around the fingers of her free hand trying to twist some insight from the book into her brain.
Peter watched her for a while and then cleared his throat to let her know he was there.

She beamed at him the way a young girl beams at Santa Claus. She gestured to a button on the table and then waved her hand over the bowls of candy. “This place is amazing!” she gushed, “When you press the button the waiter brings another bowl of candy. All kinds of stuff.” She took another bite of licorice and chewed with a thoughtful look on her face. “I wonder if they’ll bring M and Ms next time.” She pushed the bowl of chocolates toward him. “Want some?”
“No thanks,” he said, moving deeper into the room. She smelled sweet and fresh. The soft touch of her silk pajama top nicely showed off the outline of her nipples.

“You sure?” she asked, seeming to disbelieve that anybody could resist the allure of an endless supply of sweets. “We can ring for more. Maybe they’ll bring butterscotch.”

He stepped behind her to the small bar and poured himself a Scotch; he didn’t need butterscotch. He leaned over her shoulder to look at the open pages. Her hair smelled heavenly. “What are you studying?” In the back of his mind he dreaded the notion that she might actually be doing homework; could she be only in high school?

“I’m trying to learn about when the new decade starts. Is it nine teen seven tee, or nine teen seven tee one?” She said each syllable as if it were a separate word, making it all sound very important in her little girl voice. She held up the book. “I looked up ‘decade’ but it wasn’t there so I’m looking at ‘calendar’ now.” She frowned at the page as if disappointed.
“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m, um, Miss January? January nine teen seven tee.” She blushed at the very thought of telling him she was a playmate but she was too innocent to hold back any information. “And I don’t know if I’m the first playmate of the decade.”

Standing behind her Peter nodded sagely, silently wondering where this conversation could possibly lead. He leaned in closer, putting a hand on her left shoulder as his head pressed over her right. His check brushed against the lustrous waves of blonde hair tumbling over the silk of her pajamas. With his right hand he held the edge of the large volume, his fingers gentle and persistent as they tried to loosen the girl’s suddenly unyielding grip on the book.

She was obviously nervous now to have him so close. She tapped a finger anxiously on the page. “It says here that there is no year zero, so the first millennium started on January one, one C.E., the day after December 31, 1 B.C.E.” Her hand reached for the bowl of chocolates and she stuffed several into her pretty little mouth. “I donno wha See Eee is,” she mumbled around the bonbons melting over her tongue, “Ish that like Aey Dee?” She reached for more chocolate but Peter stayed her hand. Her palm was moist and warm under his gentle touch. She blushed sweetly. And when she trembled her soft hair rustled deliciously against his cheek.

She was skittish like a young mare but the curves under the silk of the pajamas were impossibly sexy. He knew he’d have to move slowly.
His voice was calm as he spoke to her. “Well, look at it this way. You have checks with part of the year printed on them, right?” The hesitant way she nodded indicated that she probably had no idea what he meant. “They print the first three digits on the check so you just fill in the last one,” he explained. She nodded with more enthusiasm.

Her tongue darted out, soft and pink and glistening as she eyed the bowl of chocolates again but she didn’t move her hand where he had it pressed against the table top and she didn’t resist as his other hand unfurled her tiny fingers from the book. She sat now as his willing prisoner with him leaning over her from behind and pressing one of her hands into the table while she intertwined her fingers into his other hand.

“So on January first, nineteen seventy, you had to throw away all your old printed checks and get new ones.”

Her face brightened. The hand that had held the book squeezed his and she twisted her face around to give him a broad smile. “So it is like I’m the first playmate of the decade.” Her face suddenly pondered the revelation. “Gee, that’s a lot of responsibility.” She slipped her hand out from under his and popped a chocolate in her mouth. Her eyes gazed at an empty space on the table as she contemplated the laws of time and physics. Peter stood still, breathing in her sweetness and letting the tight squeeze of her tiny figures hold him in place.

“I haven’t seen your centerfold,” Peter said gently and her hand tightened its grip on his. Without meaning to her head quickly turned to a spot on a shelf where some recent editions of Playboy were stacked.

She was reluctant to release his hand but he stepped away and when he picked up the magazine he felt mildly guilty. There on the cover Kathy McDonald shyly smiled at him in a framed version of her centerfold and there was Shay with a seductive gaze in her centerfold, and then there was Leslie Bianchini with the same wry smirk she used on him when she seduced him.

