Pamela Zinszer

By: GlobeTwo

Chapter 6,

“The duck sat at the table and said to his wife, “I’ve been paying the bills.’”

 

Pam chuckled at the joke.  But then she frowned. It didn’t look right. She checked the ‘How to write a Screenplay’ book and slapped her head, a light bulb going off. Of course!

 

Her pencil scratched out the lines and she wrote:

 

Interior. Mr and Mrs Duck’s dinning room. Mrs is sitting. Enter Mr Duck.

 

Duck: I’ve been paying the bills.

 

Now she laughed out loud at the scene she wrote. But still it didn’t look right. Maybe she needed a type writer instead of a pencil. All the examples of scripts in the books looked like type writing. She would have to get a type writer.

 

She read over her scene again and frowned.  This scene needed some sex. She was a playmate and people would expect sex. Could she write about fucking ducks? She scratched out the scene and started over.

 

She looked around the room; the living room of the Playboy Mansion was empty so she could write quietly but it was starting to rain outside so people would be coming in. She had to hurry her work along.

 

Exterior. Barn Yard. Two chickens doing chicken stuff.

 

Enter Mr Rooster.

 

Miss Chicken: There’s a big cock.

 

She laughed again. It was sexy and funny. But then she frowned. She scratched Miss Chicken and changed it to Ms Chicken. No, that still wasn’t right. Wait, she slapped her head again. She couldn’t write about chickens. There was no part for her. She ripped the yellow page from the pad and crumbled it into a ball and tossed it near the trash can; like writers do in movies, she told herself.

 

She straightened her back and wrote a new title. “The Playmate Who Saved the World.” No, she didn’t want to be in an action movie. “The Playmate Who Invented…” She bit on her pencil. This was a problem because if she said she invented something the scientist who really invented it might see the movie and get mad. She scratched out ‘invented’ and wrote the word ‘cured’ and she nodded. She could cure something. “The Playmate Who Cured…” What? Cancer? No that would be too serious. Measles? Those little red dots would be easy to make but maybe kids would want to see the movie and she wanted her movie to be sexy.

 

“The Playmate Who Cured Something.”

 

She checked back in the book. “Always start in the middle of a scene.” Pamela wrote furiously.

 

Interior. Bedroom. Al Pacino is doing Pamela. She studies her slide rule.

 

Pamela: I calculate that you will come in exactly three minutes.

 

The fledgling writer checked over her work. Wow, this was just like the book said. It establishes her character right from the beginning. Sexy AND smart. But then her brow furrowed earnestly. The scene couldn’t work this way. She inserted a carrot (^) above the line that read ‘Al Pacino is doing Pamela’ and she wrote: He’s doing her from behind so her hands are free.

 

Yes, she nodded; this was good. She was going to be a movie star for certain now. She didn’t need to wait for somebody to give her a part. She could write her own. She wondered if Mr. Hefner would show Al Pacino her script. He better! She thought about the way Mr. Hefner like to do her in her bottom; he was always telling her to do stuff: bend down like this, put her mouth there, put her legs up on the stirrups, stroke him this way. He would do it, she decided, he would show her script to Al. She should get used to calling him Al because they would be starring in her movie together.

 

She looked down at the nearly empty page. Maybe Al needed some lines.

 

Al Pacino: You are so beautiful and sexy. Pamela. And super smart too.

 

Pamela: Don’t forget I’m Playboy’s Playmate of the Month, Miss March, 1974 and I went to Yale and Oxford and a lot of big schools.

 

That didn’t sound right; nobody would believe she went to those schools because she was too young! She scratched the line and added:

 

Pamela: Don’t forget I’m Playboy’s Playmate of the Month, Miss March, 1974 and I have a perfect 36-24-36 figure, and my IQ is super high.

 

She nodded, seeing herself on the big screen saying her lines. The book said to establish the back story quickly. She frowned again. She had better give Al another line.

 

Al Pacino: Gee you are pretty.

 

Pamela: Thank you.

Pamela was emboldened, eighteen and brown-skinned, pretty and sexy and in a constant state of arousal. Since joining Playboy, her problem had little to do with knowing where to start, but everything to do with never knowing when to stop. She also found herself, when alone, in a steady stream of sexual daydreaming and not limiting herself to the simple sexual fantasy of making love. Pouting in front of the yellow legal pad she was using for her screenplay, Pamela was thinking about three faceless men, naked and erect and surrounding her, shoving their hard cocks in her face, taunting her with them. Her nipples were hard through a thin and bra-less blouse which was bare at the midriff, and her pussy was soaked inside of shorts that might have been a size too small.

She vibrated with pleasure, and seemed oblivious to it, but from the threshold of her fantasy -- which now had her hands tied in front of her while three throbbing cocks were being poked into her mouth and smacked against her face -- Pamela was aware of staring eyes all around her. The living room was beginning to fill up with more playmates and the men who wanted to have the playmates. She thought she’d better finish in her room. All those eyes staring at her; she wanted to keep her script a secret. She decided to go to the library where she could be alone. But it was fun to notice that her sexy self was being noticed as she worked as a writer. All of this, and walking with tight shorts, was as good as sending small and effective jolts of electricity onto her clitoris, and she wondered if she would orgasm before reaching the library. Her pace quickened with her breath, and one of the faces in the daydream became apparent, it was the face of Al Pacino.

As Pamela continued to picture her story, Al Pacino's face was clearer in her mind; and like she had always imagined, his erect cock was now going in and out of her mouth. Al Pacino would take it out and grind it all over her face and then stick it back into her into her hungry mouth again. With no more than a few dozen yards to go, Pamela was sure that she was going to come. Her quick strides stiffened and she readied herself for the mental image of the movie star’s stiff cock coming all over her face to bring her over the edge, when she was suddenly forced to stop in her tracks.

"Hmm, are you all right?" the gentleman asked, perhaps twenty steps from library door.

 

“Oh, I…I think I…I’m….” Pamela often got flustered around the publisher.

He blew some smoke and puffed his pipe while regarding her. “Why don’t you go to your room and I’ll see you shortly.”

"Golly," she said, and continued to walk, but slower, her throbbing clit momentarily unable to withstand the aggressive pace she had worked up to. She decided she’d better go to her room as the publisher had instructed.

She smiled, and giggled out loud as she approached her door.

"Fuck," she laughed to herself as she turned the knob.

"I'm too much."

* * * *


He heard the water running. Pamela was in shower.

Towel in hand, shirtless in only pajama bottoms, the publisher waited for the shower and whatever happened next -- he was sure that she would prance around again naked, as she did at every opportunity, as he expected every playmate to prance at the Mansion. He couldn't help but be aroused, his cock started to stiffen at the thought of whatever she was going to do this time to get his attention.

"She is a delightful girl," he mumbled.

She came out of the bathroom in only a towel, wrapped loosely around her brown skin, covering her breasts down to the top of her thighs.

"Oh, hey, I didn't hear you come in," she said. “I better brush my hair.”

The publisher used to her quirky habits by now and he waited for her to come out of the bathroom once more.

Pamela emerged and the towel was now around her neck, exposing her naked body in front of him. Lush perky breasts with beautiful reddish-brown nipples, completely erect, tan lines top and bottom, perfect ass and a pussy that made his mouth water. He stood up, still staring at her, and slowly started moving closer.

Pamela’s head filled with ideas which she scrawled on the yellow legal pad in her mind. Pamela was completely guileless and couldn’t hide her thoughts at all; she may as well have had those thought balloons over her head. On the yellow pad in her mind she was sketching the publisher going down on her. She liked when the publisher pleasured her and she could tell he liked her too. Maybe she could ask now about showing Al Pacino her script, but maybe she should suck his dick first. It really looked like it needed to be sucked. She liked sucking his dick but she didn’t like when Barbie Benton got mad at her because Pamela had sucked the publisher’s dick. Using her mental pencil she etched on her mental yellow pad “Barbie Benton can be a bully.” She pondered the thought and mentally scratched out ‘can be’ and wrote “Barbie Benton IS a bully.” But then she turned her mind to that dick that looked so ready.