He sat next to the young girl; the encyclopedias were closed now and pushed away and she had pulled the bowls of candy in closer. She was worrying a licorice stick, pulling it in and out between her lips and gripping it tightly with one hand; with her other hand she was tapping the edge of the bowl of chocolates.

Peter made sure his chair was close to hers as he sat and he immediately opened to the title page of her playmate spread. He was instantly smitten right from the first image of smiling Jill Taylor wearing a tight hot pink haltertop. Her breasts, even draped in the cotton fabric, were spectacular. But the picture right next to it confirmed the excellence of those nubile breasts; naked from head to toe, she leaned against a rail with a leg demurely crooked to hide her sex but her breasts were high and firm and inviting. The lush curves of her ass and breasts were spectacular. He glanced at the girl next to him and her lips were moving as she silently read the words on the page: “Not one to take her cue from the past or to worry about the future, blithe-spirited Jill Taylor digs living in the now.”
The narrative was titled “Sunny Girl” but he skipped over the story and captions; he knew they were phony. Even as the girl in the photo smiled brightly, the same girl next to him pressed her lips together in anxiety but also gave him a sidelong glance as if to seek his approval. The licorice stick was on the table in front of her and still wet and sticky from her mouth.

The next page was filled with candid photos of Jill with friends. She looked to be delighted to be playing like a kid on a playground in a series of shots covering a pillow fight. “That’s just some house they rented for the day,” Jill explained but then she gulped and fell silent as Peter turned to a shot of her standing naked in a pool. The California sun seemed to kiss her soft skin.

He could see the real girl’s face reflected in the polished sheen of the wooden table. She was biting her lower lip in anxiety, but her eyes sparkled in curiosity. Clearly she didn’t want him to see these pictures but she desperately wanted him to like them.

Another page of black and white candids of the playful teenager enjoying herself with her friends gave the real playmate next to him a small respite from her apprehensions so he lingered for a moment but then the inevitable came. She held her breath as the three panels of her centerfold unfurled before their eyes.

Peter loved the girl next door quality sought out for playmates and many playmates exuded that quality quite nicely but none could exceed the all-American guileless charms of Jill Taylor sitting on the bed in her centerfold pose. A beautiful, gorgeous body; a freckled face impossibly cute; and a sexy pose that set off the lush ripeness of her flawless breasts. Just like she was now in the library, in the centerfold shot her blonde hair tumbled in waves over her naked shoulders, even slightly teasing over one eye as though she were Veronica Lake. In the photo she smiled a sunny and naïve California girl smile as though she didn’t even realize she was naked, but sitting next to him she smiled shyly, avoiding his eyes as she held her head down to avoid looking at her centerfold; her hair tumbled over her face, shimmering corn silk soft against the green silk of her pajama top.

Her hands moving slowly, as if in a ballet, delicately collapsed the centerfold and closed the magazine. She pressed a palm on the cover and sighed. She waited, knowing what was coming.

Miss January 1970, the maybe first playmate of the new decade, winced as she heard Peter’s chair screech as he pushed it back. A true gentleman he pulled her chair out for her and held out a hand to guide her out of her seat.
Her fingers were moist and they pressed into his palm as he led her to the couch. She tried to hide her nervousness with chatter. “Isn’t the Mansion amazing? Everybody’s so nice! And all these celebrities! I mean it’s New Years and all…” He patted her hand to calm her and she fell silent.
The nubile playmate sat down, demure and shy and folded her hands over her knees and waited again. She glanced over at the table where her centerfold spread lay hidden in the closed magazine but she blushed as if guilty of some naughty act.

She spoke softly as if in confessional, “I was nervous when I first had to undress like that, you know? But I really wanted to. I wanted to make somebody happy. It was really special.”

Peter sat next to Jill and nodded. “It made me happy to see it.”

Her blush was scarlet but she was clearly pleased. “Really?” she squealed but then fell silent again as she read the intentions in his eyes. But she leaned in closer.

“It makes me happy to be with you, Jill,” he said softly. You’re a pretty girl.”

“Really?” she said a little doubtfully; there were so many glamorous women at the party.

“You’re a sexy girl, Jill.” His voice was calm and flat.

“Really?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He placed a hand on her shoulder; she winced slightly but then smiled shyly.

“You could show me how sexy you are,” he said in that same calm voice. His hand gripped her shoulder.
She looked into his eyes; her own eyes glistened as she nodded.

“This is a lovely way to ring in the New Year, Jill,” he said as he moved his hand behind her head. The kiss was sweet and frothy, her mouth warm and eager.

“So pretty, so sexy,” he reaffirmed, stroking her cheek. “You’re going to make me so happy.”

“I want to,” she whispered meekly.

He smiled and started to make his move. His hands dropped to her lap and he fingered the hem of the pajama top. She guided him to the bottom button. “Mr. Hefner gave these pajamas,” she said. He nimbly worked the first button free and began to open her pajama top, one button at a time. As each button came open she breathed out a sigh, first the bottom one, then the next one, then another. She trembled. She avoided his eyes but she lifted her chin to allow him to find that button at her throat. She held her breath as his fingers worked. The buttons were opened but the silk clung to her skin, reluctant to abandon her soft warm flesh, She leaned forward slightly and the fabric dropped away exposing her breasts.

She breathed out, almost relieved that her flawless breasts were bared to him. She fixed her gaze onto a spot on the floor, afraid to look into his eyes. Words gushed out of her softly. “Being a playmate is the scariest thing I can imagine. It's like you try to express your feelings to someone, and show them your heart...”

Peter was almost speechless gazing at the ingenuous beauty of this genuine girl next door. “I need to kiss you.” He picked up her moist hand and kissed it. Jill turned and leaned back into the leather. Her lips parted.

His kiss was tender and his hand gently caressed the bare breasts as their tongues intertwined. Jill moaned her sweetness into his mouth.

She squirmed next to him, her breasts heaving in his hands. Peter stroked her hair.

The kiss broke and Jill blushed. He stroked her hair again. She blushed.

Another torrent of anxious words spilled from her luscious mouth. “Sometimes when a man looks at me…it’s like a whole story all at once, you know? I can see that he just sees me without my clothes on. And that’s OK because it makes him happy. But when a man kisses me, I mean really kisses me, it’s like we share a secret and anything can happen.”

They kissed again; her mouth was chocolate, warm velvet and innocence. Her inexperienced hands held his head, her fingers rushing through his hair. She writhed sweetly, her voluptuous body caressing against him. She couldn’t help the urge that shot up her spine; gripping his hair she guided his mouth over the soft skin of her languid throat and she buried his face between her two quivering breasts.

He began to kiss and suckle on those two delectable and bountiful mounds. She dropped her head back, surrendering. Overwhelmed, she began another gush of nervous chatter. “I’m so happy that you like my breasts; I want you to have them. I know they’re big, my breasts. I used to get teased. But it’s different. When a man sees my breasts I know right away…I mean I know what he wants and it makes me happy…Oooooh…” Peter was taunting a nipple with his teeth, making her wince and lose her train of thought. His lips formed a seal over a wide swath of the delicious cream of her breast and he pulled her into his mouth. “Ooooh, that’s so nice…” She stroked his hair as he suckled. “So nice…” Her voice trailed away as her arousal gripped her. Jill’s supple body writhed slowly as he devoured her flesh and her abundant chest offered a feast that would take a delightfully long time to consume.

She closed her eyes and saw butterflies and bursting stars; she felt arousal grip her but she thought it was merely the joy of giving him pleasure. One of her hands twirled his hair into little ringlets around her fingers but as his sucking grew more intense and voracious she began to grip his head with urgency.

Her other hand, like a delicate blossom fluttering from a tree in spring time, dropped onto his thigh. The flat of her palm stroked up and down over the rich fabric of his slacks and the side of her graceful hand gently caressed the erection she had inspired. “Mmmm,” she purred as if imagining something really naughty and as he suckled and fondled her breasts, her hand delicately explored the contours of his cock; even through his clothes she could feel it’s heat and power.

“There’s something about making a man happy, that is so nice. It’s kind of scary too,” she said breathlessly. “Even just talking and kissing and stuff, that’s real nice. But I’d do anything to make you happy.” Her finger tip found the zipper and she tugged slightly but the metallic sound startled her and she withdrew her hand.

His palm rested on the delightful roundness of her girlish belly and she giggled sweetly. With his other hand he brought hers back to his cock. Her hand moved slightly so that she now stroked, in delicate and demure virtue, the length of the throbbing bulge in his slacks. “You’re so big and strong,” she purred and in the tremble of her innocent voice it was clear she meant it. “I want to make you feel good. Tell me what to do, OK? Let me make you good.”