"Sorry I took so long in there, I was horny and stuff and had to get off a few times," Pamela teased and then drank some water.

She looked down at his pajama bottoms and , biting her lip, stared at the outline of his hard cock. “I guess we’re going to do it now,” she said softly. She knelt and worked his pajama bottoms off.

He stood naked, fully erect, and admired his erect cock in the mirror for a moment, and then suddenly heard a gasp and Pamela, completely naked, was staring, mouth open, at his massive erection. Pamela looked up at him for another ten seconds, staring at his cock, biting her lip again.

"God," she moaned.

He nodded, his cock now visibly throbbing, Pamela staring at it, mouth open wide.

"I really should take care of that," Pamela finally said, slowly bringing her lips close to the head of his shaft.

Pamela slurped and sucked greedily, her pussy aching once again. She started her hand down her body, toward her clit, and then stopped.

“Is this a good time to ask about meeting Al Pacino?” she wondered.

For a few moments, the battle raged in her head, the publisher's beautiful, erect, throbbing cock, and then her movie script that she needed to work on. She felt she was being disloyal to Al Pacino. Her clit throbbed anyway, and she also imagined the actor's sexy body in the shower, moving inside her, faster and faster, and she had caused that, and was a part of it. Pamela fought it off, barely and with much difficulty, and then she felt the publisher blasting his load down her throat. Golly!
 

He patted her head affectionately and slipped into the bathroom himself. She could tell she made him happy and now it was her turn to be happy. She was going to ask him now to introduce her to Al Pacino.

* * * *

Pamela sat on the couch, waiting for the publisher, forming the right words in her mind. He finally emerged, naked except for the towel over his shoulder, and he walked out.

"Mr. H? uh..." Pamela stammered.

He came closer and stopped, facing her, and waited.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Um, what I really want to say is..." Pamela tried to continue, staring at his body.

Even flaccid his cock was beautiful and enormous and she wanted him.

"Is...?" he coaxed.

"Sir, you're naked!" Pamela blurted out.

He looked down at his own body, then feigned shock at his own nakedness.

"Oh, why, yes! You're right! I am naked!"

His cock began to get hard, slowly and steadily, and Pamela couldn't stop staring at it. She was getting wet. She continued to watch it become even harder and He stood five feet in front of her and enjoyed every moment. Pamela's breathing increased as his cock kept stiffening, until he was fully erect and throbbing.

"Darn," she said.

"You were trying to tell me something?" He persisted.

Pamela was mesmerized, her eyes unable to leave what was turning her on so much. Her pussy was tingling, her clit on fire.

 

Her brain was choosing between two sentences. The first sentence was, I want to suck your cock, Mr. H.” and she could feel her mouth forming the words and she could practically feel his cock ramming deep down her throat as she gagged. But then her brain went to the second sentence instead.

 

“I wanted to ask you about meeting Al Pacino,” she said meekly.

 

“Pamela, you know I never talk about business at times like this; it wouldn’t be right.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

"I'm not sure that sorry is going to fix it," he mused, now pacing around her, his stiff cock bouncing with each step.

"God," Pamela moaned, squirming on the couch.

"What do you think that we should do about it?" he asked.

"Gee, sir, do you know how much you're turning me on right now?" Pamela asked, ignoring the question, concentrating on his erection with her mouth open, staring.

"Ha! Now you know how it feels, you little cock tease! You like being a bad girl, don't you?"

"Can't you just put me over your knee and spank me?" Pamela asked without thinking, she couldn't think coherently, and she couldn't sit still.

"Now there's an idea. But not over my knee," he said, and then he walked back to the bathroom.

Pamela waited, in only a top, and he came out, still completely and deliciously erect while holding a pair of Pamela's panty hose.

"And this is also part of your punishment," he announced and began ripping them into pieces.

"What? Why?" Pamela asked.