Peter’s hand spread out over her belly; the fingertips touched the waistband of the pajama bottoms. He reluctantly lifted his head off of her luscious breasts and looked into her trusting face. “Jill, I’m going to take these off.” She looked down at the hand holding the knot closing the belt around her waist. She looked back at him with timid eyes and she nodded.

His fingers toyed with the string holding her pajama bottom up. She whimpered as he tugged the end and she whimpered more as the silk was pushed down her hips by his hands and hers. The silk tickled over her toes and she giggled but suddenly she was completely naked and she shyly crossed an arm over her breasts and cupped a hand over the soft glistening curls of her golden sex.

“Do you want to…? She asked in in tremulous voice. Peter just gazed lustfully on her guileless beauty, forcing her to speak the unspeakable. “Do you?” She whined softly. He remained silent, his eyes fucking her hard. “Do you want to have me?” she finally breathed and as if she had said a naughty word she lifted her hand off her lap and covered her mouth.
He couldn’t bear torturing the innocent girl any longer. “Absolutely,” he said and he meant it.

Jill’s smile was radiant and she threw both her arms around his neck and kissed him with a million enthusiastic and passionate kisses; a million honeyed blossoms caressed over his face.

Her hands fumbled delicately over the zipper of his pants but her fingers were too nervous to be effective. Gently he held her by the shoulders and slid her down on the couch. “Oh wow,” she said nervously, “This is sensational, wow, oh wow.” He pulled her legs up onto the seat so that she was completely supine before him. She crossed her legs shyly but raised her arms above her head; her breasts quivered as her whole body shuddered in anticipation.

Her eyes blazed with curiosity as he stood over her and undid his own pants. “Oh wow,” she gushed when his cock in all its hunger was revealed to her.

“Oh wow,” she breathed again; he was lifting one of her legs and draping it along the back of the couch. “Oh wow, oh wow,” she whimpered as he climbed between her trembling legs. “Oh, oh, oh wow,” she breathed as his fingers and cock head caressed over her pussy to bring it to ravenous arousal. And when the cock finally pushed against the soft blossom of her sex she groaned out “Oh wow” one more time.

His cock loomed like a thunderhead but he spoke gently, “Good girl, you are so good.”

He entered her slowly, almost reverently as if she were a shrine to purity. She moaned and whimpered helplessly and her soft sex tightened around him like a velvet glove. Her arms came up around his neck and she pulled her chest up against his, thrusting herself onto his cock. “It’s so big,” she murmured and then she kissed him, a cosmic earth-shattering kiss of fervent surrender.

He thrust in deep, one final plunge to ram himself balls deep in her sweetness. She released a silent howl; her eyes were brimming with tears and she was nodding eagerly. Her hips gyrated, encouraging his cock to work its magic. He lifted his hips, lunged in again, then again, and again as the nubile girl squealed in delight.

Peter was really fucking into her now; her sweet tightness and warmth urging him on, every stroke, every lift of his hips to pump out, and every thrust inside to touch her depths was a heavenly sensation rushing through his cock and into his skull and the honeyed confection of her eager tongue and nipples sent the pleasure into the stratosphere.

Jill was writhing in scrumptious anguish as she dangled from his neck and offered her tongue and her nipples to his voracious mouth. Her hips circled in erotic frenzy, desperate to join in the rhythm of his thrusts but in her inexperience she had to search frantically which tripled the pleasure for him; she impaled herself on his cock, filling the room with her sweet sobs as the huge mass of him rammed into her tiny body.

“It’s so big!” she whined whenever her mouth was free from his and she wasn’t sobbing in wordless anguish. “Oh wow, you’re so strong,” she gushed lovingly and she nibbled on his ear.

His fucking was ferocious now. He was fucking her hard and she was falling hard, falling into ecstasy and falling in love with this man who was consumed by her sexuality. She began to tear at his clothes as the undulations of her sexsweaty body made wet slapping noises over the leather couch.

His cock reveled in the tight sweet moist heat of her eager sex. Jill was young with little experience with men but she wanted to please him and her desire was magical. Every move she made with her tiny young body heighted the sexual pleasure of balling this beautiful playmate. The more he fucked into her the more loving kisses she gave with her sweet young mouth and the more loving caresses she gave with her tight tight pussy.