"The top, too," he said ignoring her protest.


Both of them naked, he escorted Pamela to the dressing table, cleared it off, and bent her over it. Pamela, again focusing on his erection, couldn't stop herself from grabbing it on the way down and he slapped her hand away.

"You're going to get extra for that," he told her.

First, he secured the legs of the table to a built-in cabinet; the table wasn't going anywhere. Then, he grabbed one of Pamela's hands and began to tie it to the top of one the table legs.

"What are you doing, I don't need to be tied up," she protested.

"I think you do, Pamela," he said.

Pamela let him tie the first hand without protest, but in the middle of tying the second hand, she began to struggle a bit. He persisted, roughly, and she finally gave in. He began on her feet.

"My feet? Why my feet? Pamela asked, struggling again.

"Pamela, I have made a study of this. You need to trust me."

Once finished, He stood behind her and inches from the back of her thighs and began to massage her ass. He let his swollen cock bounce off of the crack of her ass as Pamela began to moan, feeling his hot cock on her crack and his hands on her skin was making her forget that she was bound.

Smack!

Suddenly and unexpectedly, He let loose and smacked Pamela's ass hard.

"Owww!" Pamela yelled.

He reached for Pamela's cute curly hair and yanked it, bringing her head around to look at his erection.

"See this?! You did this, young lady! You like this? You like making my cock hard?!"

"Oh, fuck yesss..." she moaned.

Smack! Smack!

"Fuck!" she yelled.

He then bounced his erection all over her red ass, and Pamela began to moan again.

Smack!

"Ahhh! Oh, fuck," Pamela whimpered.

"I bet you like this, you little cock tease!"

With that, he touched her ass and slowly brought his hand down to her thighs and then reached under and felt Pamela's pussy. She was dripping, soaking wet, he brushed her swollen clit with his index finger.

"Oh, God, yessss..." Pamela purred.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Ahhh!"

His slaps continued to get harder, and so did his cock. This was turning him on, too.

Pamela was squirming, hips moving, and he again reached down and felt her pussy, worked part of a finger in, brushed her clit, and let his erect cock slide across her red ass.

"Oh, God, fuck me, baby, fuck me," Pamela pleaded.

"I'll fuck you, all right."

Smack!

Silence.

"Come on sir, is that the best you can give me? I’ll bet Mr. Al Pacino would know what to do," Pamela boldly dared.

"Really?! You little vixen!"

Smack!!! Smack!!! Smack!!!

"Aaaaahhhh! Fuck! Oh fuck! Fuck! Owww..."

Small red welts began to form and He began to rub his swollen cock gently over her ass again. He moved his hand down again and rubbed her pussy, touched her clit, then brought his hand back up as Pamela whimpered, and spreading his finger across the top of her ass, he slowly inserted part of his thumb into her asshole.

"Oh!"

He worked his thumb half way in and moved his cock closer to Pamela's wet sex.

"Fuck, sir, please fuck me, pleeease!"

He maneuvered the tip of the swollen head of his cock and touched her labia, then moved in to brush her erect clit. Then back and down again, and repeated this as Pamela moaned and begged.

"Put it in, please put it inside, please, please..."

With his free hand, He smacked her ass again, and let the head of his cock enter her pussy.

"Feel it throb? You feel what you've done?"

"Fuck, yes, God, please, more," she begged.

Smack!!

"Oh fuuuuck!" Pamela yelled, as his cock slid in halfway. She wondered if this should go in her screen play.

They felt each other throbbing, and He couldn't hold back anymore. He reached up and grabbed Pamela's hair and shoved his cock all of the way in.

"Like this?!" he yelled, grinding every millimeter in up to the hilt, his hips moving against her red ass-cheeks.

"Oh god fuck me hard, fuck me..."

He smacked her ass two more times as he began to bury his cock inside of her, harder and harder, every thrust as deep as the last one. He felt Pamela's pussy loosening and tightening, and he began to slam her faster and faster, wildly and deeply, and Pamela felt his cock growing even more inside of her with every thrust.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me come, I'm coming, I'm cooooooming, ooooh...!" Her voice as high and musical in its ecstasy.