She had had a man or two before but she was still naive enough to be shocked when his cock jerked and quivered like a missile about to take off and she was wide-eyed with terror and joy as he blasted one load after another into her depths. At that very moment the entire Mansion burst into a cacophony of bells, shouts, music, and noise makers: mid-night on New Years. He came inside her yet again. Exulting in their private Midnight celebration sweet Jill giggled and sobbed as his cock exploded deep into her tightness. Her face exuded elated astonishment as if she were suddenly transported to a magical candy land. And then most shocking of all, she felt her own body explode in a red comet of orgasm burning her from head to toe. She screamed herself into a frenzy of twisting and writhing ecstasy that didn’t stop until she passed out.

When she roused she was back in her silk pajamas and she opened her eyes to see city lights flashing by outside a car window. She looked around and discovered she was in the back of a limousine cruising through nighttime Chicago. Her head was resting in Peter’s lap and he was speaking into a Dictaphone. He noticed Jill’s rustling and he winked at her, raising a finger to keep her silent until he finished his memo. “And schedule a meeting the architects. This project is green lighted, fully funded. I’ll sign the papers when I get back from Chicago.” He placed the mic in its cradle and smiled down at the lovely Jill.

“Wow,” she gushed, “You must be really important. Working on New Year’s Eve like you’re the president or something.” She reverently traced over the outline of his cock as it throbbed under his clothes. “I can’t believe you have time for me; I mean, you’re so important.” Her voice was worshipful.

“No more important that the first playmate of the new decade.”

“Really?” she blushed with pleasure, her freckles sparkling like stars. She lifted her head to look out the window. She realized she was being carried off from the Mansion, but to where?

Peter answered the question before it came out of her girlish mouth. “I wanted to show you my hotel suite,” he said.

Jill nodded and pondered this. She brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her eyes. A sly smile came over her face and with a new found confidence the first playmate of the new decade began to undo his zipper. “I never did this in a limousine. Is it OK if I try?”

“Oh, all right,” he agreed in mock submission as he settled back in his seat.

Jill’s sweet soft lips lovingly caressed the length of his naked cock and then as the limousine picked up speed she began to take the warm shaft down her throat. She giggled as she began her happy work.

[aylin35]

A good anal sex with Dirk
Monday afternoon, while I was shopping at the mal, I received a message from Dirk confirming that we were still on for Tuesday and that he had booked a little guest house in a nearby area for us.
I replied saying that it sounded perfect for me…

Dirk continued sending messages; asking finally what we would need for the anal sex he was planning to have with me.
Then I replied back saying we would need only some lube…
I added not to worry; I would bring some lube with me.

After that last message, I went to the lingerie store and picked up a nice and sexy outfit for that special anal sex meeting with Dirk.

Tuesday morning my husband was getting ready for work while I was getting dressed, wearing my ordinary gym clothing. I put a brand new large size tuve of lube into my bag.

I kissed Victor goodbye and then got my car, making my way to the guest house.

On arriving at the gate, Dirk opened up for me. He then met me by my car door and he greeted me with a deep kiss.

We made our way inside where he made us a cup of coffee as we discussed how to plan the naughty day, including anal into it.

After finishing our cup of coffee, my lover led me to the bedroom.
He placed his hands on my ass and started to kiss me. His hands slow moved up my back grabbing my top and lifting it up.
Our lips parted and he removed my top, I removed his shirt as well and soon our pants dropped to our ankles and not long later I was laying on my back naked with Dirk between my legs muffing my pussy. He licked my pussy lips up and down, sticking his tongue into my pussy as well as stimulating my clit.
I was moaning from pleasure and soon he brought me to orgasm from the oral pleasure.

After I finished my orgasm, I went to the bathroom with my bag.

I put on my brand new outfit; a sexy black crotchless catsuit.
Then I came back to the bedroom and Dirk whistled as he admired my covered body…

I smiled, handing him the lube tube from my bag.
Then I lay on the bed onto my back, my legs wide spread open, as Dirk squirted xome lube on his fingers.

Soon I felt his cold lubed fingers entering my asshole, very deep.
He looked at me in my eyes and started fingering my ass.
His middle finger was soon deep in my anus moving back and forth. After fingering me for a few minutes with his middle finger, he finally removed it and moved between my legs.

He entered his long hard cock into my pussy as our lips met and mouths opened and he started thrusting slowly in and out of me.