Pamela screamed and squirmed and fought her restraints. He let go of her hair after her orgasm, she panted and lay like a rag doll for a moment.

Not stopping, only slowing to allow Pamela to catch her breath, He continued to fuck her.

"Feel that? Feel it?" he asked her.

"Ummm."

He slowly pulled his thumb out of Pamela's tight asshole and inserted his ring finger, slowly at first.

"Oh golly," Pamela moaned, and started to squirm again as he kept pushing his finger in until she took it all.

Smack!!!

"Ouch! Fuck you; stop it!" Pamela yelled at the last slap of her ass by him.

"Pamela, I can tell you are enjoying this," he said as he shoved his cock hard into Pamela as deep as it would go.

"Oohhhh, fuck. Fuck you just fuck me, oh, God, fuck me," she moaned.

And he fucked Pamela, fucked her hard, fucked her with a real zeal for the art of it. His cock was so hard he wondered how it wasn't exploding, and it wanted to explode, his fast rhythm and deep thrusts touching every part inside of Pamela, and Pamela was crazy now, screaming.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, God, fuck, oooh, fuck!" Pamela was yelling uncontrollably in rhythm to his thrusts and he knew that his orgasm was coming and than soon he wouldn't be able to hold back anymore. Then Pamela let it all go.

"You're gonna make me come!" she shouted.

Smack!

"Ow! Fuck! I'm gonna come, I'm coming, oh fuck!" Pamela screamed.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, "I'm coming, I'm coming too."

"God, now, aaahhh...!" Pamela squealed.

He pumped her wildly, and Pamela was barely finished with her orgasm when he started to ejaculate and lunged in deep to fill her sweetness all the way.

"Fuck yes!"

His cock pulsed a dozen times, his milky-clear and slick stream pouring out deep into Pamela's writhing body.

"Oh God, oh fuck..."

He pumped in a few more times as if he was filling her with some sort of magic potion. They panted, breathing slowing, then caught their breath. He grabbed a towel and cleaned them both off. She looked back at him. Running mascara, face a mess, even some tears. He wiped her face, and kissed her forehead.

"I'm going to go take a well-deserved nap," he told her.

He started to walk toward his room.

"Untie me first," Pamela demanded.

He continued without stopping.

"Hey, get back here and untie me, sir!" Pamela yelled, looking back at him from on top of the table.

He stopped. He slowly turned and walked toward her, his cock still half hard. He stopped and picked up the pages of her screenplay.

"In a minute, I will. Just you be patient," he teased. Pamela squirmed as he read her script. She was pleased when he chuckled every so often.

 

Finally, he untied Pamela, admiring the marks on her wrists and ankles left from his handiwork. She stood and massaged her wrists, and they faced each other momentarily.

"Does this mean that you’re going to show the script to Mr. Pacino?" Pamela asked, breaking into a smile.

"No, he’s mostly in New York." He smiled at her naked body.

Pamela's smile then faded. She put her hands on her hips and became indignant, and then angry.

"Well then, you are a big meany!"

"Pamela, I don’t understand," he answered.

"You're going to tell me that what just happened wasn't..." Pamela searched for the right words.

"Incredible? Hot? Excellent?" he interrupted.

Pamela stood and stared at him, at his cockiness. She said nothing, but her face said everything.

"I don’t think I’ll be able to show this to Al Pacino," he insisted.

"I’m mad at you!" yelled Pamela.

He then held up the script, and then pointed at her and smiled.

"I may be able to show it to some directors I know," he told her.
 

Pamela blushed all over. "Would you like to fuck me again sir?" she asked sweetly.

He tossed the script on the table. “Why don’t you lie on the bed?” he suggested.

She smiled and hustled her curvaceous body onto the sheets. “Will you really show the script to a director?” she purred but his head was already between her legs and his tongue too busy to reply. “Oooooooo,” she squealed.

 

Continued in the next chapter

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