Then he quickened up the pace and started fucking me hard and rough, while I was screaming from the pleasure his hard dick giving to me. I felt my pussy tightened around his cock as I started to cry and have an intense orgasm again.

Dirk made me get on my hands and knees and then he entered me from behind. Meanwhile his thick thumb massaged my back door and soon it was completely buried in my asshole, passing my tight sphincter.
He kept fucking my pussy even faster and harder, making me squirt; as I moaned, screamed and shouted like crazy.
Then he pumped harder as he came inside of my cunt…
Dirk pulled his cock out of my pussy and continued to loosen up my asshole with his thumb. He said to me that he could not wait to fuck my cute tight ass as he removed his thumb and entered his middle finger into my butt again.

I replied saying that I was enjoying the way he was pleasuring me with his fingers buried deep inside of my asshole.

Then suddenly he took off his fingers and I knelt onto the bed.
I took the lube and squirted some onto my fingers. I moved my hand too my bum and started rubbing my bum hole as I told Dirk to watch for a while.

He stood behind me at the edge of the bed watching as I entered my middle finger into my ass… Soon I inserted a second finger…

Then I removed both my fingers and turned around, tossing him the lube, as I laid down on my back. I could see his long cock was hard and ready as he squirted lube onto his fingers and made his way towards me.
He first inserted done long finger back into my ass and fingered me for a while with it before entering a second one. He loosened up my asshole with his two fingers and after a few minutes I told him to remove his fingers from my ass and to lay on his back.

Then I took his long hard cock and jerked it off a few times, lubing it up from the tip and down his entire shaft.
I put a little more lube onto my now loosened bum before climbing onto Dirk and slowly lowering myself down onto his hard cock stopping as the tip of his head started to spread open my bum hole.

His hands were placed on my hips as I asked if he was ready. Of course he said he most definitely was…
Then I lowered myself down onto his hard dick. His cock head spreaded my tight ass and he said that it felt so good.
I took all of his long hard cock into my ass and once I became accustomed to having it full buried, I started riding back and forth.

He had a smile on his face as I rode him and after a while I stopped and got off and laid on my back with my legs in the air.
My lover moved in between them and he slowly entered his long cock into my ass again and started to fuck me anally.

He thrusted back and forth not to hard but deep that all of his cock was sliding into my anus.
Soon he started moaning, announcing he was closet o come. Then he gave me deep hard thrusts into my ass as he shot his seed inside of my body.

I moaned as he thrusted hard and deep until he finished cumming. He then laid down and kissed me while having the pleasure of his cock still in my tight butt. Our tounges massaged each other for a bit and once our lips parted he pulled his cock out of my ass slowly and he thanked me for allowing him to fuck me in that wild way...

I went to the bathroom to clean up once more.
Then I returned to the bed.
Dirk made lay on my back and he entered my hungry pussy again.

He asked me if I wanted it hard. Before I could reply, he started to thrust me deep and hard, in and out of me in missionary position. He then knelt upwards and lifted my legs up over his shoulders and started thrusting back and forth in and out of my pussy.

Then he fucked me hard and rough his cock hitting my back walls, giving me an intense pleasure as I moaned and screamed like a bitch in heat. Soon I felt a tremendous orgasm and reached climax. He kept fucking me deep, hard and rough making me scream from pleasure, just what I wanted. My pussy tightened around his cock as it was hitting up against my pussy walls as I screamed from the pleasure of another brutal orgasm. My pussy started to be sore…

Dirk soon started moaning as I finished my orgasm but he pulled out of me and as my legs came off of his shoulders, he jerked his cock and shot his cum onto my belly and pussy lips…

I thanked him as that was the rough fuck I wanted and I felt well pleasured by his magnificent hard dick...
After sharing a warm shower and playing a little bit more under the rain, we dressed up.

Dirk made me promise we would meet again for a nice fucking, but next time it would be in the face of my loving husband…

[aylin35]

My Sister is like me!!
My sister came on holiday with my wife Sue and i, we treated her to a holiday after she lost her job we thought it would be nice to give her a break. when we go on holiday we always go to Jamaica to paradise cos of our interest we have in black cock, but taking Lisa with us we thought we would have to not have our fun but just chill and take in the sun.

when we got there we got our rooms and i told Lisa to get changed then give us a knock and we would hit the pool on the 1st day and just chill. we sat round the pool and a few of the local lads were giving us the nod saying back again hope you's have fun. Lisa said they are friendly are they all like that, i said yes they will bend over backwards for you. as we sat round the pool Lisa stood up and i seen a tattoo on her bum cheek it looked like the queen of spades, i said Sue look at that is it what i think it is, Sue said i think it is, when you 2 are alone have a closer look i will do she said. Lisa was having a swim when our local lad who Sue and i always like to have!! came over and said will we be having the usual? i said my sister is here so we are just here for a holiday at the minute.

if you change your mind you know where i am, i said we will come knocking if we need you. a few days went by and Sue said she seen the tattoo close up and its deffo a queen of spades she must like the bbc, Sue said it must be in the blood, i laughed and said i wonder if my mam and dad also liked it? on a night time when we here Lisa kept saying she was tired and was going to bed early and now i know why she was leaving early she must have been getting some. i told Sue to tell her that she also was into it and we both share the black cock and that she can always talk to us about it, Sue went to Lisa's room and she was there a while when they both came into my room and i was laid there and Lisa said Kev i can't believe that you and Sue swing with the bbc, i said sis we have been into it for years and i don't know why but we love to share, Lisa said when she was 16 she slept with her 1st and she never went back, i said to her but i never see you with a black man when you are at mam's, i know i date the white but fuck the black.

on the night time we sat round the table having a few bottles and telling tales when one of Lisa's from the night before came over and said are we on again soon! Sue said to him don't be shy sit down and have a drink, i asked him his name and he said it was Tyler, Lisa said to us he was a goer and a grower!! he looked at us all as we all laughed he looked lost. Sue said how big was he Lisa, she said he grew to a 10ish but had a fat head, i couldn't believe i was sat with my sister talking about men's cocks. Sue looked at me and said could she share him with Lisa, Lisa looked at me and said go on let us have some fun, Ok i said go on. Lisa stood up and took Sue's hand and said to Tyler follow us.

Sue looked back and said give it 5 and you can come. i gave it 10 minutes and as i walked to the room i thought do i really want to see my sister naked getting fucked? i was stood at the door holding the handle thinking should i.
i thought fuck it, i walked in the room and there laid Sue on the bed with Lisa's head in my wife's pussy, Lisa was on the end of the bed with a black cock hanging out the back of her, Lisa looked up and smiled then went back down. Sue looked at me and waved me over, i stood over Sue and she said are you just watching tonight or you joining in, i said Sue i can watch but i can't take part this is blowing my mind as it is, Lisa was getting hit from behind hard but she kept licking Sue's pussy, i couldn't stop looking i was solid in my pants but i had to keep it there. Tyler pulled out and said to Sue you next, he held it length in his hand and it was huge Lisa was right his head on it was massive, he parted Sue's lips with it and he went right in her deep. Lisa started to kiss Sue and Sue was fingering her tight shaven pussy i could hear the wetness in her pussy and it was making me pre cum seeing all this, i had to go to the bathroom to have a wank and release my load.

i went back into the bedroom and Lisa was sat on Sue's face whilst kissing Tyler it looked unreal, Tyler was still going strong and he told Lisa to go into the doggy position and get ready, he pulled out of Sue and she was well stretched i could see right into her, Tyler stood above Lisa and he held his fat head and he slowly popped Lisa's arse hole, he worked his length in bit by bit with a bit of spit he was nearly ball deep and Lisa didn't flinch she was taking him well. Sue said wow Lisa you must love that, she said its her favourite it make her cum so much, Sue looked at me and said come on then get licking me out i want you, i had my head deep in Sue and i looked up with my eye's Lisa looked at me and smiled then said this is the closest we have been together since we were young, she said i would love to see mam and dads face if they seen this scenario, Sue said to Lisa they would die or they might also like the black cock and then i would love to see the look on your faces if you's seen a black cock hanging out your mother, we all just laughed and i said it would be mad. Tyler was just banging away not bothered about our conversation he just hit Lisa hard and he cum deep inside her ass.

when Tyler pulled out of Lisa Sue went over to Lisa pushed her down on the bed and started to eat her out tasting their cum Sue looked at me and said she wasn't wasting this opportunity, i still couldn't believe what i had seen and that my little sis was into black cock just like her big brother, we still had another week of this holiday so i knew there was more to come!!!